Quite the scene greeted them when they arrived at their destination. The sophisticated gallery provided a perfect backdrop for the fine art and chic people at the opening. Their little trio had no intention, or ability for that matter, to buy anything, but looking was certainly fun.
Erotic sculptures and paintings were scattered throughout. And the people. Not exactly a shabby bunch. The glitterati were on parade tonight as the beautiful people of Paris gathered to mingle and flirt among the art. Layers of cultured voices, reserved laughter and the pop of champagne corks mixed with the scent of expensive cologne and perfume. If wealth had a sound, and a smell, this was it.
Isabella’s heart fluttered at the sight of their famous host. You didn’t have to know much about the art world to recognize Nicolai Stavros. He was in the society pages all the time. The gracious artist circulated among his guests, smiling, chatting and looking more beautiful than most of the women. No one was overlooked and all made to feel singularly significant.
Mere moments after stepping over the threshold, another very tall, very handsome man approached. He was elegantly dressed, but there was an edge to his look.
Muy sexy.
She didn’t miss the flicker of infatuation in Craig’s eyes as he greeted them.
“Bonsoir, Craig, bienvenue. I’m so glad you could make it,” the man said and kissed Craig on both cheeks.
“Bonsoir, Jerard. As if I would miss this,” Craig answered as he returned the kiss. “I would like to introduce my friends. This lovely lady is Isabella and this is Carlo.”
Isabella heard Craig’s disinterest in his date simply by the way he said his name. Jerard obviously picked up on it too because he turned to her and ignored Carlo.
“Welcome, Isabella. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Craig talks about you all the time.”
A waiter appeared, offering champagne. She picked up a flute and raised it to Jerard as she gave him a subtle once-over.
Jerard Gagne certainly fit Craig’s description of him. Tall and thin, but well built, he oozed unaffected charm. He wore a tailored grey suit that clearly cost more than her monthly rent like it was no big deal. A black and grey scarf curved seductively around his long neck to dangle over a grey silk T-shirt. Chunky masculine jewelry, dusky unkempt hair and a subtle beard, the man bristled with sex appeal, but had a certain humility in his mannerisms. Eyes older than the face that held them told her that he had seen a lot of pain.
“Bonsoir, Jerard. Craig has mentioned you more than a few times as well.” And the pleasure’s all mine.
She winked at Craig as she kissed Jerard, shifting her eyes to him, then back to Craig, and Craig blushed. Unfortunately for Craig, the way Jerard placed his fingers on her skin told her that this man was not gay. His hand slipped into hers and ah, sí, he had really nice hands.
“When I get the chance, I will introduce you to Nicolai, but first, come. You should meet Julianne. She’s the model for every piece on display tonight. The exhibit is dedicated to her.”
Isabella picked up a hint of sadness in Jerard’s voice, but the man was a virtual stranger so she resisted her natural urge to comfort and didn’t comment.
Jerard pulled her farther into the crowded room and stopped in front of a petite woman with a dark mane to match her own. “Julí, I would like to introduce Isabella, Craig and Carlo.”
When Julianne turned, Isabella could only stare. She was so exotic.
“Bienvenue, amis. We are honored to have you attend our opening.”
The intrigue of this woman was irresistible. Julianne seemed quite proper, modestly dressed in an embroidered chartreuse satin gown, yet there were naked representations of her all around them. And she wasn’t simply posing in most of them. Judging from the art, she was a deeply submissive woman and obviously very daring.
How much courage must she have just to do those things, let alone share this level of intimacy with strangers? What would it feel like to live the fantasy?
Before Isabella could speak, someone else tugged on Julianne’s arm. She smiled politely as she turned away. “Enjoy the experience. I hope you find inspiration here.”
“Wow. I wish I was beautiful like that,” Isabella whispered to Craig.
Jerard answered, “You are beautiful, Isabella. You could make a grown man cry looking the way you do.”
Craig leaned in to peck a kiss on her cheek and whispered, “My loss. Your gain. Remember what I said about the dress.”
She smiled at him. Craig was a true friend.
They wandered around the room, looking at the magnificent art and sipping liquid courage. The setting was more than a little intimidating. One piece caught Isabella’s attention and she drifted away from the men toward it.
There, on a floating white wall, was a gigantic painting of Julianne in a very seductive pose. On closer inspection, it was actually a photograph that had been painted over in places. Julianne wore nothing but pink ballet shoes with long ribbons that tied in an elaborate weave up her legs to her thighs. Pink lines ran over the rest of her skin, mirroring the design of the ribbon. Next to it was a little placard with, “The Erotic Dance in Pink by Nicolai Stavros, 2014. 140,000€,” written on it.
Enticing sounds echoed from behind the wall and Isabella slipped around it to get a peek at the source. A group was watching a film on a huge high-resolution screen that hung on the other side. Julianne was poised, larger than life, against a Lucite fixture. A shirtless man in white pants circled around her wielding a thin cane. Even though his face wasn’t captured in the frame, she knew he was Nicolai, Julianne’s lover.
Isabella’s skin flushed with instant arousal. She felt hot, paralyzed by a foreign, yet somehow familiar need, completely captivated by the sexual image. Her jaw went slack as she watched Nicolai hit Julianne repeatedly to leave those pink marks on her smooth skin. It does look like an erotic dance. When he finished, Nicolai leaned over and kissed Julianne tenderly. The intimacy between them burned into Isabella’s imagination.
So much love and care, despite the harsh actions. What would I give to know a passion like that?
Easing against a wall for support, Isabella was mesmerized as the endless loop of film began to play again.
*****
Jacques watched the lovely lady in black from a discreet distance. She was oblivious to his deep stare. She was oblivious to everything, except the image on the screen. The crowded gallery around her seemed to have faded from her awareness, she was so fully absorbed.
Voluptuous breasts rose and fell with her heavy breath and little dots of sweat glistened on her brow. Her succulent red lips had fallen open, just begging to be kissed. He could practically feel her arousal and imagined running his hands up those silken thighs to discover her secret wetness. When she squeezed her legs together with a sensuous roll of her hip, his body moved toward her, instinctively drawn to that arousal, but he stopped himself. Too much was going on in his life and he didn’t need another complication.
The lady may be turned on by the sadomasochistic play, but she was clearly not a player. Sexy exterior aside, her smoldering eyes couldn’t hide the complex roil of emotions playing across her face as she watched Nicolai torment Julianne. She was fascinated and frightened by what she saw. And maybe by her own reaction to it. She may want something like that, but had obviously never experienced it. The last thing he needed to do right now was train a novice.
But she's certainly pretty.
And he was content to enjoy her private erotic show. It was far more enticing than the one Nicolai and Julianne had created. For a fleeting moment, he imagined that this woman was like Julianne. Nicolai found his happiness in an innocent. Took the perfect untouched raw material and crafted her into a masterpiece.
The lady in black may be a novice, but she was no innocent. She was older, edgier, had seen the darker side of life, like him. What type of lover could he create with someone like her?
He remembered Julianne’s words. You’re a good man, Jacques. Ma
ybe if you bring a woman to see the exhibit, you and she will find what Nicolai and I share. You deserve that too. I hope you know that.
Could that actually happen?
Nah. Lightning doesn't strike twice.
*****
As Isabella watched the film for the umpteenth time, she felt eyes on her, studying her, stealing her secret pleasure. She looked up and the molten stare of a man across the room burned right through her. She’d never seen eyes like that. Copper fire framed in kohl lashes, so thick, his lids seemed to hover, weighed down in forever fuck-me invitation. Those eyes captured hers with a long, unnerving look that turned up the heat. The immediate connection between them was palpable, potent, making her pulse jump and her insides melt.
When he raised his glass with a slight nod and a knowing grin, she turned away, not daring to accept the decadent invitation in those smoldering eyes. Not that denial would be an option if a male like him decided to prowl her way.
Smooth, Isla. Real Smooth. Getting caught in an X-rated indulgence in the middle of a public gallery. ¡Qué vergonzoso!
She gulped her champagne and scampered back into the open space. Jerard had disappeared. So had Carlo. Craig was mingling in the crowd, probably looking for an alternate ending to his evening.
Isabella wandered around getting progressively more turned on by the erotic art intermixed with fleeting glimpses of copper eyes.
Is my mystery man watching me too?
No, he couldn’t be. The champagne had her imagination running wild. She never could hold her liquor and those tiny bubbles did dull the inhibitions. She shook off her folly and moved in front of a sculpture at the far side of the gallery, grabbing a fresh flute from a tray as she passed.
What should I do?
Maybe she should start treatment. Dr. Boucher said there was a chance and she was squandering it with indecision. Did she dare to hope for the silver lining? Maybe she would be the one to beat the odds.
Isabella downed a swig of champagne, inviting another wash of alcohol to drown the memories as images of the poor souls she’d met at the hospital crowded her mind. So much pain when hope was lost. No, she wouldn’t hope. She didn’t dare.
She told herself that she wasn’t afraid of death. She’d seen it firsthand. Many times. Looking into their eyes, holding their hands while they slipped away, there seemed to be peace at the end. But she was afraid. Terrified actually. Sexy clothes and a dark mask couldn’t save her from the destiny she believed was hers.
So there she stood, frozen by what she couldn’t face, stone-drunk and horny. She needed a miracle, but a distraction – a really hot distraction with wild eyes - would do. She scanned the room pretending to look for Craig, but really hoping for a glimpse of Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerous. She giggled at the cliché.
But when the cliché fits…
When she spotted him, he was turned away slightly talking to Nicolai Stavros. Given the angle of his body, he wouldn’t notice her staring so she took the opportunity to study him unaware. Her skin flushed hot just looking at him. If she’d opened a sketchbook and drawn her ideal man, it would be him.
Although even my dirty imagination couldn’t dream up those to-die-for eyes.
He wasn’t beautiful like Nicolai, but he was inescapably compelling. A bad boy in black couture, he reeked of confidence and an overflowing bank account. His too pale skin contrasted dramatically with his jet black hair. It hung to straight, spiky points to frame his jaw. He wore an intense expression that made him appear as if he was deep in thought and spoke with graceful, almost feminine gestures. The overall impression was wicked. Masculine elegance with an edge. A man like that had to be a phenomenal lover. Simply had to be.
Oh, why not? You only live once.
Isabella pulled out a cigarette as she sauntered over to him. Her sex god turned, his glowing eyes burning right through her again, but her alcoholic armor held fast.
“Hey, handsome. Got a light?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You can’t smoke in here.”
“What are you going to do? Arrest me.”
“Do I look like a cop?”
Liquid fire eyes drifted over each feature of her face. She actually felt their warmth skimming over the arch of her brow, the line of her nose, the borders of her lips. They parted as those copper eyes returned to hers.
“No, but you do look like someone who knows his way around a pair of handcuffs.”
Crossing her wrists, she raised them in front of his face. A lightening grip locked around them while tight fingers entwined in the fall of her hair. His touch sparked through her like a flash of fire as he yanked her forward.
Ah, sí. Fuego.
She dissolved into his chest and inhaled. Mmm, delicioso. Expensive cologne and the more intimate scent of warm male skin. Spice, sex, even a hint of distant smoke. Muy delicioso.
He lowered his head and rubbed his open mouth against her ear. “You think you can play with someone like me, do you?”
She closed her eyes on a soft moan when he licked up the tender fold of her lobe. Shuddered when the moist caress ended with a nip.
“Here’s a hint, baby girl. Don’t. I’m fire and you will get burned.”
Burn me, bad boy. Por favor, me quema.
When he lifted his gaze to hers, she shifted back until her bedazzled eyes could focus on his face. The danger in that molten stare kicked her survival instinct into overdrive, but she wasn’t about to run.
Liquid courage. ¡Hurra!
She pressed her cleavage into the hand holding her wrists and whispered against his lips, “What makes you think I’m the one who’ll get burned?”
Hah! Take that, you big sex bully.
He jerked back and before she could utter another drunken, sexed-up syllable dragged her out the door. The controlled violence in him frightened as much as it enticed.
Aye, caliente. The man really is fire.
Copper eyes stared as firm hands cupped hers to light her cigarette. Another spark, but not from the match.
Isabella took a long, defiant puff and promptly doubled over, unable to tolerate the nicotine rush on top of the alcohol.
“I’m going to be sick,” she murmured with a hand over her mouth. Her stomach heaved and her eyes went wide with the sight of all those sophisticated people spilling out of the gallery. The ones who were about to witness her in all her debauched glory.
“Damn it,” he cursed, his eyes following the path of hers, and threw a bracing arm around her to lead her away from prying eyes.
With his strong arm locked tight, she let it all go. Right there in a lovely array of potted flowers outside a graciously dark shop. A gentle hand brushed the wisps of loose hair out of the way while she wretched.
“Well, well. Isn’t life a bed of roses?”
Roses, huh? Not exactly.
3
Good Morning, Gorgeous
Isabella cracked open one lid.
“Yeow!”
The light slashed into her eye, making her wince and the curtains were still drawn. Only a tiny sliver of morning sun cut through the dark room. She rolled over to escape the source of her pain and practically bumped noses with the man from the gallery who was sound asleep next to her.
Buenos días, guapo.
She inhaled him again. Mmm, mmm, mmm. Muy delicioso. Coffee was no match for this wake-up delicacy and she love, love, loved her morning coffee.
Black hair spilled all over the pillow and the whisper of a beard darkened his jaw. Long black lashes curved over high cheekbones, tempting her fingers to run along the sinful brush. Over the stubble on his cheeks. Down the angle of his strong jaw. Over his smooth chest to the tempting trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the...she sighed as her eyes fell on the white joy kill.
And then she realized. She didn’t know his name.
Mierda.¿Qué hice? Isabella shot out of her pornographic haze like a cold bucket of water had been thrown over her, trying to remember how she got h
ere. The gallery, the sexy film, champagne, roses. Dios mío, getting sick. She bolted upright on the bed and her breasts popped from beneath the comforter.
Shit. What did I do? She didn’t want to know. Well, not really. She would sneak away before Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerous woke up and figure it out later.
You spent the night with a sex god and you can’t remember it. Just your luck, isn’t it, Isla? She really hoped she could remember later as she climbed out from under the duvet and stumbled.
And you drank waaayyy too much champagne, borracha. Her head throbbed and that blaring light was killing her eyes.
Where are my clothes? She looked around the room. Black shirt, check. Black pants, check. Slut shoes, double check. No 850€ dress. She ran her hands over her hips. Gracias a Dios. Her 15€ thong was still there.
She grabbed the sex god’s shirt and darted out of the room.
*****
Jacques pretended to be asleep. He didn’t want to interrupt the show.
If his pretty new friend thought she was being quiet, she must still be drunk. His little bull was kicking up a racket that could wake the dead. She’d woken to the shock of her life; her startled panic clearly not the reaction of a girl who slept around. He was no prude, but for some reason, he was glad about that.
He wasn’t sure why he decided to bring her with him. Oh, hell, yes he was. She turned him on. Big time. He’d spent the entire night at Nicolai’s opening trying to ignore the sexy ingénue yet riveted to her every move. Even ran interference as several wannabe boyfriends tried to cozy up to her. No surprise there. The girl was hot. But what she was putting out didn’t seem to match her character and his protective instincts took over.
Or was it your possessive instinct, caveman?
Whatever it was, something about her stirred a need to watch out for her. Underneath the man-killer persona, he sensed goodness and vulnerability. By the time she finally mustered the courage to saunter up to him, he couldn’t resist his curiosity.
So here she was. This was going to be fun and he needed a little fun.
Paradise: The Masters of The Order Novel Two Page 3