Pier Lights (5 page)

Moving farther into his routine, his
exercise, his release, Dio put his full concentration on his
movement, on the power, on the danger of the sword as it zipped
around his body, around his head. It took him to the edge, as it
always did. He brought it in even closer to his body, made it more
dangerous, more seductive. He scanned the area on the shore, saw
nothing. No one.

Dio stopped. Set his metal tip down on the
wood plank of the boat, dropped his head. Focused on his breathing,
on the need to release his tension, on the control it took not to
allow it, to savor the moment. He stood still until it waned. Until
his body relaxed.

He congratulated himself on his control.
Most nights, he would now go home and focus on his frustration. He
was also perverse to enjoy the frustration of the unallowed
release. But he enjoyed it. It took his mind off other things, off
everything else. Except the girl. So far it had not taken his mind
off the girl.

As he calmed enough, he started again,
warmed up quick, got into the groove quick. Stroked hard and fast.
He got to the edge too fast. He’d wanted to enjoy the buildup
longer.

He stopped. Put the tip down. Forced
control. But it didn’t work. The girl’s face was in his thoughts.
Her body. Her movement. Her small breasts. Her tight buttocks. Her
toned abdomen.

Damn.

Dio crouched in the boat as his body
succumbed.

Damn.

So much for his control. He leaned back in
the small boat, the sword now at his side. His breath fast. He was
too close to content, but not close enough. And it was more
frustrating than when he didn’t allow it, when he let himself be
purposely frustrated all night.

The release was painful. Mentally.

He sat up again and shoved his hands against
his face, leaned forward until his forearms were on his knees.
Breathed hard. He wanted a nice girl, but not too damned nice. He
wanted a girl he could show himself to, be himself with. And he
hadn’t let himself acknowledge that in months.

He needed to see her.

To calm his urges, Dio dived into the cold
dark water of the Atlantic and swam in the direction of the pier in
a hard, fast front crawl, then turned back. He hauled himself up
over the side and sat panting until he could make himself row back
to the dock.

~7~

Caroline heard the applause, the yells, the
offers, the requests. She had to admit this was more satisfying
than ballet at least in the way the audience so fully connected to
the performance. Most ballet audiences appreciated the beauty of
the dance but they didn’t understand it, at least not fully. They
couldn’t name more than one or two of the French terms used to
describe what she did, if that many, and they didn’t understand how
many years and how much work and what kind of pain it took to get
up on that stage. Night cramps in her feet and calves were often
excruciating. Blisters. Spasms. And charley horses. She detested
those charley horses most of all since even as used to pain as she
was, they could nearly bring her to tears. And the pain from them
often lasted for two days.

She had nearly quit when she first went en
Pointe because of the charley horses near every night. She thought
she wasn’t cut out for it, that her body was telling her she wasn’t
meant to be a ballerina. But then she overheard another dancer
who’d been en Pointe for a few months complain that she couldn’t
practice that day because of a charley horse the night before.
Caroline started to listen better. It was common. There was nothing
wrong with her.

So she didn’t quit.

Since then, any pain she had, she knew
others had it too and if they could get through it, so could she.
It was her mantra. If anyone else could do it, she could do it. She
would not accept any other possibility.

She’d been far too full of herself.

But then, it did get her far. Even now, it
was getting her far. Hayes was putty in her hands. He knew she
could walk out if she decided and he knew she would. She knew he
didn’t want her to walk out.

She also knew he desperately wanted her to
sleep with him.

It wouldn’t happen. Not even the younger
men, the ones her age or close to it, the sexy handsome mobile and
virile-looking men had talked her into it yet. Caroline was there
to dance. To strip tease, but to dance in the only professional way
she now could.

Her stupid foot.

After so many years of putting up with the
aches and...

It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t let herself
dwell on it. She was dancing, with a paycheck.

And the audience did relate better to her
job now. There were no fancy French names to know or not to know.
Technique didn’t matter as much as showmanship, as moving well, as
shaking her hips and bending and ... whatever her body felt like
doing. They understood that. Anyone could do it. Anyone could stand
up and move to the music in the way they felt it, in a way that
made them feel desirable, at least for that moment when they danced
and let themselves go. Even if they didn’t feel desirable at any
other time of their lives, they could when they danced the way she
did. You had to make yourself think you were sexy in order to look
it. They could see she thought she was. At least when she danced
she thought she was.

As Caroline made her way backstage to wash
off the overdone makeup and put a decent amount of clothes on, she
was pulled to movement nearby. It was him, the man in the mask she
hadn’t yet seen. A closer. And my, no wonder he was a closer. In
his black skin-tight trousers and black skinny vest with no shirt
underneath that showed off his massive chest and arms, he was hot
as hell. Even standing doing nothing, he was worth a look or two.
He might even be worth a good daydream. From the distance, his hair
looked nearly as black as his clothes. His thin stretchy mask was
also black, like the Lone Ranger except it covered more. It covered
far too much of his face. One side of his jaw showed and it was a
beautiful strong swarthy jaw. Half of his forehead on the other
side showed youth but not too much youth and strength and ... and
she wanted to see the rest.

Of his face. Caroline told herself it was
the rest of his face she wanted to see.

He turned. Caught her staring.

She didn’t look away. She’d taught herself
long ago that if she admired a man enough to stare, she could let
him know she did. He was too far away to see his eye color, but
close enough to see he didn’t pull away, either. He skimmed her
with a slight tilt of the head, in appreciation. She knew the
look.

Caroline grinned and continued her path. She
would dress quick, skip washing off the makeup, and get back out to
where she could see his act, see whatever it was he had to show off
other than his body.

She guessed his body was about it, and
enough.

Dio forced himself to breathe again. She
smiled at him. Teased. And walked away.

He wanted to say the hell with the show, his
act, and follow her, ask her for coffee or... He nearly laughed.
Coffee. Right. Like he was just any guy who could ask a girl to
coffee, and like she was a regular girl who would accept just to
see if it was worth it.

He wasn’t. Neither was she.

On the other hand, maybe that would make it
work.

Chastising himself, Dio forced himself to
put it out of his mind and went to get set for his appearance. He
was only a farmer with a secret double life. Nothing for her to
see. Nothing for her to want.

One of the other girls stroked a hand down
his shoulder and arm as he waited to go on. He didn’t remember her
name. He’d told her before he didn’t do it with coworkers but he
repeated it again in case she forgot.

“This is my last night. I have another gig.
So how about tomorrow night? Wanna get together tomorrow
night?”

“No. But good luck to you.” He turned back,
watched the current stripper perform with her baton. She wasn’t a
good baton twirler. The moves were basic. But she was a good tease,
which part explained how she was so late in the night’s line up.
Mostly it was because she gave in to Hayes whenever he wanted
company.

Dio found himself wondering if the new girl
would.

Lina. Her name was Lina. And he let himself
think she wouldn’t. She had attitude. She had plenty of
self-respect. Regardless of her job, she did, and he could see it.
So did he. He understood it. The baton girl didn’t. She was an easy
target.

He realized the girl on her last night at
the job was still talking to him, still touching him. It was
slightly disconcerting that he hadn’t noticed either. He brushed
her off, said he had to focus on his act. Although he already knew
tonight’s act would be on the simple side.

He had different routines for different
nights, for what he felt up to each night. Lina had thrown him, so
tonight would be a simple night. He couldn’t afford to mess up. The
last thing he needed was one more hurdle he gave himself.

Caroline found a spot behind a curtain close
enough to the stage to be able to see the guy well. Sandy stood
with her. She wanted to see Caroline’s reaction. Sandy hyped this
guy so much, Caroline nearly wasn’t interested any longer. She
hated hype. She avoided anything too hyped. Books, movies, music.
Didn’t matter. She hated it.

When his music started, she hesitated. Maybe
her imagination would be better. She could take the picture she had
of his body and...

A flash of a sword made her gasp.

He was on stage. Her Mr. Big Sword. It was
him. How could she not have recognized him?

She heard Sandy speak at her side but she
couldn’t hear the words and she didn’t want to hear the words. He
was there. She’d grinned at him, stared, teased.

It wasn’t supposed to work that way. She was
supposed to be able to stalk him at the beach whenever she could
get there and enjoy who she thought he was and not have to find out
she was wrong.

Caroline supposed she still could. She
didn’t have to talk to him.

Damn was he good. She’d seen him do more
complex moves on his little rowboat and yet seeing this close up
with full light made it ... more intense, more sexy, more ... just
more.

She walked away.

It was time to go home. She couldn’t do
this.

Dio dressed fast and rushed out the door.
Maybe she was still around. He could say hello, ask her how the job
was going. Welcome her to the club. That would be innocent enough.
He just wanted to speak to her. He wanted her to speak to him. Even
just once.

“Who are you looking for, sweetie?” Sandy
sidled up against him.

“No one.”

“The new girl left during your act. Guess
she wasn’t impressed.”

He turned to her and wondered if she was
being truthful this time. He never trusted her.

“Some girls just can’t handle dangerous
weapons. Their loss. Me? I think they’re extremely hot. I like a
guy who can defend me.”

“I have to head out. Good night, Sandy.”

“Aw Dio, one of these nights you’ll give in
to me.”

Not a chance in hell. He kept himself from
saying it as he walked away to his truck. In the rearview mirror,
he saw her grab onto one of the other guys who took her to his car.
At least she had a way home.

~8~

She called off?

Dio paced backstage. Hayes ranted. Sandy
assured him it was fine, she’d do a double set. Hayes gave in, said
it was Sunday so she’d be good enough for the smaller crowd.

Lina called off. And she left early during
his set the night before.

But she’d grinned at him.

Maybe Sandy was right. Maybe it was the
sword she didn’t like, didn’t approve of. A peace-nik type. But he
had a hard time believing it. Not that he’d seen her long enough to
know. Not that he’d talked to her. What made him think he would
know what type she was?

He was just frustrated. A broken fence
section on the farm, escaped sheep he had to rustle back in, minus
one he couldn’t find, and his mother was coughing. Too hard. She
said she was fine and he should go on to work and not worry about
her, or not work and go somewhere he could find a nice girl.

Maybe she’d agree, Lina, if he asked, to act
like a nice girl interested in him for his mother’s sake. Right.
Huge problem with that. He couldn’t wear his costume at home. His
mom already bitched that he let women leer at him because of his
skill. If she knew he was only half dressed at the time, in thin
black stretch pants that left little to the imagination, that he
teased and flirted and let them touch his skin in between sword
strokes while he kept the sword going over his head away from them,
she would have a heart attack.

And he couldn’t let Lina see him as he
was.

He was too vain, his mother said. He was
being ridiculous. An actual nice girl wouldn’t care. Problem was,
he’d tried. He knew better. He would not accept a girl who would
take him out of sympathy or because she was that desperate. He’d
make do with club patrons forever first. The whole thing was
frustrating as hell. Dio was just frustrated, all the way
around.

And he needed to watch Lina dance. He’d told
himself during the hellish day that it didn’t matter, he only had
to get through the day so he could go to his night job and watch
her dance.

And she’d called off.

Lina walked along the beach and held herself
with her arms crossed around her stomach.

He’d ruined it. He was only a strip club
side show for the few women in the audience who didn’t really
appreciate what he did, who only wanted to leer at him. The way she
had. But different. She respected his skill. She watched the ebb
and flow of his arm muscles, his abdominal muscles. She watched his
face, what she could see of it, the concentration. Along with her
enjoyment of his physical attributes, Caroline respected the work
and practice it took to get to where he was, to the level of skill
he had.