by Calista Fox
When they reached the perimeter of the club, Shana noted the mini-stages cut into the paneled walls. They were covered with crimson-colored velvet drapes that looked elegant beneath the enormous, sparkling chandeliers hanging overhead. The décor was upscale and posh, though the dance floor was packed like a weekend rave.
Yvette had warned her of the artwork that would be on display shortly. She had no delusions about naked bodies being used as blank canvases or how all the dots—er, body parts—were connected for the naughty murals, but a soft gasp escaped her lips anyway as she entered the backstage area. A woman covered from head to toe in turquoise paint stood in front of a tall fan, one foot propped on an overturned milk crate as another woman wielding a paintbrush whisked the coated bristles over the model’s bare pussy lips.
The model shivered. “Oh God,” she whispered. Her nipples were large turquoise beads and her eyelids fluttered, revealing her arousal. “That tickles. But in such a good way.”
“You wouldn’t be the first woman to come during this part of the process,” the artist told her as the brush stroked back and forth over the exposed flesh.
“I came when I saw the sketch for the mural and fantasized about the two men and the two women I’d be starring in it with tonight.”
Much to her shock, Shana’s own nipples puckered tight and a tremor shimmied down her spine as an erotic visual popped into her mind. Two men and three women?
Holy—
She shook her head and squared her shoulders.
Be a professional. Be an adult. And for the love of God, don’t be so jealous!
But she was jealous. The woman in turquoise had stripped down to nothing in front of another woman and had let her paint her from head to toe. She wasn’t squirming nervously or in embarrassment as the artist leaned in for an up-close-and-personal view of her labia while she continued her work. No, if anything, the model was clearly turned-on…and anticipating her multi-partner mural, if the quick rise and fall of her ample chest were any indication.
Shana found the woman’s courage and excitement arousing. Her own breathing picked up a few notches.
As they passed a male model also getting his final touch up, it wasn’t just her breathing that accelerated. Her sexual tension mounted. The model was well-built and fully erect. Funny, but before she’d seen him, she’d understood—in theory—that all of the painted models were joined together to create their body scenes, but she hadn’t given real thought as to how they got that way. And something told her it wasn’t as impersonal and mechanical as “insert Tab A into Slot B”.
Yvette had mentioned these people typically got it on after the show, but Shana hadn’t really believed her. Or somehow her subconscious mind hadn’t allowed her to fully reconcile what Yvette meant.
But she got it now!
Good Lord. How naïve could one person be?
Though, admittedly, she’d never had exposure to sexy situations like this. She was still a virgin, sad to say. A source of internal contention, but she wasn’t the type of woman men hit on. At least, not seriously. Every bit of flattery and the “va-va-voom” comments she’d been the recipient of had sounded lecherous and felt false to her, particularly when she was younger and on tour. As if the words uttered and the lascivious looks given her were bait to trap her and turn the tables on her, so the macho man could make fun of the fact she’d fallen for a line she was supposed to know was tired and bogus.
Meanwhile, all the pencil-thin French and Swedish girls in the international orchestra, in which she’d earned the prestigious first-chair position, had been swept off their tiny feet by suave men bearing extravagant gifts and eloquent professions of unwavering devotion.
No matter where she went, Shana always stood out. And no matter the compliments she received or how critically acclaimed her talent, she always felt like the fat girl at ballerina camp because of the delicate waifs she’d been surrounded by most of her life.
A sentiment that prickled the backs of her eyes even years later and forced her to concentrate on fighting back unexpected tears. Luckily, she was able to hold herself in check, especially when Toliver interrupted her painful thoughts.
“Ah, there’s Mr. Halston,” he said as he inclined his head toward a man dressed all in black. Black shirt opened at the neck. Black suit perfectly tailored. Black leather boots that made his designer ensemble sexy and trendy. And black-as-night hair to top it all off.
Good Lord. Bruce Wayne and Batman didn’t hold a candle to this man! He made the term “tall, dark and handsome” pack as much punch as “short, portly and homely”, for it simply didn’t do him justice. Her breath caught somewhere in her throat as she stared at the very unexpected vision before her.
Yes, Drake Halston was tall. But not like any other ordinary, tall man. His six-foot-three- or four-inch stature gave him a commanding presence, made all the more intimidating by his broad shoulders and muscular frame.
Yes, he was dark. His obsidian-colored hair was recklessly stylish and his deep-blue eyes could be mistaken as black in dim lighting. But he also exuded power and wealth and confidence. There was a dark edge to him that instantly excited her and created a tickle of desire along her clit.
Yes, the man was handsome. He had chiseled cheeks and a strong, clean-shaven jawline. His lips were perfectly shaped and not too thin, not too thick. They looked soft and inviting. She couldn’t help but imagine how they’d feel grazing her bare skin, brushing over her nipples, sweeping along her pussy lips. But, beyond those enticing features, it was the devilish air about him that made him breathtakingly gorgeous.
She’d never seen anything quite like him—not even when she’d toured Italy on numerous occasions. The Italian men had been handsome and aggressive. They’d fawned over her, but again, their words had never rung true in her ears or in her heart.
Drake had the same air of assertion and arrogance, yet there was something else about him—something completely indefinable—that made her anxious to meet him, not eager to shy away from him, as was usually the case when she met powerful men.
As he walked toward her, his stride long and graceful, she felt as though a sleek panther were preying upon her. Dangerous, yes. Disarming to be sure. Yet Shana was less alarmed and more aroused than was good for her. In fact, she was damn glad Toliver still had her by the elbow or she just might sway on the low heels of her strappy silver sandals and topple over as she went weak in the knees.
She still wasn’t breathing properly when Drake reached her.
Extending a large hand covered in smooth-looking skin and complemented by long, blunt-tipped fingers, he said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss White.”
Oh sweet Jesus. He wasn’t Italian. He was British. Just as her fantasy man had been most of her life.
“Um, okay,” she mumbled in a faint voice as she tentatively placed her hand in his.
The flesh against hers was cool, a refreshing contrast to the heat that suddenly flooded her body at the mere sight of Drake Halston. His grip was firm, but in a reassuring way rather than an overbearing one. It was territorial, as if his intent was to pull her toward him and out of Toliver’s grasp. An odd thought, but it lodged in her brain anyway. And thrilled her so much, the tickle along her clit turned into a dull throb deep in her pussy, distracting her until she realized she was standing there like a complete fool, her mouth slightly gaping.
Say something!
Clearing her throat, she told him, “It’s nice to meet you too. And Shana’s fine.” She’d meant for her tone to be businesslike, yet it came out sounding ridiculously breathy. Dreamy, even.
Son of a gun! Why’d I agree to this?
Oh, yes. Because no one had told her Drake Halston was hotter than the freakin’ sun!
She made a mental note to kick Yvette in the shin the next time she saw her. Likely, her friend was sipping a glass of champagne right now, snickering over the shock Drake Halston would be to Shana’s overly sheltered system.
But she’d deal with Yv
ette later.
The too-sexy-for-words man said, “Please, call me Drake.” His voice was so low and sensual, it seemed to seep through her veins, making her tremble with excitement.
“Tha-thank you for, um, inviting me to the club. And backstage.” She pulled her hand from his, though she was reluctant to do so because his touch felt so arousing and intimate. But that social ineptitude of hers had instantly revved into high gear and she’d turn into a full-on stammering idiot any minute now if she didn’t get a grip on her riotous emotions.
Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to focus on what her yoga and meditation instructors taught her to do when she felt her anxiety mount. Finding her center was key to staying in control and not drowning in her self-consciousness. She held the breath for three seconds, and then slowly—hopefully discreetly—let it out.
Interestingly, Drake didn’t seem to notice her distress. Or if he did, he intended to put her at ease by ignoring it. In fact, he gave her a friendly smile—simple, yet still so sexy it could melt a glacial epoch. Maybe he was used to liquefying women into feminine mush that pooled at his feet, and she was just one more adult female he’d turned into a tongue-tied schoolgirl.
If he were amused or annoyed by the way she so easily fell to pieces in his presence, he didn’t let on. His eyes were warm and hypnotic as he said, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. As has my assistant, Jane Van Kamp.” He gestured to the waif at his side, who Shana had barely noticed. In truth, it was damn difficult to tear her gaze from Drake to smile politely at the petite blonde by his side.
Too bad she instantly reminded Shana of the itty-bitty French and Swedish girls in the orchestra who had made her feel like the Jolly Green Giant all those years she’d toured with them.
“I’m thrilled to meet you,” Jane said.
So she wasn’t French or Swedish. Like Drake, she was British. Still, Shana felt ginormous in her presence.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” she said in a less-than-enthusiastic tone.
Much to her surprise, though, her tension eased as Jane beamed brightly and gushed unabashedly. “I’m sort of a fan.”
“Oh.” She was taken aback. “Thank you.”
Jane took Shana’s right hand in her much smaller ones and gave it a squeeze. A firm grip Shana hadn’t expected. The tiny Brit might look fragile, but she had some strength behind those delicate features. And her exuberance was contagious, making Shana forget all about how uncomfortable she always felt in the presence of petite women.
“Really,” Jane continued, “this is such an honor for us. Your writing is fantastic, but we’re also familiar with your music.”
More shocking news to her. Those were not words she heard often. Not for the last five or six years, at any rate. “Um, how’d you know…?”
“Drake is a research zealot. But don’t worry. Your secret is safe with us. Although, he did download all the recordings you performed on and the music is just…exquisite. So moving and intensely stirring.”
“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed it.” Admittedly, she was a bit unnerved, having distanced herself from a past life that was instantly resurrected as Jane fawned over her. But the blonde’s smile didn’t waver and it helped to chase away Shana’s unexpected consternation. As she studied the lively waif, she asked, “Have we met before? You seem very familiar.”
“No,” Jane said, her enthusiasm lighting her bright green eyes. “But we would like to show you around backstage. Answer any questions you might have.”
Shana cocked her head to the side. “As in, an interview?”
Thank God Jane still had hold of her hand and Shana held her clutch in the other one, or she would have been wringing them nervously as she awaited their response. Her gaze shifted to Drake, though she found it terribly difficult to look away from his assistant. Ironic, considering it’d been nearly impossible to focus on Jane just moments before. She could swear they’d met prior to this impromptu tour. There was something about her that resonated deep within Shana. Something warm and vibrant and somehow meaningful.
But of course that was ridiculous, so she pushed the thought from her head.
Drake acquiesced to the interview request with a slight nod. “That would be acceptable,” he said. “If we can keep it within reason.”
Shana had no idea what that meant, but she was thrilled nonetheless. “Fantastic.”
Jane released her. Unfortunate, because she could use the steadying touch as her knees knocked together. Her body hummed with an energy she’d not felt before, as though she’d been a dead battery they’d jumpstarted. Such an odd notion, but she couldn’t deny there was a fascinating awakening occurring that made her aware of her body’s response to both of them.
No, it was more than just her body. Her entire being seemed to respond to both Drake and Jane. She wasn’t sure that was possible or whether she was simply imagining it. Mysterious as the foreign sensation was, though, she enjoyed it. Embraced it.
“Shall we?” Drake offered his arm in a gallant manner.
Biting back a smile, she slipped her hand under his upper arm and wrapped her fingers around muscles that were rock hard behind the material of his suit jacket. He was a mammoth of a man, no doubt about it. So tall and wide, she felt normal-sized next to him.
Jane fell into step beside her. She glanced up at Shana and said, “You’re even more beautiful in person.”
Shana couldn’t hold back her smile any longer. Women rarely ever complimented her and, for the first time in her life, the flattery felt real. Substantial.
“Thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say. Her stomach flipped in a curious, unfamiliar way. There was something about being in Drake and Jane’s presence that made her feel feminine and even somewhat comfortable in her own skin. Something she’d never truly experienced until now.
Jane continued to gaze up at her as though in genuine awe and Drake tugged her just a little bit closer to his side until her hip brushed against his. She felt an electric jolt deep in her pussy. Sexual awareness was no intimate friend of hers, but she was suddenly tingly all over. A hot flash made her think of lava flowing through her veins, singeing her. Little sparks of excitement caused her nipples to pucker again. The soft sweep of her miniscule satin panties were like butterfly wings fluttering against her labia.
Yes, indeed, Yvette had been right about needing those tissues!
Her stomach took another crazy tumble as Drake leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I like your scent.”
“I’m not wearing perfume.”
His grin was a devilish one. He could smell her arousal?
Shana tripped over her own two feet, but the man beside her caught her and kept her upright as he lifted her off the ground so she could regain her footing.
Lifted her off the ground!
His movements had been so fast she’d barely registered them in her mind as he’d untangled himself from her and placed his hands on her waist to upright her. Then he’d simply twined her hand around his arm again and they were off. As if the misstep had never happened.
She stared up at him as they moved farther into the work area set up backstage. He hadn’t missed a single step when he’d helped her, nor had he visibly expended the least bit of physical effort when he’d briefly hauled her up. Granted, she wasn’t the size of a dump truck, but she had a good forty or so pounds on Jane and she was at least six or seven inches taller at five-ten. Well, an even six feet in her heels.
While her mind reeled at Drake’s virility and the way he made her feel as delicate as Jane looked, he said, “Careful there. The floor gets slippery from the fresh body paint.”
How kind of him to help her save face.
But her face flushed anyway, because she’d all but forgotten they were supposed to be on a tour. She’d tuned out the models in various stages of undress as they came and went. She’d pushed all of her interview questions to the back of her head. In fact, she was tongue-tied all over again.
&n
bsp; Not that it mattered. Jane dove into a dissertation about the murals that would be on display in less than half an hour.
She said, “The artists sketch out their scenes so the models know the exact placement beforehand. Behind these curtains,” she paused as she gestured toward the workstations made private by the addition of full-length drapes attached to metal rods suspended from the open rafters and comprising individual, rectangular structures, “the models relax and enjoy champagne and music while they’re painted. For their safety, Drake typically doesn’t allow anyone back here who’s not directly associated with one of the murals. For their privacy, he doesn’t allow security to view the footage inside the stages before or after the murals ‘go live’. We videotape from every angle, of course, but only Drake has access to the footage, should something go wrong. We’ve never encountered any problems, though.”
She leaned in close as her hand rested on the small of Shana’s back. A whisper of a touch that was surprisingly titillating.
Jane added in a self-deprecating, yet teasing voice, “I tried to sneak a peek once and got my hand slapped.”
Shana couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sure the temptation is difficult to resist. There’s a certain curiosity factor related to what goes on back here.”
“See?” she said as her gaze snapped to Drake. “I told you it was perfectly normal to want to see how some of these people get it on. Especially with the more creative murals.” Her eyes fell on Shana again and she winked. “Nothing wrong with a little curiosity. It’s healthy.”
“That’s probably not something you should admit to our guest, love,” Drake said. “She might tell on us.”
“Ah, according to Jane,” Shana jumped into the conversation, “there’s nothing to tell. You won’t let her have any fun.”
She smiled up at the handsome devil next to her. Where the flirtation in her voice had come from, she had no idea. She’d never heard such a sultry sound fall from her lips. Nor had she ever put together a provocative statement with such ease.
If she’d had something to drink earlier, she might think she’d been served some sort of miracle cure that actually made her come across somewhat lighthearted and composed.