The Chase

by Vanessa Fewings

  I wondered if it was a Rembrandt we were going to see, and my toes curled with the thrill of seeing the kind of priceless masterpiece reserved for stately homes like this.

  Thanking Tobias for holding my door open, I appreciated his strong hand taking mine to help me out of the car.

  We strolled up to the front door, which loomed grandly above. Taking those stone steps beneath the elaborate archway highlighting the Roman-themed grandeur.

  I straightened my dress. “Why do we have to be out by midnight?”

  “Not we, you.” His lips curled into a smile. “I need to protect your innocence.”

  I flashed a smile back. “Oh, it’s that old-fashioned tradition where the men retreat to the smoking room in some kind of archaic sexist ritual.”

  He wrapped his fingers around my left upper arm. “No, Zara, it’s because that’s when the fucking starts.”

  6

  The front door opened—

  And I’d given up breathing.

  Tobias ignored my death glare and gave a nod of greeting to the butler, and said, “Vis-v-vis.”

  He removed a cream envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to him.

  The door opened wider.

  Tobias’s ironclad grip led me in and past the stocky young butler who probably doubled as a bouncer.

  A young waitress stepped forward too. She extended a silver tray with crystal flutes of champagne. I tried to keep my gaze on the bubbly and not stare at her nakedness. She wore a black thong, and that was it, unless you counted the nipple clamps. She was petite, and her pretty eyes narrowed with intrigue from behind her mask.

  Tobias thanked her for the drinks and lifted them off the tray. He handed one to me. I resisted gulping it down and turned to face him.

  “Ms. Ruby Ryan?” The butler looked up from the invite he’d peeled open and held my gaze.

  Tobias gave a nod. “Which way?”

  “Welcome.” The butler nodded left.

  Tobias’s grip tightened on my arm and he led us off in that direction.

  “Black tie, sir,” shouted the butler after us.

  Tobias threw me a look of apology and removed his jacket from my shoulders. He shrugged back into it, rounding out his dashing, moneyed appearance.

  My thoughts raced with confusion for what Tobias was getting us into, and I almost tripped when we hurried by Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s painting of Les Grandes Baigneuses, depicting nude women bathing. The impressionist painter had a gift for capturing the dreaminess of his subjects.

  His work stirring controversy even today for his promiscuity with color—oh the scandal—or the way he ignored lines and composition.

  This was a taste of what Renoir must have felt with his decadent, impetuous behavior in Paris.

  No, I reasoned, I’ve stepped inside a Picasso.

  This was more like Pablo Picasso’s 1903 La Douceur, the erotic oil on canvas with its delicate watercolors of a woman going down on a man as he leisurely lay back and enjoyed the moment, watching himself in the mirror.

  And I was smack-dab in the middle of this explicit fantasy.

  My heels clipped on stone, the cold a welcome relief to reduce the burn of embarrassment that scorched my face.

  When we reached a door, he knocked once.

  With no answer, Tobias headed on in and pulled me with him.

  A quick glance around at the wood-paneled room made me realize what this was. Not a coatroom, no, but a room for the dresses that the female guests had worn to this event and then removed and safely placed on chrome free-standing racks. From the number of dresses, hundreds of women had already arrived and stripped down to their underwear.

  My Coco de Mer lingerie now made sense. Evidently, Marks and Spencer’s panties didn’t make the grade. Addled, I silently thanked Tobias for his forethought.

  Careful not to spill my drink on my dress or the plush burgundy carpet, I set it down on a coaster on a corner table.

  Tobias took a sip from his glass. And then another. “This is a Krug Clos d’Ambonnay. Very nice.” He placed his glass next to mine.

  What the fuck.

  I went for the door.

  Tobias wrapped his hands around my waist and spun me around and nudged me gently until my back pressed against the wall.

  His mask made him look edgier and sexy as hell. I went to take mine off—

  He stopped me. “Before you say anything.” He gestured for me to be quiet. “I need you to listen.”

  “What is this place?”

  “We have a mission. To view a painting. Authenticate it. And get out. Whatever else you see has nothing to do with us.”

  “Is this a secret society?”

  He pressed his body against mine. “Keep your voice down. Let’s not stand out any more than we did when we arrived.”

  “Who is Ruby Ryan? And why did he think that’s me?”

  “She’s a friend who pulled some serious strings to get us in here.” He turned his head toward the door as though listening. “Think of the invite as the equivalent of a golden ticket.”

  It was hard to suppress my sarcasm. “Like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? Only instead of chocolate...”

  He looked amused. “Yes, if you like.”

  “So you’re not a member?” I studied his face for the truth.

  “No, otherwise it’d be my name on the invite.”

  I tried to think straight but it was difficult being this close to him. “The painting still belongs to the owners?” I grabbed his biceps, and his firm muscles flexed beneath my touch, rousing a sense of safety.

  “It’s due to go up for auction in a few weeks,” he said. “Sotheby’s doesn’t allow for anyone else to authenticate a piece other than their own staff. I don’t want to outbid the room only to end up with a forgery.”

  “You should trust them, they’re the best—”

  “I’ve been burned once before. Never again.”

  “Isn’t what we’re doing illegal?”

  “We’re merely guests at a party. We just happen to come across a painting and admire it. No one needs to know. Trust me, everyone, including the hosts, will be otherwise distracted.”

  “Is this an orgy?”

  “No, Zara, it’s a tea party.” He looked amused.

  “I hope you don’t think—”

  “Please.” He rolled his eyes. “I need you focused. You nearly gave us away back there.”

  “How?”

  “Your response to the waitress.”

  “She’s buck naked.”

  “I noticed a thong.”

  I glared at him. “A warning would have been nice.”

  “This opportunity can’t be lost.”

  And right now I was hard pushed to recommend any staff at Huntly Pierre who’d raise their hand when invited to an orgy. I hadn’t worked there long enough to know who’d be up for a mass banging.

  “Do I have your commitment to complete our objective?” He didn’t budge, merely leaned his weight, further pinning me to the wall.

  “Yes.” My lips trembled with a thrill of excitement when his erection dug into my stomach. This searing heat of arousal between my thighs.

  A wave of exhilaration.

  His lips brushed close to mine. “It’s just in and out, Zara.”

  The pressure of his cock now placed perfectly at my groin sent sparks of pleasure between my thighs.

  We both froze as though equally stunned by the intensity of this position. Swirls of pleasure. A yearning for him to be inside me.

  A soft sigh escaped my lips.

  I shoved at his firm chest, trying to push him off before I weakened any further and begged for it. This man was pure muscle, pure alpha, and he’d
captured me with the intensity of his stare.

  My nipples nudged through my dress and there was no doubt he’d feel them through his shirt.

  “Zara, I need you focused. Professional. I need you at your best.” He stepped back. The loss of his body left me bereft and I tried not to show it.

  “I don’t have to do anything rude?” The question was my way of denying he’d affected me.

  “No.”

  “I need my X-ray machine.”

  “It’ll stand out.” He waved his hand. “Just do what you did with the Pollock.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll get you in the room. Just tell me if it’s an original.”

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “I saw you do it.”

  “No, I know the Pollock intimately. I sat at the National and stared at it for hours.” I broke his gaze. “I was trying to understand what Pollock was telling us.”

  “What about your reputation? Your knack for fakes?”

  “Art intuition? I suppose it runs in my family.”

  Tobias blinked at me. “Do your best. That’s all I’m asking.”

  I gave a reluctant nod. “Can I keep my dress on?”

  “You’ll stand out.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Yes.”

  “I just have to look at the painting and then we can leave?”

  “I promise.”

  “You’ll be with me the entire time?”

  His eyes crinkled with kindness. “Won’t let you out of my sight.”

  My breath stilted when I realized he was waiting for me to take off my dress.

  He turned around.

  How far was I willing to go for a painting? The question was glaring.

  It’s like being at the beach, my nervous thoughts reassured me. This is no different to wearing your bikini.

  I shimmied out of the gown and found a hanger to place it on. I left it at the end of the rung so it’d be easy to grab later.

  Dressed merely in my underwear, or rather strips of silk barely covering me, my palms cupping my cheeks, I waited for him.

  “Zara? Can I turn around?”

  “Yes.” I assumed a confident pose, even though I didn’t feel it, and straightened my back and raised my chin.

  Tobias blinked as he took me in. A flexing of his jaw muscles.

  “Do I look okay?” I wanted to hear him say I looked beautiful to him.

  The way his taut posture betrayed his secret desire for me spiked this dizzying rush of exhilaration.

  My delight rose that he found this moment just as thrilling, never had I felt so desirable, so capable of this stark sensuality that had a man like Tobias Wilder looking so confounded.

  “Don’t cover yourself.” He snapped back to unreadable and swept his hand through the air. “The women here are comfortable with their bodies.” His gaze swept over me and he gave a nod of approval. “Own your sexuality and you’ll do fine.”

  Which I assumed was “Tobias” for act confident.

  My left hand twitched to reach out and grab his hand to soothe this vulnerability.

  This grand house kept too many secrets. I didn’t want to be in and out, I wanted to stroll along the hallways and drink in the art, saturate my soul with the work of the Old Masters.

  This was not how I’d seen the evening going. Not even close.

  “If anyone asks you a question, defer to me.”

  “Did we just go back a hundred years?”

  “We’re trying to maintain a low profile.”

  I wanted to be ready for him, for them, but fear threatened to incapacitate me.

  He took my hands. “You look beautiful. Do this and I’ll reward you well.”

  “Like, with a bonus?”

  He smirked. “Don’t push it. I’m already getting you a new phone, remember?”

  I frowned, wondering how else he’d reward me, then.

  He neared me and tipped my chin up. “I’ll make it up to you in more ways than you can ever imagine.”

  My body trembled with this growing need of arousal and I bit my lip hoping I didn’t dampen my panties, my breaths short and sharp.

  The pad of his thumb rested on my lower lip and he freed it from my bite. “Just do as I say.”

  “I’ll try.”

  As though lost in thought, his eyelids closed for a beat. “Mr. Wilder?”

  He stepped away and walked over to his glass, and took a sip. “Let’s get this over with so we can get you home.”

  His hand rested at the arch of my back as he led me out. Swooning at his touch and trying not to show it, I reminded myself I could leave at any time.

  And, after all, I was wearing a mask.

  Back within the vast foyer, the chill hit me again. Whoever had decided that women shouldn’t wear clothes needed a punch. It was bloody cold, and with a quick glance down I was horrified to see my areolae were not quite covered. Instinctively, I reached up to hide my breasts.

  “Zara,” Tobias warned.

  My arms flew to my sides as though I’d already stepped into the role of lover. “Next time I’m picking my own bra and panties.”

  His lips quirked in a smile. “I’ve had the unusual pleasure of glimpsing a sample of your personal knicker collection back at The Otillie. Quite the experience. My new favorite color just so happens to be eggshell blue.”

  I gave him a “you’re a cheeky bastard” glare. “Not that there’ll be a next time,” I clarified.

  “Okay, then.”

  We strolled down the dimly lit hallway.

  Music carried along with laughter, clinking glasses, the revelry of a party.

  Tobias spoke with two intimidating-looking bouncers guarding a large double door. He sounded fluent in the Italian words he shared with them, and I sensed it was a password.

  They both reached for their respective doorknobs.

  So many questions. How did he know about this place? Who was Ruby Ryan and what was his relationship with her?

  A woman who was obviously into this—

  Inside a fluorescent red room, topless burlesque dancers were performing, with one twirling on a pole, another blowing fire out toward the awestruck crowd, the others swirling sensually on chairs. Garish theatrical music flooded the room.

  A few hundred tuxedo-wearing men watched the performance, all of them with skimpily clad women by their sides, who mirrored what I was wearing. Their luxury lingerie hid nothing. A few dared to go topless. This could have been a Victoria’s Secret photo shoot. The variety of stunning lingerie was breathtaking.

  A rich man’s playpen.

  Booze flowed from silver trays carried by thong-wearing waitresses, who offered fresh flutes of champagne or golden spirits that were no doubt the very expensive kind.

  The music changed to sultry French lyrics, setting the scene for arousal. The atmosphere crackled. I’d lost track of time and wondered how close to midnight we were.

  Tobias led me to the far corner of the room, right up to the large mantel where a hearth burned brightly, orange logs sparking and exuding the kind of heat these old houses desperately needed. Rising out of those flames burst the scent of pinecones and rosemary.

  I turned to face the marble mantel and warmed my hands against the dancing flames.

  Glancing left and then right, this was also a perfect vantage point to view the other guests, and despite their masks it was obvious the men came from wealth and the women with their tall, slender figures were merely trophies, perhaps some of them coming from money themselves.

  “Turn around,” Tobias whispered.

  I did so with a huff of rebellion and nudged up against him. His palm rested against the arch
of my lower spine, sending shivers up it.

  “I’d love to visit your gallery,” I said. “The one in LA.”

  He dipped his head to my ear. “We’re wearing masks for a reason. Let’s not give any clues to who we really are.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You’re forgiven.”

  I raised my chin. “You’re not. Forgiven, that is.”

  His hand slid lower and he gripped the back of my thong—and tugged.

  I gasped when my thong rubbed my clit and it ignited in a shock of bliss. My sex thrummed with pleasure.

  He smirked. “Something wrong?”

  “You’re not allowed to do that,” I said in a rush.

  “Clearly I am.”

  “No, we’re merely pretending to be lovers.”

  “Lovers?”

  “Well, whatever the kind of relationship these people have—” I swept my hand into the crowd.

  “They seem happy to me.”

  “I’ll take a rain check.”

  He grabbed my arm. “Not without me.”

  “Why?”

  He gave a polite smile to a couple standing close. “They’ll stop you. And then give you back to me.”

  “Lucky me.” I waggled my eyebrows playfully.

  He looked amused. “So, how does it feel to step outside your comfort zone?”

  “You like living dangerously?”

  “There’s no danger here. Just decadence, power and privilege. Nothing we can’t handle.”

  Despite standing beside her tux-wearing partner, the pretty masked blonde nearby was clearly flirting with Tobias. Her boyfriend, with his striking red hair and cold gray eyes, caught her leering our way and instead of there being any kind of fallout to Blondie’s teasing, he merely nodded respectfully toward us.

  Tobias gave a subtle shake of his head.

  That closed that offer down, then, and my mind ran off with the kind of scenario Blondie might have suggested. An unfamiliar wave of jealousy jolted me into realizing I was falling for him.

  Tobias was staring right at me and was annoyingly giving me the kindest, most reassuring smile.