Johnny mouths me a “Thank you” before returning to the audience. “This delectable kitty cat will be providing a demonstration of what to expect tonight. So, pay close attention. This will all be on the final exam.” Johnny backs toward the wings of the stage, then gives another swing with his golf club. “Take it away, Kitten!”

At that, the band begins to play a slow, sultry rendition of “Summertime.” I adjust my expression to meet it, shifting from “cheeky assistant” to “siren” in the time it takes to form a pout. I extend the arm with the glove across my chest, gliding my hand from wrist to upper arm, showcasing the glove. Absently, I smooth my thumb over the bare skin between the glove and the wide shoulder strap of my dress, as though distracted by the contact.

It’s the same tactic I employed when I knew Darcy was watching me at Meryton, enticing my audience to imagine their hands in place of mine. The thrill tonight, however, is totally different from the hot little buzz I experienced under Darcy’s gaze. That was personal, almost intimate. Now I have an entire room in my thrall and I feel drunk off it.

Making contact with the tips of the glove, I grip the seam at the end of the middle finger, then tug. But the sample peel isn’t only about getting the crowd to make some noise; it can also set the tone: a little cheek goes a long way. I pretend to struggle. Gritting my teeth, I yank at the fingers of the glove, grabbing at the ends of all four without letting the glove budge.

My character fights to rein in her frustration, shooting the crowd a tight smile as they chuckle at her plight. My body hums with adrenaline, my skin alive with the heat from the spotlight and the attention of the crowd, and I bring my hands in front of me, pressing my upper arms in to exaggerate my cleavage as I grapple. Laughter and wolf whistles stream from the crowd, punctuated by Ming’s distinct cackle.

Ming! They must be done with the zipper. Time to wrap up.

I jerk the elbow of my pulling arm to suggest the glove has given way and roll my shoulders, transitioning back to sex kitten, eliciting more laughter.

I bite the tip of my gloved pinkie finger, tugging enough to get some slack. The move is repeated finger by finger until I’m at my thumb. I bring my hands to one side of my face and slowly pull my left hand free of the glove, making an unbroken traverse along the low neckline of my dress, fingers splayed to maintain tension in the glove.

I let my fingers slip free and catch hold of the edge. With a grip on either end, I shimmy it over my chest, adding a little jiggle below. More clapping.