Gigi didn’t speak a word of Russian, but she got the subtext. He didn’t believe her.
Her temper broke like a wave. ‘Listen, I don’t need to create silly diversions to get a man’s attention!’
He thrust a staying arm in front of her as he checked the traffic.
‘A word of advice,’ he said, scanning the road. ‘Don’t squeeze your eyes shut. Just let them lie closed naturally, otherwise they twitch. It gave you away.’
What was he talking about now? Irritating man, with his dazzlingly dark brown eyes, the long, thick coal-black lashes sweeping over them above the sharp, deadly planes of his high cheekbones. If you liked that sort of thing...
‘I wasn’t twitching. When was I twitching?’
He meant her fall from the tank. He couldn’t possibly think... Good grief, she’d been virtually concussed!
‘You were twitching. And ditch the T-shirts while you’re at it,’ he said as his arm dropped away and he moved forward. ‘Play to your assets.’
‘What do you mean, my assets?’
He headed across the road.
Gigi’s gaze dropped to her chest. He didn’t mean what she thought he meant, did he?
‘Hey!’ she called, taking off after him. ‘I really don’t think you should be saying those kind of things to me!’
Although men had said worse. You had to have a thick skin in this business. But, really, if he was going to force her to run through the streets of Paris he could at least be polite to her! It wasn’t easy, even in her trainers. To make matters worse she had blisters upon blisters on the soles of her feet, from dancing in brand-new four-inch stilettos last night. Her feet were killing her!
He should try doing double performances six days a week, forty weeks of the year for five years—in heels—and see how he liked being made to run on hard pavement.
She stumbled and narrowly avoided a fire hydrant, and then dodged around a small dog on a leash.
Stupid Parisians and their dogs...
When she caught up with him she panted, ‘I’m just trying to represent the troupe!’
‘Why? What do the troupe want?’
Gigi stared at him. The man had barely broken a sweat. It was so unfair.
‘An opportunity—a chance to prove themselves. A pay-rise!’
She tacked on the last because really, at this point, she might as well go for gold. She wanted to add, And not to service you sexually! But shouting that in the street was further than she was prepared to go.
She was really hoping she wouldn’t have to bring Solange up—and not just because it was bound to antagonise him. Frankly, it was embarrassing. But, given he hadn’t showed at the cabaret last night, she couldn’t imagine him showing tonight and wondered how he’d manage to hook up with Solange after all. Not that he’d necessarily ever intended to.
It had already crossed her mind that Solange might be lying. It wouldn’t be the first time.
A knot in her chest Gigi hadn’t known was there loosened a bit.
Not that she’d spent a lot of time thinking about it... She’d just discussed it a little with Lulu last night over crêpes, as they’d walked home up the hill to their flat behind Sacré-Coeur.
The things other girls did to get ahead in the business... The things they would never do... The things they might be prepared to compromise on should they be pushed to the edge...
It had ended in Lulu posing the question, ‘So, if your grandma needed a kidney transplant and the only way to get it was to sleep with him, would you do it?’
Gigi had pretended to consider it. ‘I think I’d have to.’
Lulu had nodded. Then she’d looked at her with those big brown eyes and said solemnly, ‘What if she didn’t need a kidney transplant?’
Which was when they had both dissolved into giggles.
But in the light of day Gigi knew a better question was how would Solange approach this situation?
For one thing, she wouldn’t be pounding the pavement after him, blisters bursting in her trainers. Not that Solange had the intelligence to understand that their jobs were at stake. No, all she saw was a sexy, famous man and she wanted her piece.
Had she had her piece?
Gigi eyed his long broad back, the muscles shifting as he kept up a powerful driving pace. It didn’t take much imagination to envisage all that effortless masculine grace and power translating itself into something more intimate, something that required skill and rhythm, something—
Something she shouldn’t even be thinking about!
What was wrong with her? His sex life wasn’t her business, she told herself sternly, although she was fast losing sight of exactly what was her business with him.
Exhaling, she came to a stop. This was useless. He wasn’t listening to her. He was amusing himself and she’d turned herself into the punchline of his joke. Nothing new there.
Her shoulders slumped. There didn’t seem much point in pursuing this.
Which was when she realised he’d turned back. He moved like some predatory king of the beasts, deceptively at ease as he padded lightly but with a natural authority through the crowds towards her, and the female in her fluttered responsively.
The way he was looking at her as he approached, she could have been the only woman on the street.
Stupid female—she was going to get torn apart if she wasn’t careful.
He circled her, forcing her to turn, and turn again, as he looked her up and down.
‘What exactly are you going to do for this pay-rise, Red?’
‘Dance,’ she responded with a little frown.
‘Right.’ He winked at her and took off again, and she found herself hurrying after him.
This time he kept it to a slow lope, his attention on her. Maybe at last she could get him to listen.
‘And when do you take your clothes off?’
‘Pardon?’ she squeaked.
‘That’s the bit I’m interested in, Red. I assume I get to see this private dance if I take you back to the hotel?’
Gigi almost hit a traffic sign. She put out her hands to grab the pole.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Women throw themselves at me all the time. Why would you be any different?’
‘I’m not here for that,’ she said impatiently, trying to work out what he meant by ‘private dance’.
‘“That” is sex, and I can get it anywhere. You’ll have to up the ante, Red.’
She almost stumbled over her feet. Sex? She wasn’t offering him sex! Who had said anything about sex?
But he was getting away, and it shot through Gigi, hot and scalding, that this might be the last thing they ever discussed and he was going to go away thinking she was...well, Solange!
Her legs stopped working and she just stood there, watching his lean muscular form pound a little further into the distance. Frustrated beyond belief.
‘I am not here to have sex with you!’ she hollered after him.