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Dancing Fools
—
Her attempt to reach her brother fruitless, Yasmin decided to slip out and sleuth. The way owners ran their residences could reveal character. Her take on Dimitriou was only just forming. Sadly, she mis-timed her exit. Before she got five paces down the hall, a clutch of female staff appeared to help her and Safiye get ready for the evening.
This sort of fussing had always bored her. Yasmin could polish herself with spells in a tenth of the time being pampered by servants took. Then again, it might be best not to trumpet her magic skill. She’d learned in the harem that being underestimated earned more freedom.
Safiye enjoyed the primping as much as ever . . . and turned out breathtaking. Dimitriou sent a fabulous gown: a ‘modest token’ he hoped she’d honor him by wearing. The cloth was silver on glittering silver and skimmed her elegant figure alluringly. A matching diamond tiara gleamed like stars snatched down from the sky. The effect was a bit too much, actually. The blinding sparkle obscured the former concubine’s own beauty.
Sensing this perhaps, she turned from the gilt-framed mirror to face Yasmin. “What do you think?”
“I think everyone will gasp when you walk in the room.”
Her client seemed to hear the subtext under the compliment. She pursed her lips unsurely. “I don’t own a veil nice enough to pair with this.”
“No one’s veiling tonight,” one of the maids piped up. “It’s a private dinner. Close friends and their close friends. Lord Dimitriou wants everyone relaxed.”
“I look as if I’m trying to impersonate a queen.”
“You’re as beautiful as a queen,” another maid averred.
“That truth cannot be disputed,” Yasmin said honestly.
Safiye sighed at her reflection. “I suppose Stefan wouldn’t send a dress that would embarrass me.”
“Never!” the first maid declared. “My lady will shine appropriately.”
“Don’t worry,” Yasmin said. “No matter what Lord Dimitriou intends, if anyone can carry off that rig, it’s you.”
The first maid shot her a scalding look for doubting her master’s motives. Catching it, Safiye shook her head humorously. “Really, Yasmin, you are too droll sometimes!”
~
Droll or not, the prospect of joining the other guests gave rise to anxiety. Because it was the only outfit close to Safiye’s in splendor, Yasmin chose the gold-embroidered deep pink tunic and narrow pants her mother had slipped into her trunk. Though the color was less juvenile than she’d feared, the tourmaline-studded garb fit her curves closely. When she’d been confined to the harem, dressing seductively wasn’t simply permitted but required. Tonight, half her bosom was on display for males she didn’t know. Leaving her hair down would have provided coverage, but that felt immodest too. A veil, regrettably, was impossible. She’d stand out like a sore thumb instead of blending in.
Despite the modern attitudes she took pride in, her longing to hike her neckline higher was almost irresistible.
Safiye had long since departed by the time the maids finished dressing her. Forced to proceed on her own fashionably late, Yasmin followed the clink of crystal to the salon. The soiree was already underway. The bursts of laughter that rang out coiled her nerves tight enough to snap.
What did she know of parties? She hadn’t been to one with strangers—much less strange males—since she was a teenager.
Be a detective, she ordered, hanging back at the entry to collect herself. Look around. Who are these ‘close friends and their friends’ the maid spoke of?
Privileged djinn was her initial impression, well dressed and casually confident of their preeminence. The dozen or so couples split into two factions in the richly appointed room. The first she judged to be long-time friends of Dimitriou. They were his age and flamboyant in clothes and manner. They tossed back multi-colored cocktails and stood conversing in animated knots. Though it was difficult to be sure, she thought the females were wives. The second group was older and quieter. Dressed more conservatively, they’d established their social base in one of room’s corners. Mostly seated, the men sipped strong spirits from heavy cut-glass tumblers. The djinniya who accompanied them either stood behind their chairs or perched on the arms. These females struck Yasmin as more like mistresses. They didn’t look less expensive than the wives, simply less certain of their place at the gathering. Whatever the relationship, the men who’d brought them paid more attention to each other.
They were the type who thought of women as interchangeable.
At the moment, Stefan was with the younger group, leaning attentively toward a raven-curled djinniya in a bright yellow gown. Her breasts were practically popping out of her décolleté. When Stefan laughed at something she’d said, she playfully poked his bicep with two fingers. Far from minding the personal touch, his eyes glowed admiringly.
It wouldn’t be a stretch to call the interchange flirtatious.
Safiye certainly thought it was. She’d glanced over from another chattering cluster and caught the tail end of it. Her face tightened briefly in annoyance before she turned away.
If Stefan hadn’t looked at her just then, he’d have missed the expression.
He responded by patting the woman’s arm and going to Safiye. Hugging her waist familiarly from behind, he nuzzled her neck and murmured in her ear. The communication must have been bawdy. Safiye rolled her eyes even as her cheeks pinkened. Dimitriou seemed so smugly pleased with himself Yasmin had to think he’d meant to cause jealousy.
Maybe he wanted his prospective fiancée off balance. If Safiye weren’t sure of him—or herself—she might be more malleable. Undermining a woman’s confidence was more difficult to establish than magical interference, and could work as effectively. That was plain-old psychology.
Yasmin gnawed her lip. Was this what Dimitriou was doing?
Her thoughts were interrupted before she reached a conclusion. Like a stink someone had spelled to stick, Eamon Pappus showed up in front of her.
“There you are, you gorgeous creature,” he said convivially. Taken by surprise, Yasmin accepted the watermelon-colored cocktail he was holding out to her. “I’d begun to fear I’d be partnerless tonight.”
“Partnerless?” she repeated, her stomach sinking at the thought of being paired with him.
“Well, except for Joe,” Eamon laughed. “And he’s not my type.”
Why was Eamon’s brow so shiny? Yasmin didn’t think the man was sweating. But maybe the highness of his forehead overstretched its skin?
“Hello,” Eamon teased, giving her brow a tap. “Anyone home in there?”
“Sorry,” she responded, shrinking back automatically. “I wasn’t aware partnering up was required.”
One of the females she’d pegged as a mistress came up behind Eamon. Unaffected by repulsion, she hung one hand on his sloping shoulder. Her pout was probably intended as beguiling. “We’re playing Pick the Dance. You know, where you draw a card from a covered dish and have to perform the style it says.”
“I thought party games were for kids.”
“It’s fun,” the woman insisted. “Stefan put up the prize. The winner gets a stupendous emerald ring.”
Yasmin had a crazy urge to claim she had an emerald allergy.
“You have to play,” Eamon said. “Only spoilsports sit out.”
Their debate was drawing attention, other guests beginning to drift over. When she spotted Joseph among them, her heart did a little flip. Where had he been hiding? She hadn’t noticed him before. He looked perfect in a scarlet and gold tunic, trim and straight and absolutely everything she thought a man should be. Almost everything anyway. His lips were grimly pressed together, his manner reluctant. That he didn’t intend to save her from her dilemma was obvious. This being so, what she blurted next was doubly ridiculous.
“I can’t dance with you. Joseph and I have an understanding.”
“You do not,” Eamon said as Joseph’s jaw fell open.
“We do,” she insisted, perversely digging herself deeper. “It’s a private understanding. Nobody’s heard of it because we kept it to ourselves.”
“You’re lying.” Infuriated, Eamon spun to Joseph for support. “Tell this chit she’s delusional.”
Joseph managed to shut his mouth. “Miss Baykal . . . is correct. Yasmin and I hid our mutual regard so as not to enrage Iksander. The sultan has been known to act possessively.”
“Iksander threw her off!”
Joseph brushed an invisible speck from his tunic front. “Aren’t children sometimes reluctant to let others play with their discarded toys?”
Well, that insulted her and Iksander.
“You’re both lying!” Eamon declared.
“We’re not,” Yasmin said since she had backup now. “We didn’t want the sultan to assume we’d been . . . associating while I belonged to him.”
Eamon’s face darkened dangerously. “You’re telling me you’d rather pair up with a man who can’t even pleasure you.”
His comment was a step too far, even for this worldly crowd. Most definitely, it was a step too far for her. She didn’t care if Eamon thought Joseph was a eunuch. He deserved to be respected.
“Haven’t you heard?” she said, smiling straight at him. “Some djinn do more with less.”
It took a moment for their audience to grasp her insinuation. Once they did, they laughed—at Eamon’s expense this time. Naturally, his pride couldn’t tolerate the sting.
“Oh, I bet you two associated while you were in the harem. Ball-less men can sneak in there no problem.”
No doubt he’d have spat more insults if their host hadn’t come over.
“That’s enough,” Stefan cautioned, his hand supplanting the djinniya’s on Eamon’s shoulder. The emerald flashing on his pinkie was likely tonight’s favor. “I realize Miss Baykal is a prize worth competing over, but you’re insulting your own guest now. Or have you forgotten Joseph honors us with his presence because of you?”
Embarrassment washed into Eamon’s face, diluting though not erasing his anger. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have said those things. Thank you for recalling me to myself.” Stiffly, he bowed to Joseph and her in turn. “I hope neither of you allows my poor manners to spoil your evening.”
He managed the apology with more grace than she expected. Also surprising, Joseph stepped to her side and slid an arm around her waist. Despite knowing the gesture was pretend, her nerves began fluttering.
“You’ve done me a favor,” he said to Eamon. “If you hadn’t tried to claim Yasmin as your partner, she wouldn’t have confessed our relationship. Now, in this gathering, we may at last show our affections.”
“Wonderful.” Stefan clapped him and Eamon on the shoulder. “All is well. And of course, you can count on us not to share your secret outside these walls.”
Yasmin spotted some of his guests exchanging glances. They weren’t promising anything. It occurred to her, belatedly, that her self-serving stroke of genius might get Joseph into trouble.
Iksander wouldn’t really be enraged at the thought of them pairing up, would he? He’d matured since banishing his original wife for seeming to cheat on him.
She bit her lip, but had little time for regret.
“Make them dance first!” suggested the mistress who’d spoken in support of the parlor game. “They look so cute in their pink and red outfits.”
Were they cute? Joseph couldn’t hide a grimace when she stole a glance at him. The gold embroidery on their tunics was rather similar.
Stefan smiled at the excited djinniya. “Tara, why don’t you get the bowl with the dances? I think the servants left it on the table beside the door.”
Tara scampered off and returned with a silver dish. Grinning, she tipped one side of the cover up. “Close your eyes and stick your hand in. No peeking, now—and no magical manipulation. The dance you pick is the dance you do.”
With another grimace, Joseph allowed Yasmin the honors. She set down her drink and pulled out a folded card.
TIGER TANGO, it said inside.
Uh, she thought. What the hell is a Tiger Tango?
She looked at Joseph but, as Fate would have it, he was no help. Actually, for him, he looked somewhat terrified. His posture was ramrod stiff, and his normally sun-browned skin had paled. He leaned his head to her.
“Do you know what we’re supposed to do?” he asked in an undertone.
His voice was raspy. He truly was nervous. She realized he probably hadn’t gone to a lot of parties. Yes, he was in the sultan’s inner circle, but he worked all the time. Seriousness was his defining trait. Making a fool of himself wouldn’t be his idea of fun.
Come to think of it, would he have danced before?
“I, uh, believe I’ve seen Balu practice it. My brother and his friends like to play at all sorts of things.”
If anything, Joseph went whiter. “You saw him practice it.”
“I have a good memory. Follow my example, and we’ll be fine.”
Her first claim was true, her second wishful thinking. Possibly Joseph sensed this. He breathed a curse word she didn’t recognize. Perhaps it was human. He’d been to their dimension.
“Enough consultation,” Tara declared, nudging them toward the open center of the salon. “The musicians are ready now.”
To her relief, the tune they struck up was similar to tangos she’d heard before.
“Wait,” Joseph said as Yasmin stepped onto the parquet. “I think you need different shoes for this.” He closed his eyes, spread his fingers, and sent his power rippling briefly from his palms. Without warning, her heels lifted off the ground. Yasmin looked down. Her slippers were gone. He’d spelled strappy black footwear onto her feet.
“I’ve viewed the human film Take the Lead,” he said.
“Good,” she laughed. “I won’t have to explain which body part goes where.”
For some reason, this made him blush. Slightly awkward but determined, he flattened one hand behind her shoulder blade. Identifying this as part of the opening pose, Yasmin slid her left leg back on the toe of her brand-new heels. After she’d done that, her and Joseph’s hips almost touched. The color on her partner’s cheekbones flared brighter. He acted as if their closeness was unheard of for him.
Oh, she thought. He must not have taken his now-healed body for all its possible flights. The thrill that swept through her was bubblier than champagne.
“You might need to pull me closer,” she couldn’t resist teasing. “This dance is supposed to be risqué.”
“Yes,” he said and cleared his throat. He tugged her the one inch more that brought them into light contact.
Heat sprang up along the line of his chest and groin. Was he growing aroused? He wasn’t quite close enough to tell. The music swelled, the string players seeming to echo her excitement. The effect increased as Joseph unexpectedly took command. He didn’t have to use his magic. The lightest pressure of his palm on hers guided her backward into a gliding walk.
Some kind spirit must have been watching out for her. She remembered how her feet were supposed to pause together and slide apart. Don’t rise up, she reminded. Direct your weight to the floor. Done right, this dance was earthy and grounded.
Joseph lifted her hand to twirl her. Their eyes met as she completed the rotation. The gold in his gaze was molten. He was going to dip her. The subtle tension in his arm and leg muscles told her so. Smooth as silk, he arched her back and lifted her again. She wasn’t dizzy but light as air. Though she’d wanted him forever, she hadn’t guessed they’d connect this effortlessly. No one else existed. They were intimate and alone. She did a leg flick that curled her calf behind his. She brushed it caressingly.
He smiled as if he knew she dreamed of seducing him.
The contrast between his inexperience and his power titillated her. What would it be like to initiate the famous sorcerer, to free the carnal potential she sensed in him? Would she overwhelm him? Could she? Maybe it would be the other way around.
Joseph caused her blood to fire like no other.
“Oh, come on,” someone called. “Get to the tiger part.”
The interruption startled them out of their fantasy. Joseph looked at her with his eyebrows up. He had no idea what their heckler meant. She didn’t either, but one of them had to come up with something.
“Rrowwr,” she said, throwing caution and no doubt dignity to the wind. She circled Joseph while making clawing motions with her arms.
“Rrowwr?” he said less surely, mimicking her gestures.
“No, no, no,” their critic scolded. Yasmin turned to see it was Tara. The djinniya seemed extremely put out by their performance. “Don’t you two know how to play this game? You’re supposed to change into your smoke forms, shape them like tigers, and prowl around each other.”
“Um,” Joseph said. “We could try that, if you prefer.”
“Oh, forget it,” Tara huffed. “You’re clueless. You’ll just make a hash of it.” She sliced one hand across her throat to silence the musicians. “Would a serious couple like to compete next?”
Yasmin didn’t know if the pair who raised their hands qualified. They were laughing, though they seemed unafraid of provoking Tara’s wrath.
“They’ve given us the hook,” Joseph murmured. “Time to exit, stage left.”
It was more than time. The crowd was moving on without them. The next contestants were already drawing their selection from the dish.
“Levitation Waltz!” the female crowed, waving the card she’d picked.
“Lucky dogs,” groaned another guest. “If we get the Particolored Polka, I’ll die. That dance is the kiss of death. No one looks good doing it.”
Presumably, the Levitation Waltz gave some advantage toward winning.
Still in synch despite their disrupted dance, Yasmin and Joseph slipped through the garden doors and into the fresh night air. Yasmin more than half hoped Joseph would take her arm, but had to be satisfied with him not drawing too far away. Because her tango shoes weren’t easy to walk in, she removed them.
The quiet between her and the magician was almost comfortable.
“I can change those back for you,” he offered, gesturing toward the heels she was carrying.
“That’s all right. This grass is perfect for bare feet.”
Satisfied with her explanation, he turned their steps toward a starlit reflecting pool.
“I’m sorry I embarrassed you,” Yasmin said.
Joseph waved his hand vaguely. “Maybe it’s wrong of me to admit, but I’m relieved we were disqualified. I’m not much of a party animal.”
“Ha-ha,” Yasmin said, thinking he’d made a pun on the Tiger Tango. Apparently not. He looked at her quizzically.
“Anyway,” she went on. “Thanks for being a good sport. Especially about you and me ‘having an understanding.’ I shouldn’t have pitched you into that just because I didn’t want to get partnered with Eamon.”
They’d reached the marble edge of the lengthy reflecting pool. The fountain in its middle created wavelets on which rafts of lilies bobbed. The oversized flowers were pink and white, their petals twinkling with a liberal coating of magic dust. Yasmin wondered if Dimitriou’s staff had to fly over the pool on carpets to get them all sprinkled.
When Joseph looked at her, she forgot the prosaic question. If he were affected by the romance of their surroundings, it didn’t show. His beautifully sharp features were solemn.
“Eamon is an acquired taste,” he said.
“What are you doing with him?”
“We have interests in common.”
She scoffed in disbelief.
“You don’t know everything about me,” he contended.
If she didn’t know more about him than Eamon, she’d eat these shoes. Actually, she was pretty sure she knew more than Joseph realized. Keeping that from him was starting to weigh on her. It felt dishonest, for one thing.
“About the dance . . .” she said, wondering if she could ease into telling him. “Maybe it’s just as well we had to stop when we did.”
“Yes?” he said with his eyebrows up.
“Having to stop might have, you know, spared you a different sort of exposure, one you’re maybe not ready for.”
“What are you talking about?”
Oh, this was awkward. What if she’d misread his reactions? Their bodies hadn’t been close enough for her to be absolutely sure. What if he’d gone hot for another reason than having an erection? Plain old embarrassment made people flush similarly to arousal.
“Um, maybe I’m assuming you responded more than you did?”
His forehead creased. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
Yasmin sighed. She didn’t want to have to explain this. Yes, she’d lived in a harem and, yes, she’d probably talked about sex more times than him. That didn’t make her the talk-about-sex expert.
Joseph registered her frustration. He reached out to rub her sleeve. “Could we discuss this some other time? I’m not certain we’re—”
He stopped speaking to look back at the palace. When she turned, Yasmin saw what had alerted him. Their host was striding toward them across the springy lawn.
“Ah,” Stefan said, “a thousand pardons for interrupting your tête-à-tête. After that scene inside, I wanted to make sure you two weren’t upset.”
“We’re fine,” Joseph said. “I was apologizing to Yasmin for not being more fun-loving.”
Stefan’s laugh came easily. “Everyone has their own ideas about what constitutes entertainment. I’ll leave the pair of you alone if that’s what you prefer.”
“That is kind of you but unnecessary. We’re here for a party. Even I can appreciate congenial company.”
“Good,” Stefan said. “Good. And perhaps I can coax you to enjoy it more with a human-style cigar.” He laid his index finger beside his nose. “I have a shall we say shady connection who sometimes slips across dimensions.”
By ‘shady’ he meant ifrit. The admission didn’t surprise her. Most rich men knew a few dark djinn. Their lack of moral limits came in handy for skirting around light rules. What did surprise her was the readiness with which Joseph accepted.
“I wouldn’t say no,” he responded, falling into step with their host. “Humans excel at some things.”
“Cigars being one,” Stefan agreed with a male chuckle.
Yasmin was left to trail behind them . . . or thought she was.
“No, no,” Stefan said, glancing over his shoulder. “Walk beside us. I’m infringing on your man’s time with you. The least I can do is try to entertain you too.”
His consideration weighed in his favor. When Joseph extended his hand to her, clearly meaning for her to take it, Yasmin felt grateful to the other man twice over.