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As if he could hear her mental meanderings, he murmured, ‘I was coming by myself. This is a new cabaret-style show directed by a friend of mine and he sent some tickets over last night. He knows I like to blend occasionally, and they often debut in Montreal. I’ve no idea what to expect.’
She was pretty sure he had a better idea than she did.
‘All I know is that it’s strictly over eighteens and it explores human sexuality.’
Okay-dokey, then. Right up her street. Not.
The risqué undertone of the music was a prelude to a stage lifting from beneath the floor, bringing the performers into view, still as statues. Until the Moulin-Rouge-type beat peaked with an almighty crescendo...
The cushioned pad beneath her bottom quaked, sending a vibration straight to her core, making the hair on her arms stand on end.
And then the artists came to life.
Heat that had nothing to do with the amount of bodies packed in one space and all to do with the hedonistic bent of the performance shot through her bloodstream, growing ever hotter when the stage became a writhing mass of mind-boggling feats of flexibility and synchronicity.
Bodies were bending, stroking, touching. Hands glissaded over painted flesh, the vivid colours of their skin alive with sensuous beauty.
Hanging from the dollies above the plinth were three massive chandeliers from which acrobats were suspended, and they too began to move in a series of gyrations, spinning and twisting as they swung from one bar to another in a dizzying spectacle.
Oh. And they were all half naked. Half naked and—
She sucked in a sharp breath and Finn leaned over.
‘You okay?’
‘Mmm...’ It came out like a groan, because where Finn had made her hot and bothered seconds before the show, now she was burning up. The fiery one.
‘You want to leave?’
‘Absolutely—’ She had to take another breath as one of the female performers wrapped her legs around her partner, locked groins tight and bent backwards to the floor, as if he were sliding inside her, as if...
‘Okay, let’s go.’
‘—not. No, I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here. A tornado whipping through the room wouldn’t move me as much as this. It’s... They...they’re beautiful.’
Dancing, whirling, bending—the women were incredible acrobats, so much femininity and strength all rolled into one stunning blend.
‘So strong,’ she whispered in awe.
‘They have to be. Strong-willed to train so gruellingly. Strong-minded to hold their positions, trust in their abilities. Believe in their talent. But elegant and graceful at the same time.’
Yes, and all the while remaining strong of heart, body and soul. No shame, only dazzling radiance.
Still staring at the stage, her mind spun. ‘What are you getting at, Finn?’
‘Maybe I’m just pointing out that being a woman doesn’t render you weak, and being strong or unique doesn’t make you less feminine.’
She didn’t see all women as weak. Did she? Then again, she’d never known many women. Only her dad’s bits of fluff, and they all seemed desperate somehow. Serena had watched them, thinking how bizarre they all were, flitting to and fro, trying to make her dad happy, in the idiotic assumption he would keep them. Desperate. Weak. But wholly feminine. Had she subconsciously knitted the two together?
Finn had told her she was feminine. His words, ‘Of course you are... In your own unique way...’ came back to her. She’d taken them as a kind of insult, but at the same time had longed for him to mean it. Despite or perhaps because of the shoe-slipper debacle.
Finn saw far more than what met the eye. Behind the celebrity persona he had a depth of intensity and an intelligence that astounded and intrigued her.
‘People underestimate you, Finn,’ she murmured, and the show continued all around them, just as the world still spun, ignorant of the seismic shift inside of her.
Seismic since she suspected that he was not only right but that her issues ran far deeper. Too deep for her to delve into that gorge right now.
‘Always a bad idea,’ he said, with an arrogance that made her smile.
With her gaze glued to the sinuous, serpentine movements on stage, she could feel him staring at her.
‘It’s enthralling, don’t you think?’
‘Absolutely mesmerising,’ he said, still watching her.
‘Provocative,’ she whispered.
‘A unique kind of sensuality.’
Her heart did a trapeze artist flip in her chest. In Monaco he’d said similar words to her.
Unable to resist a moment longer, she turned to look at him.
Face flushed, he licked his lips, as if his mouth was over-dry.
‘Finn...?’ she breathed. ‘Aren’t you going to watch?’
