Bound in Blue (19 page)

“We don’t know for sure she’s his daughter.
We don’t know—”

Sara’s voice carried down the hall from the
bedroom. “Jason?”

He rose to go to her, but Theo took his arm.
“You can’t say anything to her. Not until you talk to
Lemaitre.”

“She deserves to know who he is.”

“And if he denies her again?” asked Theo.
“Then what? The Citadel rejection was bad enough. If he rejects her
in this—”

“I would kill him.”

Theo tightened his grip on his arm. “Talk to
Michel first. Say nothing to Sara until you know for sure.”

Jason pulled away from Theo and strode down
the hall to the bedroom. Sara stirred, pulling out of Kelsey’s
arms. “Is everything okay? I heard fighting.”

“No fighting, baby.” He leaned over the bed
and stroked her hair. “Just talking. Everything’s fine, but we
should give Kelsey and Theo their bed back. They have a guest room
where we can sleep.”

“Goodbye, little one,” Kelsey murmured as
Jason gathered Sara in his arms. He carried her down the hall,
where Theo waited, holding open the door.

“
Bonne nuit
,” he said. “Stay for
breakfast tomorrow?”

“
Oui
,” said Jason. “Thanks.”

Sara was already half asleep by the time he
laid her on the bed. “Stay with me,” she sighed, clinging to him.
“Please hold me.”

He pulled her close, as close as he could
along his body, and wrapped her tightly in his arms. “Sleep now,
good girl. It’s been a long night.”

“Did you have fun? Did I please you,
Master?”

He stroked the smooth skin of her cheek. Did
he see, now, the slightest hint of Lemaitre’s angularity in her
facial lines? “You always please me,” he said, nuzzling her.
“You’re my special little one, no matter who I allow to fuck you. I
love you the best.”

“You love me?” she asked, pressing her face
against his neck.

He was more certain than ever that he did. “I
love you the best,” he repeated. “You’re my eternal girl.”

“Jason,” she said drowsily, “Theo is my
coach. We’ll get in trouble, won’t we? If Mr. Lemaitre finds out
about this?”

“Mr. Lemaitre won’t say shit,” Jason replied,
trying to keep the fury from his voice. “Don’t worry about
anything, okay? Master’s orders. Now go to sleep.”

* * * * *

After breakfast, Jason took Sara back to the
dorms and left her with a kiss and standing orders to rest for the
remainder of the afternoon. Then he headed to Lemaitre’s home in
Avenue Montaigne, spoiling for a fight.

He banged on the door just before one.
“Michel. It’s Jason. Let me in.” He banged again, harder.
“Michel!”

The door whipped open. Lemaitre glared at
him. “Must you shout like a hooligan? You’re going to alarm the
neighbors.”

“I don’t care if I alarm the fucking
neighbors.” He grabbed his boss by his starched white shirt and
pushed him into his home. “You fucking bastard. Are you Sara’s
father?”

Lemaitre shoved his hands away. “Do you
dare?” he asked through his teeth. “We’re not animals. Stop acting
like one.” He threw him off and smoothed his shirt with an
affronted scowl. “We can talk or we can fight. But we won’t fight
in my home.”

Jason stared at him, too angry to come up
with civil words, but he must have looked civilized enough, because
Lemaitre turned and shut the door.

Jason glanced around his boss’s pristine
living space, glad there weren’t any naked slaves chained in the
corners. He’d been here a handful of times, for dinner parties or
emergency meetings. Lemaitre didn’t have a sprawling mansion,
although he could have afforded it. His sunlit
pavillon
was
tucked among others of utilitarian-modern design. The interior was
strangely neutral. Everything in Lemaitre’s home was white, taupe,
ivory, mahogany, or steel. Not what one would expect from one of
the most creative personalities in the world.

“Are you going to answer my question?” Jason
asked, his hands in fists at his side.

“Perhaps. If you’ll sit down and compose
yourself.” He gestured toward a low sofa upholstered in some
smooth, easy-to-clean fabric.

So much sex has probably happened
here
, he thought as Lemaitre took the seat across from him. He
perched on the edge.

“Can I get you something? A drink?”

“You can answer my fucking question. You can
tell me what the fuck is going on, why you brought a performer here
who’s your daughter, and treated her exactly like everyone
else.”

His words snapped out like cracks of a whip.
Lemaitre’s only reaction was a slight negative tilt of his head.
“Not exactly like everyone else. Everyone else is permitted in the
Citadel. She is not.”

“So it’s true?”

Lemaitre leaned back, scratching the side of
his knee. “I expected your visit today, but not this confrontation.
You want to know if I fathered Sara? Yes, I did. Am I her father? I
think we both know the answer to that.”

“You’re either her father or you’re not, you
glib piece of shit.”

“I’m your boss,” he said, his gaze hardening.
“I provide your livelihood. You might conduct this conversation
with a little more respect.” He stood and crossed to the kitchen,
and returned with a crystal tumbler of water. “Drink this. Drink
all of it before you say anything else.”

“I’m not six years old,” said Jason. “I
didn’t just wake up from a bad dream.”

“Still, you’re agitated. Water has a way of
calming the soul. Drink.”

Jason wondered if it was spiked with some
kind of designer, Lemaitre-style drug, but he drank it anyway, and
he did gradually feel calmer.

“Where is Sara now?” Lemaitre asked when
Jason leaned to place the glass on the side table.

“Do you care?”

“I suppose what I mean to ask is, does she
know why you’re here? What prompted this confrontation?”

“You want to know if Sara knows? No, she
doesn’t, not yet. Theo and I figured this out last night while she
was asleep.”

His brows rose. “She slept with you and Theo
last night?”

“You don’t get to ask that,” Jason snarled.
“You’re not her father, right? You just fathered her.” Okay, so
maybe the water hadn’t calmed him after all. “Sara’s still
oblivious, and I didn’t want to tell her until I talked to
you.”

“I’m grateful for that.”

“But she ought to know you’re her
father.”

Lemaitre held up a finger. “She has a father.
A good man who didn’t question the eye color, who raised her as his
own.”

“He passed away a couple years ago, along
with her mom. In an accident in Ulaanbaatar, which is a hell of a
place to drive.”

Jason could tell by the shock on Lemaitre’s
face that he hadn’t known. A moment later, he’d neutralized his
expression. “What a tragic loss. But Sara loved that man as her
father. She’s twenty-two years old. Why would she want a new father
now?”

Jason didn’t have an answer to that. He knew
Sara loved her Mongolian father, despite the circumstances of her
parents’ deaths. But a father was a father, and if Lemaitre was her
father…

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about this,”
Lemaitre said. “I’ve agonized over it. I decided it was kinder not
to tell her.”

“It’s kind until she shows up at the Citadel
and sees you in action, and fantasizes about becoming your
slave.”

“I trust you’ll see that doesn’t happen.”
Lemaitre’s gaze skewered him. “What were you thinking, bringing her
to the back rooms?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You realize she’s...” His
voice choked on the words. “She’s just like you, Michel. Exactly
like you. She likes to play hard.”

“So play hard with her at your home. Keep her
out of my way.”

Jason made a disgusted sound. “All this time,
I thought you wanted her. Like, sexually.”

“That’s on you and your filthy, jealous
mind.”

“You sent me to Mongolia, never even telling
me she was your daughter. I met her in a fucking sex club.”

“Again, this is on you.”

“Waitressing, Michel, because she needed
money. I think it’s on you. I think it’s shitty that you didn’t
look after Sara, considering you brought her into this world.”

His lips tightened. “I looked after her as
well as I could from half a world away. I fell out of contact with
her mother a couple years ago. I didn’t know about the accident.
When I saw Sara’s name with the outfit in Ulaanbaatar, I contacted
you about going to Mongolia the same day. I thought it would be
wonderful to have her close.” His eyes were twin pools of pain. “It
has been wonderful. But now...I suppose...”

“What?”

“I’m begging you...please…don’t tell her I’m
her father. If you tell her, it will ruin everything.”

“Everything? By everything, you mean this
cold and vaguely censorious relationship you have with her?”

“I have to be cold and vaguely censorious.
I’m her boss.”

“You’re her father, you raging asshole.”

“I’m not her father. I don’t deserve to be,
and she doesn’t deserve the infamy of being my daughter. What about
my reputation, my history? All those clubs set up in my name?”

“That’s your excuse? That you own sex clubs?
What’s more important to you?”

Lemaitre let out a long breath and dropped
his face into his hands. He rubbed his forehead and looked back at
Jason. “If you love her, if you care for my daughter, don’t tell
her. I don’t want you to tell her.”

Jason burst up off the couch. “Fuck that. You
should be the one to tell her. If you won’t do it, I will.”

Lemaitre stood too, meeting him nose to nose.
He grabbed a handful of Jason’s shirt and lowered his voice to a
ragged growl. “Think about it, won’t you? Think! I can be an
excellent mentor for her. A protector, a friend. But I would be a
miserable father. What would she prefer?” The man’s grip loosened.
He spread his fingers on Jason’s chest, his lips turning down in a
shadowed frown. “If you tell her, the only job you’ll be able to
find is with Circus Mongolia. I promise. Don’t cross me in
this.”

Jason stared at his boss. Dark-haired,
intense and powerful, exuding sexuality even in the most
conservative situations. Perhaps he was right. He was, at his
essence, the terrifying Le Maître, and an unsuitable father for
anyone. Particularly the woman Jason hoped would eventually become
his wife.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered. “Get
your hands off me.”

Lemaitre complied with an icy mien, as if
none of this was his fault. He drew himself up to his full height,
brushing at an imaginary piece of fuzz on his shirt.

“This has been a rousing conversation, but I
have other appointments. Do we have anything else to discuss?”

“How long will you keep it from her?” Jason
asked. “Forever?”

“If I wish to.” He made a careless gesture.
“Things may change.”

“It’s all about what you wish, isn’t it? In
everything.”

“I’ve never made a secret of that, have I?”
He gave Jason a ghost of a smile that reminded him,
heartbreakingly, of Sara’s smile. It took Jason a moment to
recover.

“Just tell me you’re feeling something right
now,” he said, studying the smooth lines of Michel Lemaitre’s face.
“Tell me you’re struggling with some measure of guilt, or shame, or
self-reproach over this.”

Lemaitre gave a soft laugh. “Some measure?
You may believe I’m feeling many measures of all those things.
Mostly a depth of regret I hope you’ll never experience.”

Lemaitre allowed Jason to see a flash of his
pain, just an iota, then he hid it, masked it with a true
performer’s skill.
We all have skeletons in our past.
Hadn’t
he and Theo discussed that less than twelve hours ago?

“I won’t tell Sara,” Jason conceded
grudgingly, stalking toward the door. “For her sake, not
yours.”

Sara worried things would be awkward with
Theo when they got back to work on Monday, but nothing changed. He
was as hard on her as ever, and she was thankful for it. If not for
Theo, her and Baat’s act would have fallen apart by now.

As the weeks flew by, as the Exhibition
loomed, they practiced with greater and greater intensity, and it
was Theo who forced Baat to do the work and get things right when
he slacked off and spouted attitude. Theo also stayed after
practice a few days a week to teach Sara solo moves for fun, tricks
and flips he knew from his past career in trapeze. She got really
good at them, and tried without success to convince Baat to
incorporate them into their routine. He wasn’t interested. She
could tell he was still drinking every night, although he claimed
he wasn’t.

As long as he was sober in practices, she
didn’t care, but his muscle tone wasn’t what it had been in
Mongolia. At the end of their second month, Mr. Lemaitre assigned
him an extra physical therapist, which irritated Baat even more.
She carried the guilt of his alcoholic spiral around with her, a
dirty little secret she couldn’t share with anyone, not Theo, not
Jason, not Kelsey. Not Mr. Lemaitre. She didn’t want Baat to get
fired because then she’d lose her job too. What then?

Mr. Lemaitre held no love for either of them,
that was clear. He never explained why she wasn’t welcome at his
club. Jason said it was because she was too young, but she knew
plenty of Cirque employees her age who hung out there. Well,
whatever. She felt safe and welcomed in Jason’s home, and in his
bedroom. Through their private scenes and heartfelt conversations,
she came to know him not just as her Master, but as an honorable
man she loved.

All too soon, hot July turned into an even
hotter August, and their act neared completion. Theo raised her and
Baat’s practice trapeze, two stories, three stories, four stories
off the ground in preparation for the real thing. Then it was five
stories up, and the Exhibition was only a week away. They received
their costumes, a dazzling emerald leotard and feathered headpiece
for her, and matching knee pants for Baat. Jason was with her at
the fitting, his expression filled with the same gravity she
felt.