'You don't get to tell me what I can do here. Access all areas. If I want to come and watch your little exercise cla.s.s, I'll sit right down and watch.'

'It's not a G.o.dd.a.m.n exercise cla.s.s,' she spat back, biting as he'd hoped she would. 'This theatre's going burlesque, full time as of right now. With its own troupe. Nightly shows. Matinees even, if there's a call for it.'

Abel half laughed. 'Put your leg warmers away, green eyes. This isn't the Kids from Fame. This is real life, and in two months this place will be mine.'

'Over my dead body,' she said, her eyes blazing. 'Or preferably, over yours.'

He could tell she meant it with every fibre of her being. 'Why don't you just let it go, Beauty?' he asked, surprising himself more than Genie. He'd intended his words to come out as scathing, not gentle. He saw her jaw work as she swallowed, confusion narrowing her eyes for a second as she slowly shook her head.

'And make it easy for you to rip the heart right out of my home?' she said, and he didn't miss the emotion that thickened her voice. 'Go to h.e.l.l, Kingdom.'

She stalked away from him into the auditorium, leaving him feeling as if she'd somehow claimed victory in that particular battle. Not that it mattered, because dance troupe or no dance troupe, she didn't stand a chance of winning the war.

Genie glanced up at the clock later that afternoon. It was a little before four, a few hours until she was due on stage for her second time as the Genie of the Lamp. Performance days always set her nerves into a pleasurable jangle, a heady antic.i.p.ation that made her pulse quicken and her heart bang. She loved being out there on stage, more brave and powerful and unafraid than she was day to day. Right now, she needed those feelings more than ever, because none of those adjectives seemed to apply to her regular life.

Knowing that her Uncle Davey wasn't just across the hall any more felt as if someone had ripped away her comfort blanket, and knowing that Abel Kingdom was there instead felt as if someone had rigged her safe sanctuary with a grid of trip wires. The man confused the h.e.l.l out of her, and the fact that he was outlandishly beautiful made it far harder not to fall into his traps. How could it be that her head hated him and her body wanted him?

He'd called her Beauty again earlier, and it had sounded even more intimate in the midst of their disagreement. Almost as if he hadn't intended to say it at all. She'd been tempted to call him on it, yet she hadn't, because somewhere deep inside she thrilled to it. Calling him on it might mean he didn't say it again.

Was she so easily seduced? She wouldn't have said so before the arrival of her antipodean neighbour. How the h.e.l.l was she supposed to sleep tonight knowing that he was sleeping under the same roof?

Shaking her head, she headed for her bedroom, shedding her clothes as she went. Ritual formed a big part of performance day, and Genie's particular ritual involved an afternoon rest to steady her mind before showering and heading down to her dressing room to begin preparations. She kept the two parts of her life consciously separate: downstairs she was Genie the showgirl with her stage make-up and rhinestone-encrusted costumes, while upstairs she kept her civvy clothes and private belongings.

She'd decorated her apartment with thrift shop bargains and vintage furniture from flea markets, serene and feminine in a neutral palette of ivories and greys with nude pink and palest lavender accessories. The bleached-out floorboards and tall windows lent the s.p.a.ce the ambience of a New York loft, while the large, ivory and gla.s.s chandelier added a dash of opulent glamour. Genie adored the whole place, from her big bra.s.s bed to the overstuffed couches with their velvet cushions. It was a distinctly female lair, and a direct and purposefully peaceful contrast to the bright feathers and sparkling sequins of her on-stage persona.

Naked, she lay down on the bed, sighing with pleasure as the plump, dull silver silk eiderdown gathered her in. Being positioned at the top of the building made for warmth in the winter, and stifling heat in the summer. Right now it was just about perfect, the late May sunlight shafting in through the high windows and warming Genie's skin and the room around her. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply through her nose. In. And out. In, and out. Concentrating her thoughts on her breathing, she let her limbs go heavy on the bed and relaxed for what felt like the first time since she'd laid eyes on Abel Kingdom on Sunday evening. She was warm, and oh so comfortable, and pleasurably drifting towards sleep.

And that was when the music started. Loud, thumping music coming from across the hall. Her uncle had always been a considerate neighbour; it seemed that Abel wasn't similarly inclined. She snapped her eyes open and sat up. Did he realise she was up here too? Was he goading her? If he was, it was working.

She swung her feet down and grabbed her robe from the hook on the back of the door. As she tied the sash belt, the dove grey silk of her robe - an opulent and much loved birthday gift from her uncle - swished pleasurably around her ankles. Tracking barefoot across the hallway, she rapped her knuckles against the door.

He didn't hear her, probably because his music was so d.a.m.n loud, so she banged again, only harder.

He swung the door wide a couple of seconds later. His eyes swept down her robe to her pink painted toes and then back up to her face as he lounged against the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest.

'Come to invite me to a pyjama party?' His tone was insolently mocking.

How did he have the knack for making her instantly furious? Genie swallowed down the words she'd really have liked to say and tried to arrange her face into a polite smile.

'Could you please turn down your music? I'm trying to sleep in there.' She jerked her head towards her own door.

'Sorry,' he frowned, clearly intent on winding her up. 'I can't hear you. Music's too loud.' She watched him head back into the apartment to turn the volume down, wishing she had something to throw at him and trying not to notice the way his faded jeans sat on his hips or the hard-muscled outline of his shoulders through his tee shirt.

'Is this what you do in the afternoons around here?' he said when he returned a few seconds later.

She arched her eyebrows at him. 'Meaning?'

'You, prancing around in your nightie and harping on about my music. Is this gonna happen every afternoon?'

'I just need a little bit of quiet on performance days. That's all.'

'You're performing tonight?' Genie saw the flare in his eyes that he didn't hide quickly enough.

'Yes.'

'With the lamp?'

What was this? 'Yes. Why? Want a front row seat?'

He pushed a hand through his dark hair and laughed softly at her, and Genie's treacherous gaze flickered to the band of tanned skin exposed beneath the hem of his shirt.

'No thanks. Seen one stripper, you've seen 'em all.'

'I'm not a stripper. And while we're on the subject, I'm not a prost.i.tute either.'

'You justify it to yourself however you like, darlin'. Whatever helps you sleep at night.'

'I'm not justifying myself, to you or anyone else. I'm d.a.m.n proud of what I do,' she retorted furiously.

He nodded. 'Figures. Go get your beauty sleep, then.'

The look on his face told her that she was wasting her breath arguing the point with him any more at that moment. She'd got what she wanted; he'd turned the music down.

'Thank you,' she muttered, her eyes flashing as she turned away. As she pushed her own door open, he spoke again, very quietly.

'You work what your mamma gave you while you still can, Beauty, because one day you'll be old and no one will want to watch you take your clothes off any more. You ever wondered what happens to strippers when they're past their sell by date?'

She turned back angrily, and the look on his face chilled her bones.

'Just what the h.e.l.l is your problem, Abel?'

He shrugged and held his hands wide. 'No problems here.'

'Liar. You hate what I do. Tell me why.'

He shook his head, his face shutting down her enquiry, changing tack smoothly. 'About that pyjama party...' His eyes moved over her body. 'I don't own any.'

That game again. Chicken.

'Good. Me neither,' she said. 'I sleep naked.'

'Think about me while you're lying there, baby,' he murmured silkily with the ghost of a wink.

'I need sleep, not nightmares,' she shot back, then slammed her door before he had a chance to say anything more or notice how her nipples had stiffened beneath the thin silk of her robe.

Abel closed his door and leaned his head back against it. Genie f.u.c.king Divine. The girl was killing him with her bravado and her naked afternoon naps. She hadn't closed her door anywhere near fast enough for him not to see her nipples standing proud against her robe. Were they still stiff now? Had she taken that robe off to lie down naked on her bed again? He'd seen neither her bedroom nor her naked body, but his imagination had no trouble filling in the gaps. White cotton sheets... Red hair flung out over her pillows... Rose pink, puckered nipples just begging to be sucked...

f.u.c.k. He needed a cold shower.

Genie leaned against her closed door, her hand on her throat as her heart hammered. Abel f.u.c.king Kingdom. The man was killing her with his blinkered views and smart mouth. Christ, he had an amazing mouth. Lush, full and s.e.xy. She hated the words that came out of it, yet still she couldn't stop herself from imagining it all over her body. What was he doing over there right this minute? She walked slowly back through her apartment, shedding her robe once more and settling on her bed in the quiet, sun-warmed room.

Closing her eyes, she tried to concentrate on her breathing again, to recapture her earlier peace. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.

The movement of her rib cage lifted her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and her fingers settled lightly over them, testing their soft fullness in her palms with a sigh. Her nipples ached, still stiff for the dark-eyed man across the hall. How would his mouth feel on them? Her fingers tightened on her nipples at the thought, and she arched instinctively into his imaginary hold. Would he cup her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in his big tanned hands while he kissed them? Would he lick her nipples slowly, or suck them hard into the heat of his mouth? Genie couldn't suppress a moan, her hands full of her own flesh, her head full of images of Abel's dark head bent over her. He was shirtless, and she could see his mouth closing over her nipple as he knelt between her thighs on the bed...

Abel stepped under the shower, glad that Davey Divine had expensive tastes in plumbing. The powerful jet of water sluiced over his head, and he turned his face up into the fierce spray as the water soaked down his body. Genie lingered behind his closed eyes, her body still naked against her sheets, her nipples still stiff and waiting for his attention. She'd be soft, and warm, and she'd exude that same clean, irresistible scent that she'd tasted of in the lift the other night. His c.o.c.k stiffened at the memory, and his hand moved involuntarily down the wetness of his torso to wrap around his erection. f.u.c.k, he'd been two minutes away from s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g her.

Was she sleeping now? He imagined her cheeks flushed, her body bared and spread on the bed. Would she hear him if he opened her door now and went to her? Would she wake if he stood beside her bed and watched her sleep? His hand slid along the solid length of his c.o.c.k as he conjured the length of her nude body in his head. The fullness of her t.i.ts, begging to be sucked. The subtle outline of her ribcage, the slopes and curves of her stomach, the feminine swell of her hips. He leaned back against the tiles in the shower enclosure with a low moan. Would her legs be closed, or splayed? Splayed. In Abel's mind at least, they were, one knee bent out on the sheets to let him see between them, inviting him closer...

Genie's hands moved over her body, imagining Abel's doing the same. His mouth, hot and open on her neck. The hard weight of his body over hers. She opened her legs as her hand moved between them, remembering how amazing he'd been in the lift the other night. The way his fingers had opened her, explored her... Her own fingers moved into the slickness, wet for him now as she'd been wet for him then. Jesus, he'd been good. He'd had the measure of her in seconds, fast and filthy one moment, slow and seductive the next. Genie pushed her shoulders back into the mattress as she spread her legs wider and touched herself, her breath coming in short gasps as her fingers worked. He'd used his thumb, flat like this... he'd slid his fingers inside her, like that... Genie lifted her hips into her hand, greedy for the beginnings of her o.r.g.a.s.m as it sizzled in her veins. She needed him now, here, she wanted him naked between her thighs, filling her right there... she crooked her fingers inside her body, groaning, ma.s.saging herself as he had, her other hand working her c.l.i.t... oh G.o.d... Abel... so good, so much... Genie gasped, her forehead damp and her teeth clenched, right on the delicious edge... make me come, Abel... please make me come...

Abel moaned, pumping his hand over his shaft harder at the thought of Genie's splayed legs. f.u.c.k, he wanted to bury his head between them, to lick her inner thighs, to open her folds wide with his fingers until he could see her c.l.i.t begging for him to lower his mouth over it... he could feel the swell of it against his tongue, feel her fingers gripping his hair when he licked her. Christ, he was so hard it was painful. He rubbed himself faster, the water drumming his face as he tipped his head back to rest against the tiles. He could almost hear her moaning his name, feel her like hot silk in his hands as he pushed her knees wider apart, the friction, the delicious tightness of f.u.c.king into her body as she bucked under him. A ragged gasp. Genie. Her nails raking down his back. f.u.c.k... f.u.c.k... oh f.u.c.king h.e.l.l yes. Abel's knees almost buckled as his hips jerked, the sensation too fierce to hold it back any more. His o.r.g.a.s.m slammed him back against the wall as he came in hot, hard bursts over the clenched muscles of his stomach, one arm flung over his eyes, his bottom lip caught between his teeth so tightly it hurt.

Genie clamped her thighs around her hands, gasping to breathe through the pleasurable intensity of the second best o.r.g.a.s.m of her life. Christ, she was shaking. Afterwards, as her heart banged in her chest, she pulled the softness of her eiderdown over her body and closed her eyes, not even trying to make sense of what was happening to her when it came to the off-the-scale hot Australian across the hallway.

Abel washed his body clean as the l.u.s.t ebbed, cursing Genie for making him want her, and cursing himself for thinking that coming back to England had ever been a good idea.

Chapter Eight.

Trying to concentrate on work with a full scale theatre production going on two floors below proved too much of a challenge for Abel a few hours later. Davey Divine was on stage down there, warming up the crowd for Genie, their laughter almost shaking the rafters that Abel's apartment rested amongst. He rooted through Divine's cupboards, on the hunt for headphones to attempt to drown out the noise, and returned to the table with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a tumbler to drown his sorrows instead. At least the man had decent taste in liquor, Abel reflected sourly as he poured a drinker's measure into the bottom of the gla.s.s.

He closed his laptop. The noise levels made work nigh on impossible, and the knowledge that Genie was due on stage soon had him restless. There were a million and one careers she could have chosen to pursue. Why did she have to choose this one? Why would any woman choose to take her clothes off for money when she had other options? He knocked back half of the whisky, closing his eyes as the hit of heat and spice warmed his throat.

What kind of guys did she think sat out there watching her? Decent men? Potential dates? Because Abel knew better. He knew better, because he'd grown up around this scene, or else a grubbier, less glittery version of it. A child in a very grown up world, he'd seen things no child should ever have to see and he'd heard things no child should ever have to hear. Genie was wrong to defend the world she chose to live in. It attracted low lifes and no-hopers, and her inability to see that told him all he needed to know about her.

The slide of trumpets ratcheted up and thunderous applause told Abel that showtime had arrived for the star turn downstairs. He slugged back the rest of the whisky and refilled his gla.s.s, cradling it in his hands as the sultry music drifted around his ears. Closing his eyes, he could almost see her down there now, her body appearing out of that glittering lamp for them all to feast their eyes on.

Sc.r.a.ping his chair back, he paced the floor. He should leave, get out of the building until the show was over. He made for the door, not even registering that the whisky was still in his hands until he reached the bottom of the stairs and opened the door that led directly into the side of the stalls. There was no need for him even to look at the stage. He could make his way around the back of the auditorium and out into the street to suck down clean night air. It was what he told himself, even though he wasn't ever destined to get further than the doorway at the bottom of the stairs. It was a perfect vantage point from which to view the stage, and he was a lost cause as soon as he set eyes on Genie up there on the stage.

Leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, he folded his arms over his chest and rested his head on the wood with a sigh that sat somewhere between frustration and longing. She was utterly f.u.c.king stunning. Still in the early stages of her act, peeling off her long gloves, throwing glances over her shoulder at the crowd, the sweet curves of her a.s.s turning on every man in the place.

This wasn't the s.p.u.n.ky girl he'd argued with earlier. This wasn't the sensual woman he'd fantasised about in the shower, either. This was Genie the consummate showgirl, a woman of the world with a killer body and no morals.

Which was real? How could the same woman have so many faces? And how could they all be beautiful in their own way? She beguiled him even though he didn't want her to, she made him want to be the guy who screwed her when she came off that stage tonight. Her fingers moved to unlace her corset and he wanted to do it for her, to strip her for his private pleasure rather than see her offer herself to this paying, excited crowd. His eyes moved over the shadowed faces watching her, all of them willing her to take everything off for their t.i.tillation. Men. Women. Turned on, every last one of them.

What thoughts ran through their minds? Were these well dressed women wishing they looked even half as good as Genie, or were they imagining themselves up there as the centre of attention? Were they jealous that their husbands wanted her? Or maybe they wanted her too, were looking at Genie's beautiful curves and wondering how she'd feel in in their hands. It was easier to guess at the thoughts filling the heads of the men sitting in the audience. Right about now they'd be willing Genie to turn around and show them her t.i.ts, waiting for her to go further, to look their way as she slipped her panties off. They'd be shifting in their seats to accommodate their hardening c.o.c.ks, imagining themselves f.u.c.king Genie over that lamp. He knew because he'd had those same thoughts when he'd watched her show - he didn't delude himself that they were original. And now, despite the fact that he hated it with every inch of his being, he was having them all over again.

Genie peeled her corset off, and he held his breath until she turned around and let him see her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Knowing that he'd made this woman come filled him with fierce pride; he wanted to tell every other man in the place. To make them burn with jealousy.

f.u.c.k. What was she doing to him? He threw the whisky down the back of his throat, hating himself for being no better than the paying audience, for being as bad as the men who'd watched his mother strip all those years ago with those same feral instincts driving their actions.

Would these people go home tonight and think of Genie as they f.u.c.ked their wives? Or would they hang around, hoping to catch a glimpse of her at the stage door? Did they harbour dark, l.u.s.tful ideas of dragging her down some filthy alley and shoving notes down her bra as they forced themselves on her?

Looking back at Genie, he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, too hot even though he wore only a tee shirt. The girl had incredible t.i.ts. He'd been so close to seeing them the other night, to glimpsing her nipples, and he'd stopped her. How had he found the strength to do that? Right at that moment he had no clue, because the only thought in his head was how much he wanted her to take off those ta.s.sels and let him see her no doubt pink and perfect buds. Every last inch of her creamy skin glittered as she lay back over the lamp, and he wanted to go up there and lay his body over hers, hide her from everyone else's eyes and feel her curves pliant beneath him.

Her act was drawing to a close now. She sat upright on top of the lamp, and, as she reached for those itty-bitty ta.s.sels right before the lights went down, she turned his way and looked him straight in the eye.

f.u.c.k. Had she known he was there all along? He backed up, breathless, closing the door and standing in the shaded stairwell as she took her bows to rapturous applause and cheering.

Minutes pa.s.sed, and beyond the door he could hear the sounds of the evening winding down. The dwindling chatter of the crowd, the laughter of a woman, the rustle of coats. He heard it all as he stood, and after a while he made his way along the corridor, past the staircase, and out of the stage door at the rear of the building.

The dark skies overhead held no stars when he leaned back against the rough bricks and looked up. Or perhaps it was that the lights of the city obscured them from his view. He longed suddenly for home, for the fresh air and wide, star-studded Australian skies. This place wasn't for him, these people were not for him. He'd come here hoping for resolution, and instead he'd found himself conflicted, a night watchman for a woman he didn't understand.

He'd never been much of a smoker, yet in that moment, with one foot braced against the wall, he really wished he had a cigarette.

In her dressing room, Genie wrapped a slippery green silk robe around her body and sat still, drinking in the silence, thinking of Abel watching her tonight. He was so G.o.dd.a.m.n contrary; h.e.l.l-bent on hating strippers, yet the look on his face had told her how much he'd enjoyed the show. Who was he trying to kid? Himself, or her? And why did it even matter to him so much? Jesus, it was theatre, a show designed to please and to tease, nothing more and nothing less. s.e.xy, harmless fun.

His overreaction to the performance made her crazy, his determination to make it - and her into something seedy charged her with anger. He was filling her head once again for all the wrong reasons. She needed to centre her thoughts on saving the theatre from him, not on proving herself to him as a woman.

Tiredness stole over her bones. She needed her cosy pyjamas and her bed, and unusually, she decided to head upstairs and award herself the luxury of bathing in her apartment bathroom rather than down in the shower cubicle of her dressing room. The big old theatre felt a lonely place tonight. Maybe it was the fact that her uncle wasn't around any more, but she found that she wanted the comfort of closing her own front door more than she wanted to avoid getting glitter in her bathtub.

Tying the belt of her robe, she let herself out of the dressing room and made her way upstairs, without a thought for the keys she'd left downstairs in her bag until she was on the top floor and found herself unable to open her door.

c.r.a.p. She didn't want to go all the way back down again. She leaned her backside on the table that stood beneath the landing skylight, taking care not to knock over the lamp set there to cast a warm creamy glow over their living s.p.a.ce.

She glanced towards Abel's door, her mind spinning. There was a spare key to her door on Abel's key ring, not that he knew it. She had a key to his door on her set too, not that he knew that either. She and her uncle had kept a spare for each other so they could come and go as they pleased, flopping on each other's sofas for a cuppa and a gossip. She hadn't given a thought to the fact that Abel had her door key until now, and now that she had, she wanted it back.

Should she knock on his door then? She wasn't worried about waking him. He'd looked far from ready to sleep when she'd seen him a little while back. As she stood there and deliberated, the sound of his footsteps jogging up the creaky stairs took the decision from her hands.

He appeared on the landing a few seconds later, his dark eyes flickering down the length of her legs exposed by the robe. The lamplight turned his skin burnished gold and deepened his thick, dark hair to almost black.

'If you're hanging around to tout for business, I'm not interested.'

The b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Genie went from tired to red-hot furious in a heartbeat.

'f.u.c.k off, Abel. I've just about had it with your smart wise cracks. I don't judge you, and you have no right to judge me either.'

He shrugged insolently. 'Just tellin' it like it is, darlin.'

She hated him. Hated him calling her darlin' in that derisory way. Wanted him to call her Beauty in that s.e.xy way again. Hated him for making her want to hear him say it again.

'You don't fool me for a second, Abel Kingdom. You enjoyed the show tonight.'

He turned away from her towards his door, his laugh harsh. 'In your dreams, baby.'

'In yours, more like,' she said, trying not to think about the fact that he had been the star of her bedroom fantasies that very afternoon. 'I saw the look on your face tonight. You were no different to anyone else out there watching the show.'

He stilled, the muscles of his back working beneath his tee shirt. 'You're wrong,' he said levelly.

'And you're lying,' she countered even more quietly. He turned around. 'Why, Abel? Why won't you admit that you enjoyed it?'

He stepped towards her into the amber pool of light thrown by the lamp, towering over her as she stood in her bare feet. Up close, he was a broad-chested, menacing man, yet she knew with certainty that she didn't need to fear him physically. He stared down at her, and she watched his eyes as he decided what to say next. She saw him swallow, watched raw emotion flash across his face, and the nerve that jumped in his cheek as he clenched his teeth. He was a man battling with himself, and she wanted to know what drove him.