helped by the fact that she’d had to wear her brother’s secondhand clothes and had sported the same short hairstyle her father gave all his offspring. But it hadn’t given anyone the right to call her names, to question her femininity, or demand proof that it existed.
She hated them for the pain they’d caused her—hated the school for not putting an end to the bullying before it had got that far. Most of all she hated herself for letting it happen. A stronger person would have fought them off before they’d exposed and humiliated her. A more attractive girl wouldn’t have had to. In the end she’d let herself down, and she was still fighting to make amends.
‘Now, ladies, we’ve already assigned your stage names for this evening, and we need to bring your alter egos to life. Help yourself to props.’
Angelique clapped her hands to assemble everyone at the front of the stage. The group dived in, and amongst a chorus of whoops and excited chatter they emerged sporting a selection of wigs, top hats and satin gloves.
Lola shuddered. Playing dress-up really wasn’t for her.
‘I have the perfect accessory for you, Luscious Lola.’ Jules approached, sequinned nipple tassels stuck on the outside of her top, and proceeded to hook a shocking pink feather boa around Lola’s neck.
‘Why, thank you, Juicy Jules.’ Lola addressed her friend by her burlesque name, too, and tickled her nose with the end of the fetching neckwear.
As much as she’d prefer to throw on an overcoat and hide from view, she couldn’t flat-out refuse to participate and let her friend down. However, the first sign that she was expected to start stripping and she was out of there. It was one thing pratting around with props, but a whole different trauma if it involved taking her clothes off.
Next time Jules suggested a night out Lola would opt for somewhere dark and quiet—like the cinema.
Angelique glided around the dance floor to round up her protégées like glamorous sheep. ‘I will show you some basics to get started. First we have the milkshake.’
She shimmied her ample cleavage and encouraged them to do the same.
‘I don’t have much to shake,’ Lola grumbled looking down at her chest. This was so not helping her overcome her body issues. Although she didn’t look like a flat-chested ten-year-old boy any more, she definitely couldn’t pull off that move.
‘Flaunt what God gave you.’ Angelique lifted Lola’s arms and shook it for her.
Lola smiled painfully on the outside even as her innards shrivelled up and died of shame. This was her worst nightmare come true. Quite possibly even beating the one about turning up to work naked. At least in that one no one expected her to pay for being publicly disgraced. She closed her eyes and prayed for it to stop.
‘Good.’ The Frenchwoman let her go with a wink. ‘Now, we need to get that booty popping, too. Jiggle that derrière!’
Lola swore revenge on Jules for making her twerk outside the sanctity of her own home. She gritted her teeth and pretended that shaking her ass was a way she liked to pass the time, in case the tactile tutor felt the need to touch her again.
The only thing that stopped her from walking out was the fact that this was an all-female ensemble and not in the least sexually threatening. These women were here for a laugh, and at some point she might actually see the humour, too. Probably when she was at home, safely hidden from grabby French hands.
Interspersed between the tapping of stilettos as the group practised their steps, the scrape of chairs sounded across the wooden floor to put Lola’s teeth even more on edge.
‘Now take a seat,’ Angelique invited them, and tutted when they did. ‘Not like that. Like this.’
She slid a chair through her legs, seat first, in one fluid movement, and sat astride it.
‘With our backsides flush against the back of the chair, we want to pop our legs over the top and lie back, grabbing on to the chair legs. It’s all about balance.’
Lola knew she should have worn trousers.
Angelique demonstrated a variety of provocative grinding moves until she had her followers riding the furniture like dirty cowgirls. Once Lola’s initial discomfort had passed, and she saw that the others were too preoccupied to watch what she was doing, she started to relax into it. This was supposed to be fun—a way to free herself from the tensions of the day, not add to them.
She emptied her mind from all negative thoughts and concentrated on being a good student. After all, this was only a chair, and she was fully dressed. If she stood any chance of moving on from the past she had to stop sweating the small stuff.
Surprisingly, once she let go she found herself enjoying the predatory nature of chair-dancing and the aggressive power it gave her—over the object, over her body. For once she had nothing to prove to anyone, and without the pressure she revelled in her sensuality.
In total abandon, she threw her head back and gave herself over to it—only to lock on to a familiar pair of male chocolate-caramel eyes staring down at her.
‘Well, hello, down there…’ The masculine French accent mocked her.
From her upside down view it seemed a long way up to find the voice. A pair of muscular jean-clad thighs filled her direct line of sight, but as she glanced up along the slim-fitting blue checked shirt emphasising a solid torso, she met the last face on earth she’d wanted to see smirking back at her.
‘Dr Benoit.’ Surprise at seeing the head of her department coupled with her awkward position in the chair turned Lola’s voice into a husky rasp. Clearly there was a two-for-one deal on nightmares coming true that she hadn’t been aware of.
‘Dr Roberts.’ He gave a slight nod of his head, that lopsided grin never leaving him.
Shame flushed through Lola’s system, bringing tension to every muscle as she withdrew into herself. With as much dignity as was available to her in the circumstances, she unhooked her legs and swivelled around to sit in a more civilised pose.
Without the cover of her fellow juniors she had an unimpeded view of her uninvited guest’s handsome looks. There was no denying that the strong smooth jaw and the slightly too-long black hair curling around his ears, along with that accent, gave him all the ingredients for the ultimate heartthrob. But not for her. In her experience good looks tended to hide cruel hearts, and thus far he’d proved no exception.
This little performance simply provided him with more ammo against her. As if it was needed.
‘So this is how you spend your time off?’ he asked.
Lola got the impression that he thought she would be better employed brushing up on her medical know-how.
The injustice of being caught out on her one night of respite and the sticky heat of embarrassment at her compromising situation crept along her body and made her snap. ‘It is no one’s business but mine what I do outside hospital hours. So if you’ll excuse me…?’
She thought her heart would pound out of her chest as she retaliated. Normally she wouldn’t dream of speaking to her superior in such a fashion, but she felt trapped, vulnerable beneath his stare, and she’d learned to
