Master's Flame (Cirque Masters 3)

“Here.” A deep, familiar voice accompanied firm hands on her shoulders. Mr. Lemaitre turned her to shield her from the smoke. “Walk this way.”

She coughed and tried to swallow as they moved several yards down the beach. He handed her a glass of water that was perhaps his own glass of water. She didn’t care. She swallowed a big gulp, letting the cold liquid soothe her stinging throat. “Take slow breaths,” he said. He smoothed a hand over her back, up and down, until her eyes stopped burning and her lungs filled with friendlier air.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked. “Did I cough on you?”

“A little. It’s okay.”

She blinked through lingering tears at his concerned features, and felt a pang of longing for the days she’d spent under his control. Damn. I need that drink now. She gripped the tumbler of ice water in her hands. Should she give it back to him? They’d moved some distance from the fire but the air seemed smothering as ever.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Can I get you something?”

“I’m perfectly okay.”

“Some tea or honey for your throat?”

“No, I don’t need anything.”

“Drink some more of the water.”

“No, I…” At the look on his face, she bit her lip and took another drink, then handed the glass back. “I’m really fine, Mr. Lemaitre. Thank you.”

He tilted his head with a ghost of a smile. “You might call me Michel by now, don’t you think?”

She stared at him. Call the great Le Maître by his first name? “I’m not sure I can do that.”

He shrugged and turned toward the sea. “Call me Mr. Lemaitre if you like. You’ve earned the right to choose.”

“I’ll call you Michel if you really want me to,” she said, plucking at the folds of her dress.

“It’s your choice,” he replied tightly.

“Well, okay then. Michel.” It felt horrible to call him that, like they were friends now. Chums. She wanted to wash out her mouth. She wanted to scream and throw things. She turned away, setting her teeth. “You don’t have to stand here with me. I’ve tried my best to stay out of your way.”

“Stay out of my way? Why?”

Because you hurt me.

Because I’m still in love with you and I shouldn’t be.

“Because you’re busy. It’s your daughter’s wedding,” she said instead. “It’s been a lovely day.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the festivities. Is this your first time in Marseille?”

“Yes, it’s…yes. My first time.” Making small talk with him was almost as painful as watching him from afar. “You have a very nice vacation home,” she added in a fake, modulated voice that sounded nothing like her own.

“Thank you.”

“How often do you come here?”

“A few times a year, when I’m not so busy. It’s been hectic this spring, mounting a new show.”

And dealing with you. He didn’t say that part of it, but she heard it. He turned again to look out at the water. He’d taken off his suit jacket at some point, and loosened his collar like most of the guests. He still looked sharp and dangerous. Diamond hard, but then, she knew how hard he could be. She stood silent beside him, hot, cold, confused, ashamed, terrified he’d continue to make empty conversation with her, and just as terrified he’d walk away. The fresh, rich sea air couldn’t cover the intoxicating memory of his scent.

“What did you think of the ceremony?” he asked when the silence strung out.

“It was beautiful.” On this point, at least, she wasn’t conflicted. “You must be so proud of your daughter. She and Jason love each other so much. It makes me feel...” She clutched at her stomach, not sure how to express the mixture of awe and joy she felt. “I don’t know. Love is such a magnificent thing.”

“Yes,” he said, in a way that didn’t sound like a yes. He blinked, looking down at the sand, and jiggled the ice in his glass. Then he said, so softly she almost might not have heard, “Dieu, I miss you.”

She felt the four quiet words like a kick to the gut. She’d missed him too, so much that Jason and Sara’s beautiful wedding had been a nightmarish agony. She missed him so that his nearness hurt like smoke searing her lungs. Anger washed over her, an eruption of temper spewing up from the empty spaces he’d left inside.

“It’s your fault if you miss me, don’t you think?” Her voice cracked on the last word. “You said we’d come to the ‘natural end of things,’ remember? You told me you wanted to get a new slave.”

His lips pursed at the challenge in her tone. “I didn’t get a new slave. I don’t even go to the club anymore.”

“But it’s your club.”

“Perhaps I’ll go back someday. Perhaps Sara and I will work out a schedule so we won’t run into one another. Perhaps I’m tired of the noise and drama and I don’t want to return. Perhaps I don’t want to return without…without you.”

“Oh, of course.” A harsh laugh tore from her throat. “Because the last time we went together,

we had so much fun.”

“Don’t.” His gaze faltered, revealing hidden pain. “Never laugh like that again, in that brittle way. I can’t bear it.”

She couldn’t bear it either, the hurt in his voice, the tragic tone. How dare he act like the injured one? It was his choice to move her out of his life and keep her at a distance. “I don’t think you have the right to tell me what to do anymore,” she said, tipping up her chin.

“Even so.”

Him and his even so’s. This conversation wasn’t headed anywhere pleasant and she didn’t want to cause a scene at her friends’ wedding. “I think I’m going to head back to the house.”

He followed. “Be careful of the fire.”

“I’ll be fine.” She shied away when he took her arm and tried to guide her. She heard the clink of his glass as he shoved it into someone’s hands.

“Wait. Please.” He reached for her again, keeping pace. “Valentina, don’t run away from me. Not today.”

She didn’t stop. If anything, she walked faster. They were on the other side of the fire now, on the sheltered side of the beach. “Not today?” she echoed. “What day would please you better, Master? What do I owe you?” She turned on him, her temper flaring hot as the fire. “What gives you the right to ask anything at all?”

“Nothing. I have no right,” he said quickly. He held up his hands. “Ma mignonne—”

“No. I am not your little darling. I never was.”

“Valentina, then. Ma vampa. Please let me…let me talk to you. There are things I need to say.”

“There were things I needed to say too, and you wouldn’t let me say them, remember? You beat me for saying them. You made me cry.”

He halted with a stricken expression, his hands braced on his hips. The bonfire rose behind him in the distance, outlining his tall stature, his wild black hair.

“I loved you,” she said, glaring at the man she still loved. “I gave you everything, every fiber of my devotion, every breath, every secret, every emotion for days and days on end. I did that for you, because I adored you. I gave everything to be your slave.”