Ryan removed his arm from around my waist. He smoothed the lapels on my jacket, his fingers brushing across my breasts. He opened his mouth to say something, but I held up my hand to silence him. “I know, I know. I got this.”
My legs moved of their own accord, inching slowly closer to that little room of terror. I leaned against the heavy door and pushed with all my might. The door flew open, crashing against the wall behind. I stumbled over the threshold, but caught myself before I fell.
“Alex?” Matthew dropped the phone. It clattered against his desk, knocking over a can of soft drink across his lap. He didn’t seem to notice his sopping trousers. He just looked up at me from his high-backed leather chair, too surprised to call me James. He looked shocked. He looked small. “What are you doing here? I fired you–”
“No you didn’t. Because firing me would be a stupid thing to do, and you, Matthew, are not stupid. Weasely, yes. A bully, most certainly – but definitely not stupid.”
Weasely? Where had that come from? I sounded like a completely different person. I sounded like the me who chattered inside my head while the other me let people like Matthew walk all over me. Heat surged through my body, and I took a step toward Matthew, enjoying the way I towered over him.
Behind me, Ryan snorted, covering his mouth so that he didn’t laugh out loud. Spurned by his mirth and the adrenaline surging through my veins, I pressed on.
Matthew tried to speak, but I cut him off. “You know this exhibition is the most important thing this gallery has ever done, and you know that taking me off it and handing responsibility over to Belinda of all people is the worst mistake you’ve made since that time you decided to place the living garbage installation in the courtyard during the country’s worst recorded heatstroke. I have the media contacts, I have the deep understanding of Raynard’s catalogue, I have the cocktail party menu. And I have put up with too many years of your shit to have this poached from under me. Well, as of right now, I am finished taking shit from you. I am taking my job back, and I’m going to make the Raynard exhibition the best event this gallery has ever had.”
“Alex, I don’t think you understand. I fired you. You no longer work here. We’re using your office to store copy paper. I can’t just …”
“What if I said I could guarantee an appearance by Ryan Raynard himself at the opening? Would that change your mind?”
Matthew’s eyes bugged out of his head. I could practically see the dollar signs spinning in his brain. Behind me, Ryan tugged urgently on my arm. I glanced over my shoulder, and saw his panicked expression. What did you just say? A thought rushed through my head. But I wasn’t going to back down on this. If I had to do something difficult, then so did he.
“Did you just say what I think you said?” Matthew asked, his voice choked with cloaked excitement.
“That’s right,” I said, my eyes never leaving Ryan’s. “I’ll get the artist himself to show up at the opening. You can call all the snooty critics and collectors and tell them that if they come along they will be among the first people in the world to meet Raynard in the flesh.”
“And I suppose in a matter of days you’ve become close personal friends with this world-famous international reclusive artist, and that’s why you’ve been gallivanting around the village instead of here working?” he muttered.
“I wouldn’t say we’re close,” I smiled. Ryan squirmed uncomfortably. “But I think I can persuade him. I can be very persuasive when I want to be. I may even be able to get him to sign some prints to auction off.”
Matthew knitted his fingers together, and stared at the ceiling. He was trying to make me think he was thinking about it, but I knew I had him. “Very well. If you can get Raynard to make an appearance, you can keep your job. But if you fuck this up in any way for me …”
“I promise I won’t,” I smiled sweetly. “Provided you don’t fuck this up for me. I don’t want to see you at the opening stuffing your face with shrimp cakes and fawning all over the New York Times journalist like you did at the Fauvism opening. And next time you think about threatening me or taking my job away, you’d do well to remember that I have worked with you for years. I know all your little secrets. I know about that illegal underground club you DJ at on the weekends, and that the Cézanne in the post-impressionist exhibit was actually a fake. I know about the little room in the warehouse where you like to play peek-a-boo with the female interns. I know enough to crush you like an ant, especially since I’m still friends with your favourite New York Times journalist. I also know that when this exhibition is over, I’ll be getting a promotion. And a raise. A substantial one. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an opening to rescue.” Before Matthew could say anything, I whirled around on my heel and stalked from the room.
“And get that copy paper out of my office!” I called over my shoulder as I sashayed down the hall like it was a runway. My heart was thundering against my chest, and my whole body surged with adrenaline. I’d done it! I had stood up to Matthew, and instead of getting my ass handed to me, I’d left him standing there, utterly flummoxed!
Ryan grabbed my waist and swung me around, pushing me up against a wall. His eyes flashed with anger. “Why did you do that?” he growled.
I smiled sweetly. “You told me to go in there and do whatever I could to get him back on my side, so I did. I got my job back, and now you have a built-in alibi for attending the opening.”
“But Alex, I can’t appear at the opening!” He didn’t look angry now, only nervous.
“Oh, yes, you can. I am not the only one who needs to tackle her fears. You, Ryan Raynard, are going to make your first public appearance for ten years, and you are going to look absolutely stunning.”
“Infuriating woman,” he growled, his eyes flashing. He held my wrist beside my head. I flashed back to the first time we slept together, when he played the dominant, tying me up and blindfolding me while he ran his hands all over my body. The adrenaline coursed through me, and I leaned forward and planted my lips against his.
He fought against my kiss, his lips clamped shut. But this time, I was in control. I reached up and curled my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer as I fought for control of his mouth. Slowly, his lips opened, his tongue darting forward to devour mine. He slid his hand up from my waist, running his fingers over my stiffening nipples through my shirt.
I swiped my hand up, catching his wrist just as his fingers scraped against my skin. My whole body surged with electricity, and I didn’t care that we were standing in the hall where everyone could see.
Ryan tried to move his hand, but I held him firm. “We’ll have to finish this later. I’ve got an exhibition to put on, and you’ve got to prepare for your public unveiling.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” He jammed his leg against my thigh, and I could feel his hardness. I dropped his hand and ducked out from under his arm, laughing as I stalked down the hall toward my office. I glanced behind me, my stomach exploding with mirth as I saw the combined look of terror and amusement on his face.
Now that I had succeeded in securing my job back, we could move on to the second stage of our plan. We had to guard the exhibit day and night against Isengrim’s inevitable attack, and that meant both lycanthrope-proofing the gallery and finding some way to stay near the paintings at all hours of the day and night.
As soon as Clara was feeling strong enough to get out of bed again, we had her make up some protective charms containing wolfsbane and marigold – herbs that repel lycanthropes. I hung these around the gallery. Luckily, they smelt fragrant, so I was able to convince the docents they were potpourri we were using to disguise a bad smell from some leaking pipes, and no one moved them.
While I argued with caterers and wrangled photographers, Ryan surreptitiously moved all our gear from the car into my office – camping mattresses, sleeping bags, food, candles, his laptop … I have no idea how he did it without raising any suspicions, but by the time I returned to my office, he’d com
pletely stocked it for the night.
Our gear stashed, we spent a couple of hours putting together press kits in the copy room. Ryan kept trying to pull me in for a kiss, and I kept darting away, enjoying his mad expression as I drove him crazy with lust.
As the hours wore closer to closing time, I felt giddy with anticipation. I knew I should be frightened. We were about to break a million laws, aside from the fact that I was jeopardizing my newly-renewed employment contract. Old Alex would’ve spent the evening pacing nervously, certain the plan was going to fail. But I felt like I’d drunk several pints of moxie. I even added a little stomp to my walk. When Ryan slapped my ass, I pinched his right back. I meant business.
The sun moved closer to the horizon, painting the sky in beautiful crimson hues. The gallery shut its doors to the public at 5 pm, but, with such a big exhibition only a few days away, everyone was working overtime. My stomach rumbled, and I thought of the gourmet delicacies Simon would’ve packed for us in the chiller back in my office. But I had to maintain the facade that I was leaving for home at some point, so I grabbed a chocolate bar from the vending machine in the hall and continued to work.
Matthew was one of the first to leave, grabbing his coat at around 6 pm. He waved at me nervously through the glass. “Don’t work too late,” he said, his voice dripping with genuine concern. “We can’t have you under the weather again.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I patted Ryan’s arm. He grinned salaciously, and Matthew slunk back from the window. “I’ve never felt better.”
“Err, yes, of course.” Matthew shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. I loved seeing him squirm. “Well, don’t forget to alert security when you leave.”
By seven-thirty, the rest of the staff had gone. The cleaning crew took another hour to finish with the offices, working around Ryan and I without a word. Finally, they put away their vacuum cleaners and we had the gallery to ourselves. Now for phase three of Operation Keep Isengrim Away.
I called security and informed them I was leaving for the night. Ryan had moved the car away from the car park, so no one would be suspicious. While I wished Benny at the security firm a good night, Ryan opened his laptop and logged into our secure intranet to plant the phony security footage – we’d looped video from three nights ago, so that anyone playing back footage from tonight would see an empty gallery, which was exactly what we wanted them to see.
Ryan hit a few keys on the keyboard and leaned back, staring up at me with a satisfied smirk on his lips. “It is done. Now, we have seventeen minutes to get to the exhibit hall before security start on their rounds. Grab as much stuff as you can carry.”
Nodding, I pulled my rucksack on to my back, grabbed a heavy metal box, and opened the door to my office. I checked the hallway. No one there. “It’s safe,” I whispered.
Ryan came out after me, carrying the rest of the gear. We looked like a Bedouin caravan as we traipsed through the eerie, empty galleries. I fumbled with my key, opened the door to the west hall, and we slipped inside.
The gallery was lit by low-level security lighting, which gave the whole room an eerie, muted glow. One wall was completely clad in glass, and this wall formed one side of the entrance corridor that led into the main gallery lobby. We’d blocked this wall off from the public with huge screens depicting advertising for the show. That way, the public wouldn’t be able to see the paintings before the exhibit opened. The screens also shielded our little encampment from the prying eyes of the security guards who patrolled the building.
The Raynard exhibit was so important we didn’t allow the security detail to enter the room. The hall remained locked at all times, which worked out perfectly for our little stakeout. We set down our equipment in the centre of the room. Ryan pushed two large, padded square seats together (we placed these around the gallery to encourage people to sit and contemplate the artwork, although mostly they were used by small children as makeshift trampolines). Ryan leaned back on the upholstery, and grinned. “A bed fit for a king,” he said.
“This seems a bit ego-centric,” I mused. “You sleeping in a room filled with your own art.”
“You sleep in a room filled with my art,” he shot back. “Why can’t I?”
I was glad the lights were dim enough to hide the flush that I could feel flaring in my cheeks. “Get the door,” I whispered, turning away from him and unpacking my things from my bags. I heard Ryan clicking away on his keyboard, and the electronic bolt on the door slammed shut. We were locked inside.
My stomach rumbled so loudly we both heard it in the empty room. Ryan pulled out his camping stove, and set it up on the hardwood floor. I looked down at the comically tiny frying pan he set down on top. “What are you doing?”
“I’m heating up dinner.”
“On that? How do you even cook on it? It looks as if it’s designed for fondue night at Barbie’s dream house.”
“Oh, yea of little faith. Stand back and prepare to be amazed.” Ryan opened a plastic container and dumped its contents into the pan. Chicken sizzled and a delicious, spicy aroma wafted past my nostrils.
I watched with fascination as Ryan pulled ingredients from his bag, and in no time he’d cooked a pile of spicy chicken pieces on the tiny stove, and mixed that with a salad of wilted greens, cherry tomatoes, and pears (caramelised over the flame). He placed a handful of pinenuts in the pan, toasted those to perfection, and scattered them on top, adding a drizzle of some delicious tangy dressing. My stomach growled, desperate to devour something that didn’t have a candy centre.
Ryan lit a small candle in a glass jar. I guessed from the hand-drawn label that it was another one of Clara’s concoctions. A faint smell of ylang ylang scented the air. Ryan laid out a little linen cloth and matching napkins, and he even placed a crimson silk rose beside my place. He poured wine into two crystal glasses, and handed me a fork. I dug right in, enjoying the spiciness of the chicken cut with the tart lime. We ate in silence, our single candle flickering between us, making our shadows dance across the floor. When we were done, Ryan placed all the dirty plates and cooking utensils back into a plastic bag. “I’ll wash these in the bathroom tomorrow,” he said.
“What with? I just know I love to eat off dishes scented with almond hand soap.”
Grinning, Ryan held up a travel-sized bottle of detergent. “It’s even eco-friendly,” he said with a smirk. “Hasn’t been tested on animals.”
“How very environmentally conscious of you,” I smiled, scooting closer to him. In this giant, cavernous space, his warmth cut through the air, pulling me in. The silence of the cavernous gallery engulfed us. I felt strangely nervous, like a teenager sitting next to my crush in a darkened movie theatre for the first time. My heart fluttered against my chest. Just being close to him did things to my body. He moved his leg, pressing his thigh against mine, and a spark of electricity flew through my body, settling in my chest and squeezing tight.
My mate. Was this attraction part of the bond we shared? I’d never experienced this kind of magnetic attraction to a man before. Whenever Ryan was in the room, I felt my body drawing nearer to him, some invisible force pulling us together. Plus there was the psychic connection, where he could push a thought into my head, and I into his. Is that a normal part of being with a vulpine?
I had so many questions, but I didn’t speak them. I didn’t want to spoil the moment, to break the spell that caused this amazing feeling to course through my body. I kept staring straight ahead, not moving, not acknowledging him, just savouring the anticipation of his next move. The electricity crackled through the air around me, waves of energy caressing my skin, making every hair stand to attention.
Ryan leaned over without touching me, his lips just an inch from my earlobe. His breath whispered against my sensitive skin. “We’re all alone in here.” he said, his voice husky.
“We are,” I whispered back, my breath catching in my throat.
“We have this whole gallery to ourselves, all night.”
“We do.”
“All those long hours, stretched before us, whatever shall we do with them …” And then his lips were pressed against my earlobe, the fire of his touch rocketing straight to my brain. White lights danced before my eyes. I was seeing stars, literally seeing stars, nebulae, whole galaxies. My body sizzled as he pressed his lips harder, every fibre of my being focused on that one spot where our bodies touched. I could sense the tightness in his muscles. He was a coiled snake, preparing to strike. He was all the strength and tension of his paintings, come to life.
His paintings.
I tore myself away from him, ducking underneath him just as he lunged for my mouth. I stood up and crossed the room, the clap of my boots echoing through the vast, empty hall. Ryan cursed loudly.
“What are you doing? Get back here.” he growled. “I have plans for you.”
“Make me,” I hissed back, enjoying the anger in his voice. I heard his footsteps behind me. His arm snaked around my waist, and he tried to pull me closer, touching his lips to my neck. I twirled away, my neck and earlobe tingling where he had touched him. I felt giddy, drunk with desire for him.
“Alex,” his voice was gruff, edged with need. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
“I haven’t seen the paintings yet,” I said, moving toward the edge of the room, heading for the first in Ryan’s series. “I need to know you’ve still got the talent to support me in the manner in which I’ve become accustomed.”
“You haven’t looked at them? But you put this exhibition together.” He looped his finger through the belt loop on my skirt, and yanked me back. My body crashed into his, my ass sitting perfectly nestled in his crotch, his hardness pressing against my thigh. He drew his hands up my body, skimming over my thighs and cupping my breasts. I dropped to my knees and shimmied out of his grasp, causing him to groan with frustration.
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