chapter 22

Izzy and Lillianwalked back to the Lynnwood in silence. Izzy could still feel the place where Lillian had stroked her hand, the touch both soothing and erotic. Without discussion, they passed by the main entrance to the apartment complex. In the back of the building was a small alcove sheltered beneath a brick arch, pots of wisteria climbing trellises on either side. In the alcove Lillian and Izzy were invisible to the street. The doors to the apartment were made of opaque, rippled glass. Lillian stood a few paces away, her white blazer shining in the dim light, her face in shadows.

“So,” Izzy said.

“So.”

“You said you didn’t want to do this.” Izzy forced herself not to fiddle with the key chain in her pocket.

Izzy didn’t have to say what this was.

“I have to stay focused.” Lillian leaned against the wall—a dangerous proposition for a white blazer—and let out a groan. “We have to rehearse the Zipper. We’re getting costumed for some bridal challenge we don’t even have a brief on yet.” Nothing in her posture or her voice was a rejection.

Their desire filled the alcove. It winked in the darkness like a thousand shooting stars. Izzy’s body felt alive like it did right before she stepped out onstage and languid as though she’d just stepped out of a bath.

“Sarah says you’d be bad for me.” Izzy hesitated. “It’s not personal. You know, childhood issues.”

Right now, she didn’t have issues with anything except not kissing Lillian against the wall of the alcove. (You could wash a white blazer.)

“I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

The sincerity in Lillian’s voice changed the electric tension in the air, making it softer, a deeper frequency. Lillian took a step toward her. She was taller than Izzy. Izzy hadn’t noticed before.

“And I have to think about my dancers.” Lillian’s voice held the same affection. “I have to win. I have to best you.”

The way she said best you sounded like a promise that had nothing to do with the show.

“So do I.” Need pulsed between Izzy’s legs, and affection pulsed in her heart.

“We shouldn’t.”

The last part of Izzy’s brain not flooded with endorphins reminded her that, actually, they really shouldn’t.

“So what are we going to do?” Lillian asked.

“Well.” Izzy touched Lillian’s hip. “What I want is to take you right here. But I think”—she ran her hand down Lillian’s leg— “what we’re going to do is resist each other until the show ends. The sexual tension will get so hot we can’t bear it. Then we’ll both get to the finale. Velveteen Crush against Reed-Whitmer. Of course, one of us will lose, which is terrible. But we almost won’t notice because we’ll fall on each other. We’ll be so desperate. I will do everything you have ever wanted.”

“I will ruin you for all others.”

“We won’t have to worry about scones in the morning because in the morning we’ll still be making—” No, not making love. “Having the best not-anonymous sex we’ve ever had.”

“I’ll ravage you.” Lillian touched Izzy’s cheek, then glided her fingertips over Izzy’s ear.

Izzy almost crumpled at the touch.

“I will destroy you with pleasure,” Izzy breathed.

“Our second-night stand.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Waiting will make it even better.” Izzy knew. This was what burlesque was all about: The tease. Anticipation. Promise. Hope.

“And then what will happen?” Lillian asked.

Izzy closed her eyes, longing for Lillian’s kiss. Sarah was wrong. Being with Lillian wouldn’t bring up childhood issues. Lillian would dispel them. How could Izzy care that Megan hadn’t come to her school play when Izzy had touched Lillian Jackson and lost her? To be that close to a star and then watch her disappear into the darkness, Izzy would never recover.

“Then,” Izzy whispered, “you’ll leave.”

Lillian ghosted her lips over Izzy’s. Izzy considered fainting.

“How foolish,” Lillian said as she turned toward the door to let herself into the Lynnwood, once again leaving Izzy trembling in the wake of her kiss.