Flame
Evan had survived stadium crowds, hostile interviewers and a wardrobe malfunction broadcast in three countries.
Claire examining his belt was proving considerably more dangerous.
“Why is it so thick?” she asked.
He glanced down. “To hold my trousers up.”
“That sounds like a rehearsed answer.”
“It’s a very established use for a belt.”
She stood between him and the dressing-room mirror, still wearing her black-and-gold stage costume. One sleeve had slipped over her knuckles. A loose strand of hair caught against her mouth, and he reached to free it.
Claire caught his wrist.
“I’ve read things.”
His hand stopped.
“Clearly,” he said, “I should have been monitoring your book purchases.”
“Some belts have other applications.”
For a moment, the room was quiet except for the distant clatter of equipment being packed away.
Then Evan looked at her with such patient attention that her confidence began to wobble.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“Are you asking me a question, or trying to make me forget my own name?”
Her smile arrived before her answer.
“Is it working?”
“I’m considering checking my identification.”
She laughed, releasing his wrist. He tucked the strand behind her ear and let his hand fall.
That was the trouble with him. She could prepare for teasing. She could prepare for the look he gave her across a crowded room.
The tenderness always caught her unguarded.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
Evan glanced towards it.
“Purple Cat?” he read.
Claire snatched it up.
Unfortunately, he had already seen the screen.
“Have you renamed yourself in our chat?”
“Possibly.”
“And I’m Flame?”
“You complained that ‘Evan Hart’ sounded like I was making a dental appointment.”
“I suggested a heart.”
“There is a heart.”
“After Flame.”
“It’s a very nice heart.”
He leaned against the dressing table, smiling now.
“Why Purple Cat?”
“Elegant. Mysterious. Difficult to catch.”
“Knocked my coffee over yesterday.”
“That was an editorial decision about your caffeine intake.”
“And fell asleep on my jacket.”
“It was warm.”
“And objects when I move.”
Claire folded her arms.
“You’re making an excellent case for the name.”
Evan held out his hand. She took it, and he drew her closer with an easy gentleness that left the choice entirely hers.
“What does Flame do?” he asked.
“Looks expensive. Causes trouble.”
“Anything useful?”
Her gaze dropped briefly to his mouth.
“Keeps the cat warm.”
His smile softened.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The answer you hide underneath the other six.”
Claire looked down at their joined hands. His thumb passed once over her knuckles.
Outside, somebody called for a missing garment bag. A trolley rattled past the door. The ordinary business of the night continued while she stood there wishing they could postpone it.
“I like being here,” she admitted.
“In the dressing room?”
“With you, idiot.”
“That’s going straight into my wedding vows.”
She looked up sharply.
He looked unbearably pleased with himself.
“You cannot say things like that and then stand there looking innocent.”
“I’ve never looked innocent a day in my life.”
“No,” she said. “You really haven’t.”
Her fingers touched his belt buckle again, lightly this time.
Evan covered her hand with his.
“For the record,” he said, “anything beyond keeping these trousers where they belong requires an actual conversation.”
“With an agenda?”
“Preferably fewer metaphors.”
“Purple Cat has questions.”
“Flame can listen.”
That quiet answer undid her more thoroughly than the teasing.
She rose onto her toes and kissed him.
He met her halfway, one hand settling at her waist, careful of the intricate stitching. When she drew back, his forehead rested against hers.
A brisk knock struck the door.
“Five minutes!” Lou called. “And whoever has the costume belt, wardrobe wants it back.”
Claire went still.
Then she looked down.
“Borrowed?”
Evan closed his eyes.
“Please don’t.”
She was already laughing.
“Oh, Flame.”
“Claire.”
“All that danger. On loan.”
He kissed her again, smiling against her mouth.
From the corridor, Lou added, “I can hear you both. Nobody is getting their deposit back.”
Beneath the brim of his baseball cap, Evan smiled as Claire caught his belt and whispered, “Purple is the safeword, but what do I say if I want you to kiss me?”
“My name,” he answered, closing the distance as her teasing sparked into flame.
“Evan.”
He had intended to kiss her once.
That seemed worth remembering, given that his car was waiting outside and Claire had just drawn him closer by the belt.
How did we end up here in the first place?
He could trace the decisions. His set had finished. He had changed into a crew jacket, pulled on a purple cap and checked his phone.
Come and say goodnight.
Four perfectly reasonable words.
They had somehow led to him introducing himself to security as Flame, saying “purple whiskers” with a straight face and hiding behind a garment bag while Claire laughed into his shirt.
Now she was looking up at him as though he had arrived precisely where she intended.
“You’re thinking very loudly,” she said.
“I’m reviewing how a five-minute visit became an undercover operation.”
“You could have said no.”
“To which part?”
Her finger shifted against his belt.
“It’s thicker than I expected.”
Evan glanced down, then back at her.
A pause.
“The belt,” she added.
“I hadn’t asked.”
“Your expression did.”
He laughed, and she looked pleased enough with herself to make him suspicious of every innocent message she had ever sent him.
“Careful, love,” he murmured. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Then perhaps Flame shouldn’t have come looking for Black Cat.”
“Black Cat sent directions.”
“And yet you found the swan.”
“That swan was better signposted than your dressing room.”
Claire’s laugh escaped before she could stop it. Evan brushed a loose strand from her cheek, taking a moment to look at her properly.
He had spent the evening facing a crowd, watching cues and listening for his entrance. Here, with one hand resting at her waist, he could finally let his shoulders drop.
“I did want to see you,” she said.
“I know.”
“Even without the cap.”
“That’s fortunate. Its contribution to my disguise has been widely criticised.”
She pushed the brim back.
“I like it.”
“You like making me look suspicious.”
“You were lurking beside a fire extinguisher.”
“I was waiting for you.”
Her smile softened, and there it was: the reason he had followed every ridiculous instruction.
He would have liked more time. Enough to sit beside her while she took the pins out of her hair, to hear which part of the show had gone wrong and which part she wanted to do again. Enough that neither of them had to keep listening for footsteps.
Claire smoothed the front of his borrowed jacket.
“What?”
“Next time,” he said, “I’m asking for longer than five minutes.”
“How long?”
“Dinner, to begin with.”
“And after dinner?”
“We could discuss your security arrangements.”
She caught his belt again.
“Or what else this does.”
Evan lowered his head, smiling.
“You’ve been saving that.”
“All evening.”
A knock sounded at the door.
“Your car,” Lou called.
Claire closed her eyes.
Evan rested his forehead against hers.
“Excellent security arrangements,” he whispered.
“Don’t encourage her.”
“Both of you,” Lou added.
He felt Claire’s laughter before he heard it.
“Well,” she murmured, reaching for his hand, “at least we’ve got the same getaway car.”
