Page 29 of New Orleans Rush

His tone was all business now, even though his hooded eyes darted to her lips. She couldn’t contemplate those sexy looks, or the fact that she’d imagined gripping his cape and hauling him to her for a kiss, or that she shouldn’t kiss a possible boomerang. She could barely produce saliva.

Instead she pictured the sleeping seniors and distracted teens who’d attended the last show. “Not many.”

“There are less tonight.”

“But they’ll be watching me.”

“They’re watching me, not you.”

“But…I can’t.”

He stepped closer and closed his fingers around hers so they were both touching the handkerchief. He lowered his voice. “You can, and you will. Think of it as a rehearsal. Focus on the routines. On the crappy music we haven’t switched yet.” He stroked his thumb over her knuckles. “Focus on me.”

God, how she wanted to focus on him. She tilted up her chin, tried to see only the soft curls that brushed his neck, the shadow from his top hat that darkened his scarred eyebrow. That. She wanted to paint that and turn his lips red with her Cherry Bomb lipstick. Leave marks on his Adam’s apple and shirt collar. Surely she wouldn’t crave branding him Cherry Bomb red if he was a mere Band-Aid.

He tightened his grip on her hand. She whimpered.

“Showtime,” he said and tugged her after him.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.” But the door was open and she was stumbling in his wake. She didn’t want to kiss him any longer. She wanted to buy a voodoo doll, paint his face on it, and stab it full of needles.

They arrived at stage left too soon.

“Is she going to puke?” This from Axel.

“No. But she might faint.” Fox, of course, read her mind.

Huxley didn’t release her hand. “You two do the intro. We’ll be out for the Flying Playing Card number.”

Fox slicked his hand down his ponytail and sauntered onto stage.

Axel leaned into her ear. “You look hot.” Then he was gone, after a low growl rumbled from Huxley.

The surly brother turned to her. “I get that you’re scared, but I’m not sorry I put you in this position.”

“That you blackmailed me, you mean?”

“Maybe so, but this is your chance to face your fear.”

“I want that, I do. But…” Her legs were numb. Sweat clung to her palms. “What if I freeze?”

“I’d rather you try and freeze than give up.”

She sucked in a shaky breath. She didn’t want to be anything like her father, a man who’d earned gold in giving up. He couldn’t escape his addictions, because he was afraid. Scared to feel sadness or pain, choosing the rush of a bet over dealing with getting laid off or divorcing his wife. Bea didn’t want her life ruled by fear, no matter how small or inconsequential. That wish didn’t make performing for a meager crowd any easier.

She released Huxley’s hand and tucked the handkerchief into her cleavage. The only opening on the tight costume. “I’ll do it,” she said.

She clicked her shiny heels together, finding her lioness confidence.

Pride flashed across Huxley’s face. “That’s my girl.”

His girl. Those words struck a chord in her chest. A chiming bell, clanging so loudly it cleared her fog. She wanted to be his girl, perform with flair and prove how strong she was. Impress this magical man. Share with him the emotion she’d swallowed when listening to his late-night confession. Della had been right to be concerned, but being here, face-to-face with Huxley, she knew he wasn’t a placeholder. She wasn’t boomeranging.

Meeting him had been fate.