“I need access to my funds if I’m going to keep this business going, Olivia. We have to figure something out. The gallery has a show scheduled next week. It has to be a success.”
For so many reasons. Her ego, for one. Years of subtle put-downs and the slow shredding of her confidence, for another. The process had been methodical and clever. Before she’d realized it, she was distanced from her family, cut off from her friends. Her entire world revolved around Joseph.
His opinions. His approval. His guidance.
Her dress was too short. Her lipstick too bright. Her opinions too loud.
And the gallery he’d given her as a wedding gift? She looked around her office, letting the warmth of the space ward away the chills this conversation and her memories were bringing. He’d never let her actually run the gallery. Yes, it was in her name. But he’d thought she should take management classes. Then he’d figured she needed to travel more, see other galleries. He’d explained that she’d learn through watching. So even though she’d technically owned the gallery for four years, until last summer the sum total of her contribution had been choosing hors d’oeuvres for shows and looking pretty.
And she’d sat quietly by while he slowly and surely undermined the gallery, too. She had to turn the business back around. She and the gallery—they were both going to regain their former glory.
She glanced at the pile of bills mocking her from her inbox and sighed. Somehow.
“Olivia, this show’s success is vital,” Sophia insisted. Actually, she insisted pretty loudly. Not quite at the top of her lungs, but you couldn’t say she wasn’t passionate about how much she needed this show to work out. Sophia clenched the phone in her fist and took a deep breath, then modulated her tone. “You have to push harder. I don’t understand how she can control everything like this. The will clearly stated what was mine and what was Lynn’s. How come the judge is giving her this much power?”
Olivia’s sigh was so loud, Sophia was surprised it didn’t ruffle her hair through the phone.
“Sophia, I’m sorry. Between Ms. Castillo’s witness list and documentation, she was able to present a strong enough case that the judge has to consider it.”
“In other words, Judge Langley is listening to gossip and rumors.”
The rumors that Sophia was a promiscuous money-hungry tramp had started four months ago. If they were to be believed, it was her fault, for everything from the gallery’s shift in focus from classy photography to erotic art, to the resulting financial challenges, to Joseph’s receding hairline.
“You realize Lynn’s probably the one who started those stupid rumors, right?” Sophia pointed out, her fingers tapping in irritation on her spotless desk blotter. “Who else would care what the gallery is showing or how I run it?”
“Regardless of who started the rumors, you need to be aware of the talk and make sure you rise above it. Prove it false. Continue with your plan to restore the gallery to its former focus on photography instead of the erotic art your husband preferred to show. Behave, keep your nose clean, all that stuff. If you do, we’ll be fine. Just stay focused and keep a positive attitude.”
At this point, Sophia did let her head drop to her desk as she continued to listen to Olivia reiterate again all the ways she should behave before saying goodbye.
It was all she could do not to slam the phone down. God, she was sick of people telling her how to behave. What to do and how to do it. And always, every freaking time, it was supposedly for her own good.
Because, what? She only did things for her own bad?
When did she get to lead her own life? Call her own shots?
“Now, dammit,” she said aloud. “It’s my life and I have a plan. I’m the one in charge now.”
Maybe talking to herself wasn’t a part of that plan, but she was considering it a work in progress.
She clicked her mouse, opening a brightly colored goal board on her computer screen. She’d spent the past year reading every self-help book she could find. She searched her soul, delved into her psyche, tiptoed around her inner shadow. And she’d decided that the true path to happiness was through control. Her taking control of her own life, that is.
And now her brother was trying to get her to go out with one of his buddies? Sophia pursed her lips, and even though she knew she was only torturing herself, she clicked open her picture file.
Her mouse went unerringly to the photo Rico had sent her about six months ago. She’d looked at it so often, it was a good thing it was on the computer screen instead of paper, or she’d have worn out the edges. With a click, a group of men filled her screen. Rico’s bomb disposal squad. There was her brother in the center, his arms draped over two other guys while another stood just off to the side.
He was dressed the same as the others, a tan T-shirt and fatigues. But he stood out as if he were wearing a tux. Maybe it was his position, a part of the group yet distanced. Or a sign of authority, since he seemed to be in command.
Some men were pure fantasy material. And this guy, Sophia decided with a deep sigh, was a prime example of a U.S. Armed Forces soldier at its finest. A testosterone-loaded weapon in human form. This guy exuded an air of confident sexuality that was so strong in a photograph, Sophia was pretty sure it’d melt her into a puddle of lust if she ever saw him in the flesh. From the curling tips of his damp, dark hair, over the sculpted muscles lovingly covered in the soft tan T-shirt to the hard thighs in khaki fatigues, he was all male.
All sexy, intense, controlled male.
He looked like the kind of guy who knew how to make sex amazing. The kind who not only put a woman’s needs first, but realized them before she did. A man who’d make her feel incredibly wanted.
Desirable, powerful and feminine. Sophia’s breath quickened as she imagined his hands. They’d be strong. Hard, yet gentle as he caressed her. He’d explore her body, sending her into a mind-numbing spiral of sexual delight she’d only dreamt of.
Just like she was dreaming now. Sophia’s breath shortened, her body tight and taut at the images dancing through her mind.
Realizing she’d done it again, brought herself to the edge of an orgasm fantasizing about a guy she’d probably never meet, who for all she knew was happily married with five kids, she gave a breathless laugh.
He was definitely not the kind of guy Rico would send with instructions to check up on his little sister.
“Yo, Soph,” called a voice from down the hall.
Sophia’s fingers fumbled, sending the mouse sliding across her desk before she caught it. A quick click closed the file, and its hunky contents.
Her cheeks burning, Sophia lifted her chin and quickly pushed away from the desk and hurried from her office so Gina wouldn’t come in. Her little fantasy had been so hot, she was sure there was a cloud of sexual energy floating above her computer.
“Yo, Gina,” she answered, smoothing her skirt as she headed toward the back of the storage room. “Did that shipment of frames come in?”
“Yep. That and a few other things.”
That tone, with its underlayer of naughty glee, made Sophia frown. “What things?”
“Oh, some this, some that and a really huge…”
When Sophia reached the far side of the storeroom where they kept shipping supplies and the deliveries were made, her jaw dropped.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“The shippers thought they were doing us a favor by uncrating it since it’s so heavy. I was watching the floor, so I didn’t have a chance to stop them before they took off.” Delighted horror filled Gina Mayes’s voice. “Isn’t it great?”
Sophia couldn’t tear her eyes off the mind-bogglingly huge spectacle to spare her assistant a look.
“I’ve never seen a penis that big. It’s insane. What am I supposed to do with it?” she mused with a frown, wandering a circle around the statue for a better look. “I mean, sure, it’s pretty. Long, hard and smooth. But really…isn’t it proof positive that you can
have at least four feet too much of a good thing?”
Tilting her head to one side, her dark hair sweeping across her cheek, Sophia tried to figure out why someone would want to create, let alone buy, such phallic glory. She had no clue.
“Men and chocolate, you can’t ever have too much when they’re good.” Gina grinned from the other side of the erect member, her eyes sparkling behind rhinestone encrusted cat’s-eye glasses and below a thick brush of magenta bangs. “And this sucker is definitely bigger than the one I got up close and personal with last night.”
“Haven’t you heard? It’s not the size that counts,” Sophia quipped, tongue in cheek. “It’s how you use it.”
“You just know a man made that up.” Gina dismissed her words with a flick of her pink feather duster. “Women know size definitely matters. Even in art.”
She might have been married four years, held a master’s in fine art and owned a gallery that, up until two months ago, specialized in the erotic. But Sophia didn’t have enough experience with men to offer more than a weak smile.
There was no arguing that size was a factor with this phallic fantasy. Standing at a solid four and a half feet, fully erect, the polished white-veined marble gleamed in the pale morning light shining through the window. It was going to be a total pain in the ass to return.
“Why do people send their work without checking first? I sent out a notice three months ago that we wouldn’t be accepting any more erotic pieces. I made it clear we were shifting focus to photography. Not—” she waved her hand again at the huge penis “—this kind of thing. Erotic art is all well and good, but we’re not showing it anymore.”
Which was a shame, really. Yes, her plan was to return the gallery’s focus to photography, as it had been from its inception until Joseph had decided to stir things up a few years back. But damn, that erotic stuff made a lot of money. It’d be worth polishing a four-and-a-half foot penis for a few months if it’d pay some bills.
Behave, Olivia’s reminder rang in her head.
“We’ll recrate it and call the shippers,” Sophia decided with a sigh, scanning the artist’s shipping manifest for an email address. “I’ll contact this Mita Andress and let her know we’re returning her…penis.”
“Andress?” Gina asked. “She called last week, wanting to be included in the upcoming show, but I said her work wouldn’t fit this exhibit. Pretty ballsy of her to ignore that. Maybe she thought you’d be so wowed, you’d overlook the topic, so to speak.” Gina tucked her feather duster into the back of her wide studded leather belt and wrapped her arms around the marble member to tests its weight.
“I might need a little help,” she grunted, stepping back to glare at the large piece as if it’d suddenly made a dirty joke and personally offended her. “Maybe Mita didn’t ignore you. Maybe this is another one of Lynn’s rotten pranks.”
Sophia pursed her lips. The other woman had definitely made it her mission since her father’s death to create as much trouble in Sophia’s life as possible.
But sending a marble penis?
“Maybe,” she acknowledged. “But it’s just as likely a mistake.”
Unable to help herself, Sophia grabbed her ever-present SLR camera out of the loose pocket of her skirt and stepped back to frame the shot. As always, the viewfinder was magic for her. Her objectivity filter. Through it, she saw what was, instead of what she wanted to see.
She let her mind clear, letting the image fill her head instead. White marble against the pitted paneling of the storage room walls. Gina’s face grinning under the pink fringe of her bangs, her torn T-shirt and leather a sharp contrast against the smooth, elegant curves of the sculpture.
All she needed was five seconds to frame and snap the shot for her to put Gina’s suggestion to rest. There was too much pride, even love, carved into the marble for it to be a prank.
“I’m sure the artist thought we’d love the sculpture and want to include her in the show next week,” she decided as she lowered the camera.
“You just like to think the best of people,” Gina accused, as if that was a bad thing.
“Not the best,” Sophia demurred. She glanced at the photos lining the back hall, studies of light and dark. “I just see the reality.”
“Well, obviously some people don’t like the new reality,” Gina said with a shrug as she gathered the wood, a can of nails and a hammer to start building a new crate. “I wonder how many more people will send us random body art without a contract, wanting to be included in next week’s show.”
“I guess I should be grateful someone wants to be included,” Sophia muttered, holding the long wooden plank so Gina could hammer the L-bracket in place.
Sophia was sure her decision was right, but the lack of enthusiasm from the public, the artists and the photographers was disheartening. It was almost enough to make her doubt her ability to regain Esprit’s previous glory.
Not for the first time, she cursed her late husband. He’d taken one of the top photographic art galleries in the San Francisco Bay area and changed its specialty to erotica.
To this day, Sophia didn’t know if Joseph’s obsession with sexually focused art was homage to the genre, or if it was a crutch for his own lack of talent in that arena.
“What about that von Schilling guy who wanted to show here?” Gina asked as she started building the next crate wall.
Sophia looked past the crate at the photos, barely visible in the showroom. She’d love to have an artist of von Schilling’s caliber showing here. But…
“No. He’s amazing, a legend, really. But he specializes in nudes. If I show him, it keeps me stuck in the same rut Joseph created.” And would lend more weight to Lynn’s accusations that Sophia was some kind of sex-obsessed pervert who would run first the gallery, then the rest of the Castillo estate, into the ground. “He’d be incredible, but I need someone else. A totally different direction.”
Seeing that Gina had a handle on the construction of the rest of the crate, Sophia stepped away.
“You could put your own photos in the show,” Gina muttered between swings of her hammer.
Pretending she hadn’t heard the words over the hammering, Sophia wandered over to the door. Her gaze skimmed the short hallway, focusing instead on the main showroom with its glossy wide-planked floors and beveled glass windows. Prisms of light danced softly, the damaging rays weaving a pattern on the floor but not touching the photographs displayed on the walls.
Her photos, in a show.
It’d be the most amazing thing in the world. Her stomach jittered at the idea, a thrill of excitement shivering down her spine at the idea of being in one.
But she knew what she saw when she looked through the viewfinder at herself. The truth. She was a lover of art, but not brave enough to be an artist. She didn’t have the guts to bare her soul through her work.
What she did have, though, was the gallery. Esprit could be her expression of art. She’d spent years apprenticing, so to speak, at Joseph’s side. He’d insisted on dangling the gallery like a gold-plated carrot, his last means of controlling his wife once she’d grown a spine.
Right up until he’d had a heart attack on the ninth hole. A familiar mix of sorrow, guilt and a few dregs of anger roiled together in Sophia’s stomach.
She started when Gina patted her arm. She’d been so lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed the hammer’s silence.
“Soph,” Gina said, the look on her face making it clear she had a clue where Sophia’s mind had wandered. “You okay?”
“I feel fine,” Sophia lied. “I just have to get through this month. Get the show set up, start selling art again. That’s my priority.”
“My priority is sending this magnificent member back to its maker. But I need your help,” Gina wiggled her eyebrows, the light glinting off the stainless hoop on the left one. “I’ll seal the last wall of the crate after we shove this sucker inside.”
“Pushing penises,” Sophia snickered with a shake
of her head. “Pathetic.”
“Admit it,” Gina said, her words barely discernible through her giggles. “You’ll miss this kind of thing once the gallery is on the straight and narrow.”
“Hmm, let me think. A chance to reclaim prestige, acclaim and worldwide admiration? Or the notoriety of being the proud displayer of the world’s largest hard-on? Such a choice.”
She didn’t add that the constant focus on sex was like nails on a chalkboard to her since she wasn’t getting any. Torture akin to sending a dieter to work at a Hershey factory.
She joined Gina next to the statue, watching the tiny woman wrap her arms around the marble. She couldn’t even reach one hand to the other, the thing was so wide.
“Yum,” Gina said, her face pressed against the penis. “On three?”
Sophia kicked off her twice reheeled red patent pumps and hitched up her pencil skirt so she could bend at the knees. Wrapping her arms around the slick, cool stone, she sucked in a breath and, when Gina said, “Now,” lifted.
Holy crap, the thing weighed a ton. They couldn’t budge it.
“God,” she grunted, releasing one arm from the penis to rub her tailbone. “I think I broke my ass.”
“This sucker gives new meaning to the term rock-hard. Who knew an erection could weigh more than a horse?” No longer amused, Gina scowled at the monstrosity.
“Can I help you, ladies?” The voice was male, it was laughing and it was coming from directly behind her.
Stiffening, Sophia felt the blood drain from her face.
Did anything say professional like two women wrapped around a preposterously proportioned penis?
Could this get any more humiliating? With a quick wince, Sophia pushed her dark hair off her face and, hoping for the best, straightened the collar of her ruffled poet’s blouse before turning around.
It only took two seconds for her blood to heat. For her heart to race. Breath catching in her chest, she stared.
It was him. Her fantasy guy. The sexy soldier from Rico’s picture. And he was even better live and in person. Cut military-short, his mahogany hair glinted with hints of red. Laughter danced in his deeply, intense melt-her-heart brown eyes as they met hers.
Uniformly Hot! Volume 1 from Harlequin: Letters from HomeBreaking the RulesComing Up for Air Page 16