Audition (North Security 4)

She says it so casually. It doesn’t bother Marlena at all, trading her body for security in the present. She bangs her way into one of the stalls and lets out a satisfied sigh. “So Josh North is obsessed with you. That much is obvious.”

“He’s not,” I say with a snort. “He’s obsessed with getting a rise out of me. Always has been. He’s an asshole.”

“Awww, he is not. Deep down he’s probably sweet.”

My reflection is the only witness to my disbelief. “Marlena, he’s not sweet. The North brothers aren’t known for

being sweet. Ever.”

“Are you sure? I heard Liam’s head over heels.”

I swipe my finger and thumb over my eyebrows. “That’s different. Getting married isn’t the same thing as turning into a nice man. Neither is falling in love. And Josh is doing neither of those things. He’s just an asshole.”

“An asshole who brought you to the club and has been dancing with you all night. He’s not bad, either.” The toilet flushes, and Marlena waltzes back to the sink next to me. I perch on a stretch of marble countertop while she washes up. “He seems worried about you.”

This time I swallow the snort that threatens to escape me. “Are we seeing the same guy? Because he doesn’t seem worried to me. He seems….” Controlling. Insistent. He fills the room with his arrogance, and those glittering green eyes that see right through my carefully crafted facade. Like he knows. I’m playing the part of a cool and confident sitting duck. The breath goes out of me at the thought. I work hard to keep the letters at bay, at the fringes of my consciousness. It galls me to admit that it’s easier to put them out of my mind when I’m in Josh’s house.

Easiest of all when I’m in his bed. What could possibly happen to me there? Josh’s home might as well be a fortress. And the thickest, most impenetrable gate is the man himself. “He’s just doing his job,” I finish lamely.

Marlena purses her lips, cocking her head to the side. “I don’t think so, Beth. I think there’s more going on with him.” A surprising note of sincerity colors her voice, washing away the tequila giggle. Her gaze sharpens. “I’ve met other guys like him. Before Scott.” A flicker of emotion moves across her face too quickly for me to identify it. Sadness? Confusion? Impossible to pin it down. “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed what, exactly?” I fold my arms over my chest. Out on the dance floor my skin warmed to meet the air around us. Marlena and I had been in our own little bubble of heat and movement, with Josh and Scott hovering in our orbit. They kicked up the heat. Josh’s eyes burned as much as his hands did. But now the sweat evaporates from the back of my neck. The resulting shiver peaks my nipples underneath the purple slip of a dress I borrowed from Marlena. The waiting ticks a few more valuable seconds off my life. Say it. Just say it.

“All that pain he carries around with him.” She hugs herself too, the mirror image of me. “That’s a guy who’s seen some shit.”

“Everybody’s seen things.” I make an effort to uncross my arms and stretch my wrists in front of me. Limber up. We’ll be back on the dance floor where we belong soon enough.

“Mmm.” Her eyes flick toward the mirror. “Not like this. He reminds me of…” Another flicker of unnameable emotion. I want to turn her face back toward me, but Marlena hesitates another moment before she does. “It doesn’t matter. Just watch him when we go back out there. You’ll see how he’s keeping everybody at arm’s length. He practically radiates a stay-the-fuck-away-from-me vibe.”

I open my mouth to disagree. I’ve spent more time than I care to tally up telling him to fuck off. But Marlena’s words make me reconsider all the times I’ve watched him move through a crowd. That night after the performance, in the lobby with Trevor Dunn. He’d put all those drinks in his arms and physically pushed him an inch backward. The rest of the people in that room didn’t need that kind of nudge. I can see it in my mind’s eye—the way the men and women in their stiff formal clothes had sensed him coming and moved out of the way. I’d been too annoyed to notice it then. And he’d been out of line.

“Right?” Marlena answers the expression on my face and the silence on my lips. “You know what I’m talking about. He’s got a black hole inside of him. If you’re not careful, you’ll get sucked inside.” She makes a twisting gesture in front of her own gut and clicks her tongue.

I force a laugh and reach out to pat her arm. “You’re dramatic when you’re drunk on tequila.”

Marlena winks at me. “Maybe I’m dramatic. But maybe I’m right. And you know what happens with wounded men. Don’t you, Beth?”

“Of course I know.” But I don’t—not really. Marlena is the one who plucks men out of the world around us and coaxes money from their pockets with a smile and a kiss. I’m the one who keeps my fists raised at all times. How could I do otherwise? Especially when it means ignoring the hard-won lessons I’ve spent my life learning. “Let’s go dance.”

Marlena leans over the sink and touches up her lipstick, a bold red color that will probably make Scott’s eyes darken. “Just be careful.” The lipstick disappears into her purse and her arm slides back into place, our elbows locked together. “Guys like that—they always self-destruct in the end. You don’t want to be standing too close when it happens.” She lets out a little sigh. “But damn, does he ever love watching you dance. Those pretty green eyes of his light up like the freaking aurora borealis. Don’t tell him I noticed. He’d be mortified.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The first ballet on record was staged in the year 1581 by Catherine de’ Medici, the queen of France. She, the king, and her court also performed in it. It was staged in the Louvre Palace in Paris lasting nearly five hours.

Josh, five years ago

When you throw pebbles at someone’s window, restraint is important.

Too hard and you’ll break the glass, leading to an unpleasant scenario—especially if there are strict parents slumbering downstairs. I have some experience with stealing pretty girls out of bedroom windows.

Bethany makes me wait.

It takes three pebbles against the pane for her shadow to appear at the glass. She lifts the sil and pushes her head out. A smile flits across her face, her teeth white in the moonlight, before she can think to act cool around me. That smile makes me puff up like a goddamn lion.

An object comes fluttering down and lands on the ground at my feet, taking shape as I pick it up. A messenger bag. Cloth, sturdy, a long strap. Bethany follows a moment later. She lands in a half-crouch, the movement appropriate for the stage. Anticipation thrums in the air around her. “Where are we going?”

“Wow. Not even a hello kiss for the man who’s going to rock your world?”