forward, not to mention talkative. Everybody’s going to know about what happened between us.”
“Oh, honey, we’re creating a West End show. There’s going to be far more gossip flying around than your little fling with Blake Winters. Don’t worry about it. They’ll all be talking about something else come lunch time.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I said, my thoughts a jumble.
A moment later there was a knock on the door before Damon poked his head in. “Rose. Can we talk?”
Iggy shot me an arch look, which I ignored as I stood and went to Damon. “Sure, what’s wrong?” Stepping out into the corridor, I closed the door to allow us some privacy.
Damon looked frustrated. “I didn’t offer to go to her place. I got roped into it.”
I placed a hand on his arm to reassure him. “Hey, you don’t need to explain yourself.”
His gaze fixed on the hand that was touching him, and he let out a gruff breath. “But I want to.”
Now his eyes rose to meet mine meaningfully, and I swallowed at the intensity in them. It felt strange, this thing between us, because ninety-five percent of it was completely unspoken. It was just a feeling, one that drew me to him like a moth to a flame. It made me notice the little things, like how his pupils dilated when he watched me dance last night, or how his breathing deepened when he touched me, how the only times I’d ever seen him smile were at me.
“You’re allowed to have friends, Damon. You said yourself that Alicia’s a nice person. If you like her, you should get to know her.” Every word was like swallowing glass, but this needed to be said. I didn’t own him.
“I don’t like her. I like you,” he said, and I grew antsy.
“Let’s not talk about this.”
“Why not?”
“Because I told you, I’m terrible at relationships. You’ll be running for the hills in the space of a week.” I stared at the floor as I spoke. Damon’s fingers slid against my skin as he cupped my neck.
I glanced up. His gaze was hooded and sexy. “Let me be the judge of that.”
I swallowed deeply, my voice failing me. A strange expression passed over his features, like he was struggling over what to say. “You,” he paused, frowned, then tried again. “You captivate me.”
My heart stuttered. The clear, undeniable honesty in his words had me trembling.
“You’re being crazy,” I managed.
“Do I captivate you?” he asked, a vulnerability in his eyes like he honestly had no clue how I felt for him. His fingertips dug into my flesh, while a light sweat broke out all over my body. A few people stood chatting at the other end of the corridor and I grew self-conscious, wondering if they were listening to us. I stared at Damon, but I must have hesitated for too long because he looked disappointed. He stepped away, eyes on the floor.
“I should go,” he said, and walked away.
My gut sank, all my energy gone as I slumped back against the wall. A minute later I dragged myself to the bathroom, splashing some water on my face and willing my heart to calm down as Damon’s voice echoed in my head.
You captivate me.
Do I captivate you?
When I came back out, Jacob and Iggy had gathered everyone in the main practice room, though most of the actors were sitting on the floor to watch Damon and Alicia rehearse a scene.
“In this part, Satine still believes that Christian is the Duke. Think of it as a comedy of errors. She thinks he’s come to her chamber for sex, while Christian is under the impression she knows he’s a writer and they’re going to discuss the play he’s composing for her to star in.”
I listened to Jacob go on with further instructions as I took a seat on the floor with the others, still a little disoriented. Iggy showed Damon and Alicia how they were to move. It wasn’t a dance routine as such, but there was a point at which he would take her hand and twirl her in a romantic fashion.
“Now” — Jacob butted in again — “when you burst into song, I want it to really pack a punch. I want even the people sitting in the Gods to have goose pimples, so don’t hold back.”
The scene began, and I watched as Satine pulled Christian into her (imaginary for now) boudoir. The dialogue played out, with Satine pretending to be overly aroused by Christian’s poetry.