Behind the Curtain - Page 3

“Yeah, and it’s not my fault you exposed the general because you had to pee,” Rudy told Asher.

“What was the logical outcome of that scenario? There was nothing else to do but drink that Jim Beam you brought while we were sitting there like idiots in the woods. I’m just saying: No. Stupid. Stunts,” Asher repeated succinctly.

“You better believe it,” Jimmy said sternly.

Asher smirked at Rudy’s wounded-puppy-dog expression.

Chapter Two

Asher was fondly familiar with the State Theatre. His grandfather—Grandpop—had taken him there for several plays when Asher was a kid, and once for a behind-the-stage tour of the historic building. Grandpop was the only person who had ever really made him feel connected to—and even a little proud of—the Gaites-Granville family history. Christian Ambrose Gaites-Granville may have been one of the shrewdest CEOs of the GGM empire, but he was also an amateur historian. Asher always suspected that he enjoyed and identified much more with his weekend hobby of research and explorations into Chicago history and his family tree than he ever had his role as ruthless executor of GGM. His hobbies had certainly been the means by which he’d bonded with his only grandson. Asher had adored Grandpop. Walking through the ornate front doors of the old theatre caused a sharp pain of loss to go through him.

The old theatre had stood empty for years until, according to Jimmy, a slick European entrepreneur nightclub owner and musician manager had reopened a portion of it as a club. As he and his friends entered the showroom of the posh venue, Asher recognized the remaining Art Deco panels and crown moldings intermingling with the modern finishes. A gorgeous, sophisticated-looking hostess showed them to a four-top at the back of the showroom. The show hadn’t begun yet, but the place was going to be packed. He gave his drink order to a waitress and examined the well-heeled crowd. Apparently, Rudy and Jimmy hadn’t been exaggerating about the woman’s popularity. As they waited for their drinks, a man with a microphone introduced Yesenia.

The opening notes of an evocative bluesy number resounded throughout the club. Everyone grew hushed with anticipation. Despite his preoccupation, Asher found himself catching the mood of the crowd. The heavy indigo curtain parted.

Another curtain was revealed, a sheer crimson one that was hung to the center and to the right of the dimly lit stage. A four-piece band was situated to the left of the curtain, the musicians’ faces fully revealed to the crowd. Manufactured wind gently blew across the red veil, making it ripple in a liquid, sinuous movement. He squinted to see behind it. Was there an outline of a woman emerging from the matrix of light and shadow, or was his imagination playing tricks on him?

Suddenly, her voice filled the club in a low, velvet seduction. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He sat forward in his chair, straining to see behind the undulating veil. The prickling on the surface of his skin amplified, as if his nerves had jumped to life at the sound of her smooth, resonant voice. The vague shadow of her grew clearer, the outline of a woman’s body as she subtly moved to the beat of the music.

The outline of a beautiful woman’s body.

“I told you,” Rudy muttered smugly to the left of him, but Asher was too focused to respond. He searched for details obsessively while her clear, soulful

voice echoed in his head and throbbed in his veins. The lyrics were poetic, fraught with longing and very sexy. The music was bluesy and unique, involving a combination of notes he’d never quite heard before. She wore some kind of pale, clinging dress. The material flowed over her body almost lovingly, caressing every lithe curve. She glided closer to the veil, her hips swaying and pulsing gracefully in time to the music. He realized that like the curtain, the dress she wore was partially translucent. Beneath the two sheer boundaries, he could make out long, shapely legs and the outline of her shifting pelvis and hips as she moved to the beat. The uncommon prickling of his nerves transferred to his sex. He hardened with amazing speed.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, a little floored.

“She’s incredible, isn’t she?” Jimmy breathed out.

“There’s an Arab influence,” Asher whispered to himself at the same moment he made the realization. Of course. Yesenia was an Arab name, wasn’t it? That was what made her music so unique. Among the jazz, blues and R&B influence in her song, he recognized the rhythmic intervals he’d often heard in Arabic music during his years in the Middle East and North Africa. For some reason, the realization added an element of uneasiness to his enthrallment.

“What did you say?” Jimmy whispered as the band played the final lingering notes of the ballad, and Yesenia stilled. Asher didn’t respond. Every nerve in his body tingled. His cock throbbed sharply, as though her voice itself had been caressing that sensitive flesh, and it now protested at her silence. He craned forward in his seat, increasingly irritated by the veil and space that separated him from the singer.

What the hell is wrong with you?

Then the music began again—this song having a more pop feel to it—and her liquid, velvety voice flowed over him, both agitating and soothing his nerves. Admittedly, it was sexual, what he experienced in that moment. But something else had awakened inside him at the sound of her strong, fluid voice and the vision of her beautiful body and pulsing hips . . .

. . . Something Asher had thought had died in him that summer eight years ago.

• • •

They stood huddled in the dark alley outside the State Room.

Idiots, all three of us, Asher thought darkly.

No, just two fools were present: Jimmy and him, for letting Rudy talk them into this. Rudy was just being himself.

Rudy had herded them out of the club following Yesenia’s third encore. She’d held the audience completely under her spell for the entire performance. Perhaps Asher most of all, a fact over which he was increasingly confused and irritated. He’d finally allowed Rudy to push him out of the theatre when it became clear Yesenia wasn’t returning to the stage.

Outside in the alley, the setting was worthy of a horror film: a chilly, damp, foggy autumn night. The nightclub served food, Asher realized. His nose crinkled in distaste when he inhaled the smell of rotting garbage from a distant Dumpster.

Sure, he’d told Rudy he wouldn’t be roped into anything stupid. But when Yesenia’s electric performance had ended, he’d chosen to forget his protest. He’d agreed to join Rudy at the backstage exit. Maybe Rudy had known all along that the Veiled Siren would make him curious. If so, he’d been right.

Rudy reasoned that since no one could get a photo of Yesenia leaving the theatre by traditional means, then she must exit night after night secretly through the back entrance. And even though part of Asher thought the plan was imbecilic, he’d gone along with it.

Why?

Because by the end of her performance, his desire to see that singer was ridiculously sharp and strong.

Tags: Beth Kery Erotic
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