“Beth and Phil keep inviting me, and I kept turning them down. I decided today was the day I’d take them up on their invitation.” He took a long drink of his beer.
“Oh, so you’re like me, a glutton for punishment,” she cracked.
“Nah.” He grinned. “They’ve been good to me. Beth is so warm and inviting. This isn’t punishment. In fact, I felt bad about turning them down so often.”
“Don’t feel bad. The hostess with the mostess never misses a beat. She lives for social gatherings.”
“So what do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Uh-oh, here we go. Do I lay it on the line now, or do I test the waters and drop it on him later. Emily glanced shyly at him and struggled with the answer to such a simple question. She was really beginning to like this guy. Even though he was painfully shy, she sensed something solid about him. Tom Ryan was indeed a rare find. He took the time to apologize and help her, when most of the men there would’ve gladly disappeared, leaving her to clean up the mess. He was a genuinely good man who would provide a good shoulder to lean on, a stable element to her chaotic sometimes obsessive work life. Even though she had known him for only a few short minutes she believed, for some lucky woman, he could be the perfect husband. But the way he took an interest in her and attempted conversation even though it was so awkward for him gave her the impression he would do whatever he had to do to make the woman he loved the center of his world despite his discomfort.
She needed to end it now, before she got in deep. With a man like Tom, jumping into the deep end would be easy.
“I’m an artist. I specialize in bronze sculptures.”
“Really? That’s cool; art was my minor.” Tom sat up straighter, eyes sparkling with interest. “What sort of work have you done? Do have any pieces in the local galleries?”
“I have a few in Austin. Most of my pieces are tied up with an exclusive client who owns a hotel and resort chain. I do have some in a show tomorrow night at a gallery near Alamo Heights.”
“I’d love to see some of your work,” he said.
“Tom, most of what I do is a little controversial,” she started to explain. “This exhibition in particular is different, and it’s been known to offend some people. In fact, Beth would have a cow if she heard this discussion.”
“Okay…. What’s the subject matter?”
For the first time since she’d started the endeavor, it made her nervous to tell someone what she created. It was controversial, sometimes smeared, but profitable as hell. She’d told those tight-assed country club buddies of Beth’s she didn’t give a fuck what they thought, she would laugh all the way to the bank. They hadn’t changed much. Back in high school they were the Stepford cheerleaders and even then used to make her life miserable. Beth would take up for her every now and then, but it was never enough. They were relentless.
Tom was a really nice guy, and she would’ve loved at least have one date with him before he dropped her like a bad habit. Emily took a long drink and let the tequila do some of its magic before she answered.
“It’s erotic art. The show near Alamo Heights is at a private club, and the pieces involve BDSM.”
“That is provocative. I can understand why people get uneasy when you talk about it. But a lot of classics were considered controversial, and now they’re treasured. I’d still like to see some of your pieces.”
“Tom….”
“I don’t judge, Emily. You’d be amazed at what I’ve been asked to include in people’s houses. Where’s your show? Or is it a closed showing?”
“It’s by invitation only. I have five invitations,” she said tentatively.
“I’d really like to see your work, unless you don’t want me to.”
“No, when most people learn what my art is about, they freak out or think I’m some sort of weirdo.”
What the hell am I saying? Why am I talking to this stranger like he’s my damn therapist? Emily studied Tom for a moment. His mild, impassive expression showed he wasn’t fazed. He hadn’t expressed shock or embarrassment about the subject matter she chose to represent. Emily’s self-consciousness reared its ugly head as she noticed the way Tom’s eyes ran over her body. Rather than long and lean, she’d always been curvy, even on the heavy side. Beth’s friends had made fun of her so she’d hidden her figure in loose jeans and T-shirts. She’d been crushed when all her date for the senior prom did that night was talk about the girl he really wanted to take. Beth.
So she buried herself in sketch books to ease the pain of her outcast status while the Stepford cheerleaders moved on to become the Stepford wives of Fair Oaks. Meanwhile, after entering and ending a horrible marriage, Emily slowly came into her own and blossomed. She discovered a freedom in her work she’d never been able to attain in her personal life.
Tom was so out of her league. He’d be miserable if he hooked up with her because she’d never be able to be the Stepford wife he needed. He turned his gaze toward the pool and for a long time they watched the kids play and the adults scurry around after their children.
“Emily, how about we make it a date? We can go to your show and then to dinner.”
“A date? Are you serious?”
Being a romantic and artistic woman, she dared let herself hope this could actually work out for her. No man had ever accepted her work in such a mature fashion. He sounded as if he understood her desire to create something different and unique and displayed no childish smirking or teasing about what she did for a living. It would be a dream come true to find a man who accepted her without reservation or judgment.
“Yes, a date.”
Emily took another long drink before answering, “I’ll have to sneak you an invitation. If Beth finds out, there will be serious hell to pay.”
Tom chuckled before he finished the last of his beer. “I’m good at clandestine missions. For now, it’ll be our secret.”
Emily’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She dug it out and quickly read the screen. It was a message from 1Night Stand. Madame congratulated her on her art exhibit and let her know her match would be waiting at a restaurant along the scenic San Antonio Riverwalk tomorrow night after her event. Madame Eve promised to text the details in the morning after confirming the arrangements with the gentleman Emily would be meeting.
Her heart sank. Fuck! Why me? When she took two steps forward, she’d follow it with three steps back. How the hell would she manage this one? She’d promised Jackson she’d obey Madam Eve’s directions to the letter. But she never expected to meet a man like Tom Ryan.
Now what the hell do I do?
***
Tom set the invitation to Emily’s show on the table near his front door. He started to place his phone next to it when he saw a red light blinking, indicating he had a message. Funny, he hadn’t felt it vibrate but then again he’d been so captivated talking to her, he hadn’t noticed much. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard or enjoyed an evening with an intelligent and witty woman. Emily was also sexy as hell. He wasn’t at all surprised she’d chosen the subject matter she did as the focus of her work.
He’d studied Emily as they talked. Because of her sharp comments at time and her self-deprecating comments, it was clear she had a slight chip on her shoulder. Mostly, he’d studied her luscious body. She had the perfect shape, in his opinion. Most women he knew worked out and starved themselves anorexic. Their clothes hung on them, Emily’s wrapped around and caressed her sensual, womanly figure. Emily Sanchez was a walking sex goddess. Tom wanted nothing more than to worship his goddess by burying his cock as deep inside her as he could.
He read the text message from Madame Eve. She’d found him a match who would be in San Antonio on business for the week. Madame Eve had arranged a date for tomorrow night at eight-thirty p.m. She included the woman’s phone number. Emily’s show was from six to nine p.m. They were supposed to go out afterward.
“Oh no.” He picked up the invitation and glanced bet
ween the two objects in his hands. This was one hell of a situation. Tom placed the invitation on the table and gently tossed his cell phone next to it. As he walked to his bedroom at the back of the house, his footsteps dragged. He would need to break one of those dates. The more he thought about it, the more conflicted he became. He’d promised his daughter once Madame Eve contacted him, he would make every effort to connect with the woman she’d chosen for him for one night. But he’d also promised another beautiful, sexy, and intelligent woman he’d be there for her. Emily’s art show held great significance to her career. He picked up on her need to be accepted from the self-deprecating wisecracks she threw out. She and her work had never before been truly given a chance to shine. As much as he wanted a physical relationship, her vulnerability raised a protective nature in him. With the respect he commanded in the community, his chosen field, even among his troops, he could give her the legitimacy she needed. Emily had to have all the support she could get, and he’d be damned if he’d let her down.
Tom fell backward onto his bed and closed his eyes. How could meet both his commitments? He’d need to at least see his one-night stand so he could say in good conscience they weren’t able to hit it off.
A picture of Emily laughing flashed into his mind’s eye. She was so beautiful and the first woman in a long time he actually felt comfortable around. He could tell her anything and, as the night wore on, they had told each other quite a bit. He’d even talked about Karen, something he’d never done with any other woman. Being with Emily was so easy and natural, it didn’t occur to him to leave until almost midnight, well after the other guests had departed. Closing his eyes, he recalled the hug they’d shared right before he’d left for the night. Her body was perfect against his, and her soft skin warmed his hands as he ran them over her arms before letting her go. He inhaled and remembered her scent. Emily made him crazy with desire and need. He wanted to shove her against the wall and kiss her like she’d never been kissed before.
Damn it! What the hell am I going to do?
Chapter Two
“What the hell is that doing there?”
“So sorry, Mistress. I thought you wanted it there.” The man lowered his eyes and hurried toward the sculpture in question.
“I drew a damn diagram of the exact position of every object for chrissakes! Fucking get it right!” Emily snapped.
She thrived on the chaos before one of her shows, but this one was especially challenging because she wanted every detail perfect. Lucian Wilkerson had become her biggest patron after seeing her work at a gallery in Austin. Master Lucian, an executive at a huge San Antonio based energy company, was her champion and had been instrumental in getting her the recognition she deserved. She’d been driving the help insane with her demands. Lucian had sent a bunch of slaves from the club to assist her with the setup. Some of them quivered with delight at the sudden outbursts of temper when she’d find something she didn’t like. A few, she would almost bet thrived on the humiliation.
The beautiful Terrill Hills antebellum mansion near the entrance to Alamo Heights was Lucian’s home. Few knew the elegant mansion had a private playroom, the entire third floor dedicated to safe, secluded play for the people who considered the BDSM lifestyle a critical part of their personas. Emily marveled at the liberation the lifestyle offered its participants. She would often watch Lucian and his slave/wife as they interacted. MaryAnn lit up with his simplest glance or gesture. Emily wished at times she could find a man who understood her so completely no words would be necessary; he’d know exactly how to please her. She thought longingly about Tom. No, I’d have to tell him every single detail.
Emily surveyed the huge first-floor room Lucian had cleared for tonight. All of her art work was now on display, impeccably arranged and ready to make her shine. Everything was finally perfect. She smiled, and the slaves who’d been helping her relaxed and stood a little taller as she walked through the gallery and nodded her approval.
“Well done, you may all go,” she tossed over shoulder.
At four in the afternoon, she made her way up the Gone with the Wind staircase to the room Lucian had lent her for the day, and the night if she chose to stay. The caterers had arrived and were busy making their final preparations. She’d offered to help with the cost, but Lucian had waived her off, telling her he would be entertaining foreign guests and this private art show was a business expense. She showered and took her time dressing. Before she put on the last of her jewelry, she heard a tap on the door.
“Em, darling, you’re going to be late to your own event, it’s five till six!” Lucian called.
Emily gave herself one last inspection before she opened the door to his agitated face. “No one’s ever on time to these things, Lucian. You should know that.”
“They’re German. Believe me, dear heart, they’ll be on time.”
Lucian took her arm and escorted her into the grand foyer where the guests had started to arrive. She warmly greeted each of them before they continued on to mingle and drink in the art work. It was no secret what they were really here for, and many had brought their own pets. Dressed in after-five attire, they almost looked normal.
She suddenly wished she hadn’t invited Tom. She’d been thinking with her damn pussy instead of her head. The more she thought about it, the more she regretted the decision. She’d be lucky if he ever spoke to her again after seeing this gathering. She needed to lose herself in the moment rather than thinking about another stupid decision she’d made that would end up biting her in the ass. Emily gave herself a mental slap for giving a damn about what Tom thought and took on the I don’t give a fuck persona she’d so carefully crafted over time. She weaved through the crowed like a tigress on her home turf and owned her event. This was her moment and no one would ruin it for her, not even her own self-doubt.
A woman who worked with Lucian had eased her into a conversation about one of her pieces when a slight touch to her arm made her turn her away.
“Tom,” Emily said nervously.
He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going very well actually.” The woman she’d been talking to leered at Tom and tossed him a flirty smile. Instantly Emily’s hackles went up and she glared at the woman, who took the hint and slunk away.
“It looks like it. There are a lot of people here.”
“No one declines a Lucian Wilkerson invitation. People do whatever he wants,” she said.
Tom surveyed the people mingling about the room. She shuddered slightly. There was no way he could understand what the hell was really going on here. He didn’t appear perplexed or uncomfortable but Tom Ryan wasn’t a stupid man. He’d eventually figure out something wasn’t right. Lucian met her gaze from across the room and made a beeline for them. He missed nothing. She quickly took Tom’s arm, steered him toward one of the more abstract pieces, and tried to engage him. Perhaps their host would take the hint.
“Tom!” To her shock, Lucian clapped her date on the back, and the two shook hands. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m a guest of the artist,” Tom said.
“You two know each other?” she asked, slightly dazed.
“Of course! Rosencrantz Architectural redesigned this house and also designed the one in Fredericksburg. Tom was the miracle worker who managed to keep Bel Meade’s Civil War charm while bringing it into the twenty-first century.”
“R-Really?” she faltered. What the…?
“I didn’t know you two knew each other either. Small world.” Lucian gave Emily the look.
“I loved keeping true to the image of this old place. It was one of my favorite projects,” Tom said as he gazed around the room.
“Well, enjoy the show. I didn’t know you were a fan. We’ll talk later, Tom. When Emily doesn’t have you quiet so captivated,” Lucian said with a mischievous wink and moved on to charm some of the other guests.
Emily wanted to melt into the floor. Damn Lucia
n! If Tom had anything to do with this place, then he knew damn good and well what was on the third floor. He was currently studying one of her more…provocative pieces. Much to her surprise, he was drinking in every detail and seemed to be getting absorbed into some of her work. What the hell happened to Mr. Shy and Awkward? “Tom, I wasn’t thinking last night when I gave you an invitation. I should’ve—”
“Emily, I told you yesterday. I don’t judge. Life is way too short to worry about what other people think.”
Before she could answer, one of the German guests called out to her. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
Tom caught her arm gently. “Don’t worry about me. This is special, Emily.”
She shivered at his touch and the sincerity in his eyes. Her knees went slightly weak at his light caress. When he hugged her the night before, she’d imagined him latching his mouth onto her and stealing her breath as he kissed her. He was such a sweet, sincere man. The sort a woman could easily settle down with and be content. He was also the last man in the world who could be happy with her. I could change, for him…. Stop!
She’d caught herself in a lie. She’d never change and be happy. Since she’d received the text from Madame Eve, she’d been seriously considering simply ignoring the message and going on with her plans to be with Tom tonight. She’d even crafted the excuse that she’d been so busy preparing for the show she’d simply missed the message. She started to ache looking at him so she made up her mind. For her own sanity and preservation, she had to let Tom Ryan go.
“I need to talk to you about later tonight, Tom.”
“Relax and enjoy the spotlight.” He squeezed her arm reassuringly and released her.
She moved toward the guest who’d called out to her. MaryAnn had thankfully engaged him in conversation while she was busy with Tom.
Tom watched Emily’s sexy ass sway softly as she walked away. The little black dress she was wearing hugged every delectable curve of her beautiful body. Such a sexy outfit; the sheer black mesh sides gave a hint of the G-string panties she wore underneath. A perfect ensemble for the event.
Hanging by a Moment (A 1Night Stand Story) Page 2