Mercy Read Online Free PDF Page B

answer. I couldn’t. I finally shrugged and said, “I don’t know.”
    “I’m not big on make-believe,” he said, looking out over the crowd.
    “But dance is make-believe, isn’t it?” I waved my arm around at the pomp and glitter that surrounded us. “And you’re here, dressed up in your tuxedo and bow tie.”
    “Well, sometimes you just play along, don’t you?” And by you , I guessed he meant people in general, but I felt it directed at me. You just play along, Lucy, don’t you?
    The champagne was making me warm. I rubbed my cheeks.
    “Are you tired?” he asked me in a strangely mesmerizing voice. It sounded like an inappropriately intimate thing to say, because what it really sounded like to me was that he thought I should go to bed. His bed.
    “I’m just getting a little drunk. It doesn’t take much.”
    “I guess not,” he said, running his eyes up and down my body. “Someone as little as you.”
    “I’m not little.”
    “You’re smaller than me.” It was true, I was quite a bit smaller than him—the strong, tall, animal man beside me in his expensive shoes and bespoke designer tux.
    “I may be small, but I’m strong.”
    “Yes. Strong, I believe. Perhaps even stronger than me.”
    I looked at his broad shoulders, his solid thighs. Even his hands were strong. Stronger than him? Not likely. He moved a little closer to me. He was so virile, so sexy. It had to be the alcohol that made me feel like throwing myself at him. Why had I drunk so much?
    “Well, you’re little and strong, and you’re a hell of a dancer,” he said, as if that settled things. I watched him sip champagne, perfect and rich, and I knew he thought for sure he would have me.
    “Yes, I do dance,” I said, shaking my head to clear it. “But I do a lot more than that. I’m a lot more than just a dancer and I can do a lot more than pretty pony tricks.”
    He looked at me, his eyes narrowed. I quickly looked away. Why had I said that? “I think I’m drunk, Mr. Norris.”
    “Matthew.”
    “Matthew, I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”
    “Why don’t you let me drive you home?”
    “No,” I said too quickly, then blushed red and hot again. “No, um...we’re supposed to stay until the end.”
    “That’s a shame. If you’re tired.” He spoke to me sympathetically although I’m sure he knew I lied. Maybe that’s why he looked at me sympathetically. Poor girl. Poor little cowardly liar.
    “Well, I won’t exhaust you with more conversation.” His tone was changed, distant and cool. He looked at me with muted reprobation.
    “I’m sorry,” I blurted miserably. “I really, really am.”
    “For what?”
    “For being so rude, when you’re just being nice to me. I don’t know why I do it. I really don’t.”
    “Oh, it’s probably just a matter of being tired, and maybe a little nervous and scared.”
    “Nervous and scared about what?”
    “Nervous and scared about me, I suppose, and what I might want from you. Yes?”
    “I’m not nervous and scared,” I protested without much conviction, because he was scaring me to death. His gaze pinned me and again I squelched the urge to flee. “I have nothing to give you, honestly. So, I don’t know. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
    “Don’t you?”
    “No, I don’t, Mr. Norris.”
    “Matthew,” he said again. He looked at me, cool and thoughtful. “Okay, Lucy. Okay.”
    He rubbed his lips, the first nervous gesture I’d ever seen him do. “Okay, Lucy,” he repeated again, and then he turned and walked away. I fought the urge to follow him, to run after him apologizing. Again, I’d repelled him. Why? Why was I such a mess around him?
    Why did he make me so afraid?
    As soon as I thought he wouldn’t see me, I ran all the way back to my dressing room and slammed the door. I sat at the table where Grégoire had lounged earlier and put my head down in my arms. I couldn’t face Grégoire or Mr. Norris or any of them. I couldn’t face