Masterpiece (The Masters of The Order Book 1) (2 page)

Even the harsh fluorescents couldn’t diminish him. His internship at NYU added a bit more grit to his already streetwise look, but he was still her Jerard. Finger-combed dusky hair, light beard at his jaw, heavy leather and silver jewelry, and a heart of gold.

He peered up through tousled bangs, flashing a grin as he tossed his hair back. That smile was hers alone. The rest of the world got the cool Jerard, the avant-garde artist who trolled the Paris streets in search of kids to save. Kids like the one he used to be. While she’d grown up in a cocoon of grandeur, he hailed from the proverbial “wrong side of the tracks.” The only reason they could attend art school together was because his crazy talent landed him a full scholarship. Wealthy French benefactors adore their starving artists.

Jerard Gagne’s charity came from a completely different place.

He was an instructor at the Art Saves Center where she volunteered. The Center helped disadvantaged teens by giving free art lessons, supplies and a safe place to kids who would otherwise be on the streets. Donors sponsored urban beautification projects and the students put murals and mosaics on the side of buildings in run down parts of the city. Today, they were beginning a mural in the
banlieue
of Clichy-sous-Bois, a barren neighborhood in eastern Paris.

Julianne launched herself into Jerard’s arms and kissed him on both cheeks.

“Stop worrying, you’re not late,” he muttered, steadying his feet to avoid toppling over.

She squeezed with all her might.

“I’ve missed you too, Julí."

Sometimes Jerard could read her mind.
Just another reason to love him
.

After a long hug, he piped up, “How was your meeting with the great and powerful Nicolai Stavros?” The last words spoken in a falsely deep voice.

That was so like Jerard. To poke fun at someone lauded like Nicolai, but she wasn’t falling for it. Jerard respected Nicolai’s talent as much as she did.

“A little intimidating.”

“A little intimidating. Are you kidding me? Yesterday, you met one of the most famous artists in Paris and all you have to say is that it was
a little
intimidating.” Jerard eased back to look at her.

“Okay, a lot intimidating. Happy now?”

The inquisitive expression made her self-conscious. Jerard knew her better than anyone and for some reason, she didn’t want him to see the effect Nicolai had on her. She wiggled free of his arms and gave him a playful swat on the shoulder as she turned away.

“I think the better question is, ‘are you happy, Julí?’ What’s Nicolai like? Was he nice?”

Birthday cards are nice.

Flowers are nice.

Walks on the beach are nice.

Nice wasn’t exactly the word she would use to describe Nicolai Stavros.

Intimidating, exhilarating, sexy-as-hell. That was more like it.

Jerard’s brow cocked. “From that grin, I’ll take it that Nicolai was a bit more than nice.”

*****

Okay, this is strange.

Something changed while he was gone and not for the better, but Jerard knew better than to pry. Julianne would clam up. He scanned her from head to toe trying to get a better read on her.

“You look great, Julí.” And she did. Julianne never looked undone on the outside, but then again, the kind of scars she bore didn’t show on the outside. “Love the dress and I’m glad to see you’re wearing sensible shoes instead of those designer stilts you’re so fond of.”

She pointed her toe, eyes sparkling as if revealing her naughtiest secret. “Manolo Blahnik,” she whispered and swiveled the shoe. “It’s a sin they’re flat, but the Colonel doesn’t approve of stilettos. I have to hide my babies in the back of my closet.”

“For once, I might actually agree with your father.” he said, rolling his eyes. “Why would you want to teeter around Paris in ‘your babies’ anyway? Is that a girl thing? Naming your shoes.”

“No and I do not teeter.” She put both fists on her hips and glanced at his feet with exaggerated disgust. “Doc Martens, Jerard.
Très couture
.”

He turned back to the duffel bag at his feet with a laugh. “You can enlighten me on fashion later. Grab those extra brushes. If we don’t hurry, we really will be late.”

About forty minutes later, they were driving through a rough section of Paris, looking for the site of the new mural. Jerard swerved the car to avoid passing the turn off and Julianne jerked hard against the door.

“Ow! For God’s sake, Jerard, slow down. And why is the damn GPS speaking Italian? You don’t speak Italian.”

He feigned insult, “
Sì, parlo Italiano, bella ragazza
.”

“No, you don’t. Turn left.” Julianne waved a finger at the entrance to the housing development.

As they pulled into the puckered lot, people were milling around behind a rusted chain link fence. A decrepit concrete building loomed over them. Huge tarps were laid out in front of it. Each would contain one piece of the mural that would ultimately be assembled and painted over to create a gigantic, seamless piece of art.

Jerard began humming the Italian national anthem as they stepped out of the car. Julianne smiled before darting away to join the others. He stayed back, staring at the woman across the blacktop. Their relationship had always been platonic. Julianne was pure, special, and he’d kept her apart from his seedier side.

What could a guy like him offer a girl like her anyway?

A single conversation showed him exactly what.

They’d gone to the movies. He was holding her hand weaving them through the random movement of the crowd exiting the theater, when Julianne asked, “What is sex like, Jerard?”

At first, he thought he hadn’t heard her correctly. Her tone sounded as if she was asking for the time or whether it was raining. When his mind registered what she actually said, he walked right into a rather large woman wearing a not-in-the-least-bit-subtle yellow coat. He remembered thinking no one should wear that putrid color as he apologized.

Once they were clear of their fashionably challenged friend, he replied, “Why would you ask me a question like that?” his tone announcing that he did not want to talk about sex. Not with Julianne.

“I don’t know. Maybe the movie.” Those violet eyes locked on.

Zut, Julí can be so stubborn when she wants something.

“I’ve been having a lot of feelings lately.”

Jerard almost fell to the sidewalk. “Feelings? What kind of feelings?” He would just act like a dolt and maybe the inquisition would pass.

“I’m not a little girl anymore, you know.” She threw him a frustrated look.

He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we should talk about this. Your father will kill me if he ever finds out we're having this conversation. Maybe you should read a book about it or something.”

Jerard didn’t like the Colonel, there wasn’t much to like, but he did respect how the man tried to protect his daughter. The boundaries were laid out with military precision and he had zero interest in learning what would happen if he crossed the line.

“I have. That’s why I want to talk to you. I trust you, Jerard.” Julianne paused and he could see the wheels in her mind turning. “I’m not like other women.”

No, you’re not.

They lived in France and sex was as common as croissant, but not for Julianne. She wasn’t like other French girls. She wasn’t allowed to be and he’d grown to accept that.

He rubbed his fingers across his forehead, trying to look cool. “What do you mean?”

“I think I want things other women don’t. I have fantasies that are...” She hesitated.

“Are?” He was curious now.

“Dark.”

She didn’t meet his eyes when she said it and he really didn’t understand what she meant.

“You’ve lost me, Julí.”

She took a deep breath and said, “Have you ever read
The Story of O
?”

Dieu me pardoner
. Had he ever and more than once. He’d masturbated with scenes from that book burning in his imagination hundreds of times. He couldn’t believe he was talking with sweet, innocent Julianne about sadomasochistic erotica. He really had to end this conversation. Like before it began. He stopped walking.

“I think I want a lover like the men in that book. Maybe not someone so extreme, but similar.” She bit her bottom lip as she looked up at him.

That simple, tempting gesture opened his eyes. Forget the innocent her father wanted her to be. Jerard suddenly saw the little girl he’d known for years differently than he’d ever seen her before.

He saw a woman. A very real, very sexual woman.

The idea of seeing Julianne that way intimidated the hell out of him. Like an idiot, he turned and walked away.

She called after him, “I’m sorry, Jerard. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just that I’m confused and...” Her voice cracked and she immediately stopped talking.

He turned back. “No. I’m sorry, Julí. I fucked up. You surprised me and I acted like a jerk.” He pulled her tight into his chest. It must have felt like she was hugging a pole, he was so tense.

After a very awkward pause, she whispered, “Is there something wrong with me, Jerard?” All of the playful flirtation in her voice was replaced by an invidious self-doubt.

He felt like such an ass. She trusted him and he made her ashamed.

“No, Julí. There’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all. But you have to be careful with things like that. You are a…I mean, you’ve never had a…um. Oh, hell.” He was stammering all over himself, so he just said it. “I don’t think you can decide what kind of lover you need based on a book. Sexy stories aren’t real. Don’t jump to any conclusions about what you want in a lover before you’ve even had one. Why don’t you start with a kiss and take it from there?”

When she pushed back, the broken smile on her face hit him like a fist.

“Do you still think I’m beautiful, Jerard?”

He cupped her face and kissed her forehead. “Yes. You are beautiful, so beautiful,” he choked out, feeling even more worthless than he did before.

They never finished that conversation.

He left for the U.S. shortly after, but her words never left him. Julianne was gentle, yet courageous. She survived the death of her mother and her father’s discipline, which couldn’t be described as soft by any standard. It made sense that those characteristics would translate into her sexuality, but given how inexperienced she was, he could never trust her to another man.

The minute he wrapped his arms around her, dropped his face into the fragrant curve of her neck and felt those soft, so incredibly soft, curves melded against him, he decided. He would be the first man to share Julianne’s bed. If she wanted a dominant lover, then he would become one. He’d always had that edge in him, but for her, it had to be perfected and he knew precisely where to find someone who could teach him.

The afternoon passed quickly. Julianne was pleasant as always, but he sensed the tension in her. As the daylight faded, they returned to his car, tired and satisfied. She was quiet, which wasn’t unusual, but he decided to press her about what was on her mind.

“Are you going to tell me what you’ve been worrying about all day or do I have to tickle it out of you?” Jerard wiggled his fingers with a mischievous smile.

Julianne kept her eyes on the hands folded in her lap. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He could tell when a question would be answered and when it would not. He waited for his guarded friend to open up, knowing that in this case, she would.

“I hope I can continue working on this project with you, Jerard.”

“Why wouldn’t you? I know the Colonel is strict, but he’s never objected to these projects before.”

“I don’t know if Nicolai will approve.”

“Nicolai? Why would you need his approval?”

“He told me that during my apprenticeship, I belong to him. Said I need his permission for anything that might impede on his time with me.”

“That’s pretty arrogant. Don’t you think?”

She didn’t answer.

“Don’t be too impressed, Julí. Nicolai has talent, but he’s just a guy. With too much money and a bad reputation. You should ignore him and do what you want."

Julianne turned away and stared out the window. He felt her shutting him out even before she gave her soft reply.

“I’m not sure I can ignore him. I’m not sure I want to.”

2

A Dark Place in Montmartre

Nicolai was in a foul mood.

Tonight’s crowd included the predictable, teeming variety of half-naked bodies. Some in leather. Some in chains. All anonymous. The Dungeon was not for the faint of heart. Or body, for that matter. As the epicenter of the BDSM scene in Paris, protocol within its walls followed the society to which it catered. House music and hardcore, the club screamed sex.

Iron bars divided the cavernous space into two sections, the Oubliette and the Keep. Newcomers and wannabes flitted around the Oubliette trying to score an entrée into the Keep. They rarely did. No one here was really interested in the inexperienced or the unconnected. The Oubliette’s real attractions were the ones who understood the game and waited there to be chosen and invited into the Keep to play.

The Keep welcomed members only. Everyone else visited by invitation, the most coveted being a pass into the Back Keep. The Dungeon’s VIP playroom was reserved for the überwealthy, aristocratic or otherwise famous. For those less inclined to pubic scenes, the Back Keep also housed the chambers. Private rooms equipped to satisfy any decadent fantasy. Very exclusive. Very discreet. Very, very naughty.

Sitting in his usual banquet, Nicolai scanned the bodies writhing beyond the bars. Impatient fingers drummed the shiny black tabletop.

Where the hell is Jacques?

“Hello, gorgeous.”

Lost to his thoughts, he didn't notice the pretty thing in silk stockings and stilettos who sashayed up to him and leaned over the table, maximizing his view. Her open invitation radiated from her eyes to her heels. No doubt, great sex was her craft, but he’d pass.

“Another time, sweet thing.” He tipped his glass to her.

Vanilla. Not tonight.

Or any other. He may not dress the part like many of the others here, but he was a sexual Dominant, confirmed, unrepentant and uncompromising.

He pressed his palms to his temples to ease the headache pounding in time with the music and tried to tear the images from his skull. Julianne Giroux surprised him and he did not surprise easily. She was so unlike the bohemian youth he’d imagined when he heard her clop into his gallery. The exotic creature who swanned into his office on daringly high designer heels nearly made him snap the Montblanc in his hand.

Julianne was lovely. Truly exquisite.
Une femme exquise.

The vibrancy of her colors exploded into the room like glittering light. An impeccable purple dress drew his attention immediately to the violet blue of her eyes. Glossy mahogany swept over one shoulder, tempting his eye to follow its trail to the pale pearlescent perfection of her cleavage. Deep blood red coated a pair of lips worthy of Leonardo daVinci. Julianne exuded that air of sophistication and sex appeal that some French women embodied so effortlessly. He approved, but then again, he couldn’t imagine the man who would not.

He wanted to paint her. Hell, he wanted to fuck her. Instantly. But that was a no-go for more reasons than he cared to count.

She was his student. Hands off, Professor.

She was at least ten years his junior. Hands off, letch.

She was a fixture in his life until spring. Hands off, Mr. Wham, Bam, Thank You, Ma’am.

She was refined, classy and not a player. Hands off, playboy.

She was innocent, and ah God, so sweetly submissive. Did she realize what the sight of her lowering her gaze did to a man like him? How the shy desire filled her eyes when he commanded her to look at him again? How deliciously shivery her body became beneath his probing stare?

“Hands off, Dom!”

Nicolai banged his head against the high back of the banquette and ignored his stiffening erection. This little X-rated thing he had going in his mind with his new apprentice wasn’t happening. He preferred sex hard and anonymous. That’s why he hung out at the Dungeon. A little fun and done. A fine creature like Julianne deserved better than that.

Better than me.

Even though love had no relevance to his life right now, a part of him, a small, very well hidden part, yearned for it. But he had no ability for love or commitment. His father made damn sure of that. Just thinking about dear old dad made him wince.

He motioned to the waitress for another Martell L’Or as Jacques stepped into view.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

Nicolai slapped a mask over the brewing turmoil. Jacques knew him better than anyone, but he wasn’t in the mood for a soul-searching heart-to-heart. “You’re the second person who’s said that to me tonight.”

“Only the second? You’re losing your touch, my cousin.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re here. Dressed to impress, I see.” He scanned the leather pants and black silk shirt that was unbuttoned to Jacques’s waist. “Very rock star for a business tycoon.”

“In this place, leather beats Armani every time.” Jacques put on a pooh face. “Are we not in our happy place tonight, Nico?”

“Don’t push me, man. It’s been a shitty day,” he groaned with a sharp tug on his tie.

The playfulness fell away. “What?”

“Nothing. Just a bad day.”

He should have known the brush off wouldn’t work. Jacques pressed on.

“Bad review?”

“Like I would care.”

“Stiffed by a client?”

“My clients don’t stiff.”

“Painter’s block?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“A woman?”

One look into those intense copper eyes and Nicolai huffed. It was like his cousin could see into his soul. Had been that way since they were kids. They shared everything, kinks and all, and God knew, Jacques’s kinks made him look almost tame.

“It is a woman. I knew it. Who is she?” Jacques was gloating.

“No one you know.”

“Not yet, you dog."

Flash the image of a naked Julianne locked between them.

Nicolai shifted in his seat. “It’s not what you think. I’m interested in her professionally.”

“Professionally. Really? And you’ve got that look on your face because you’re not hot for her.”

He scowled at his meddling cousin.

“You don’t want to tell me, fine. I’ll find out about this girl you’re not hot for soon enough. For the time being, anything good here tonight?” Jacques asked as he took in the crowd, not so subtly changing the subject.

“The redhead we had last month mustered the nerve to show up. So brassy, that girl. Maybe we should teach her another lesson.” The comment was less than enthusiastic.

“What, no mercy?” Jacques asked in his most innocent voice. As if he had any.

He shot Jacques a dry look. “And now you’re some kind of a saint?”

Jacques preened as he trailed a hand down his exposed chest. “I’m the fucking poster child for the Vatican.”

Nicolai grinned. A little sin with Jacques was exactly what he needed to take his mind off
Mademoiselle
Giroux. “You game?”

“You know it, brother, but you really are a selfish bastard to go after that girl again. Especially after what you did to her the last time.”

Nicolai scanned the club until he met the hungry eyes of their redheaded friend and crooked his finger in invitation. She answered his call immediately, shimmying quickly her seat. A glimmer of fear crossed her face before she jacked up her chin and walked toward him. As he eased out of the banquet to meet her, he glanced back at Jacques.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

*****

What do you wear to meet the person who’s going to teach you to dominate women?

For “Beginner’s Night” at the Dungeon, Jerard chose black. He figured black must be the neutral for the set he was about to meet. Even so, he changed clothes three times before settling on his ensemble of black jeans and a plain black T-shirt.

Everything about this experience seemed surreal. In the abstract, attending a beginner’s night at a BDSM club seemed like the right place to start for what he wanted to learn. He would have preferred a more private introduction to the lifestyle, but he didn’t know anyone personally who could teach him. At least, he didn’t think he did. The more public option wasn’t ideal, but it did offer what he needed. Still, his mind was riddled with doubt as he descended the narrow staircase.

How will this work? Will we just talk about stuff? Will there be models or will I be paired with some random woman who gets her ya-ya’s out by being tied up or worse?

Jerard didn’t want a strange woman. He wanted Julianne. And if he was honest, he didn’t want to cause her pain of any kind. All he wanted to do was become what she needed and to do that, he was about to do God-knows-what with a bunch of strangers.

Best not to speculate and just go with it.

He wiped his hands over his jeans. “Sweaty palms. Real dominant of you, Jerard,” he groaned to himself and rapped his silver ring on the door.

*****

Julianne tried to catch her breath and quash the butterflies in her belly as she descended the steps.

It had taken forever to find this place and the hills of Montmartre almost defeated her. The Dungeon sat at the end of a maze of alleys off one of the main avenues. No sign marked its entrance. If you didn’t know it was there, you never would.

Coming here was a risk. A colossal risk. But her chaste existence was a hell she had to escape. The Colonel’s draconian views on sex were tearing her to pieces. She’d always respected him, but she wasn’t a child anymore.

If he knew I was here…don’t think about that. You won’t touch, only look, and looking isn’t so bad.

Doubt mingled with excitement as she stood at the door. Part of her wanted to run, but she kept her babies planted, refusing to scurry off like a scared cat. Smoothing her skirt, she raised a determined hand and knocked.

The heavy wood creaked open to reveal a mountain of a man clad in black. After assessing her for an uncomfortably long time, he gestured for her to enter. Deafening music bombarded her as she inched ahead.

Through the darkness, Julianne could make out shadowy figures milling at the bar, gyrating on the dance floor and - C
her Dieu, could that be real?
- chained to the wall. She mustered what little courage she had left and headed for the bar on shaky legs.

“What’s your poison, hon?”

A bartender, wearing a leather bustier and not much else, eyed her impatiently. Julianne meekly ordered a club soda and moved to a stool, wondering what to do next.

“You here for the auction?”

She glanced around, but couldn’t see who spoke to her.

“Up here.”

When she looked up, she couldn’t suppress the gasp. A man was suspended in a cage above the bar to her left. Wearing nothing more than boy shorts and a studded collar, he lay on his back, his long hair hanging down between the bars on the bottom of his prison. His head was turned casually toward her. She could barely make out his eyes in the dark, but his voice sounded kind.

“Auction, um, no.” She sipped her drink and tried to look like she belonged.

“Didn’t think so. You don’t look the type.”

Already painfully aware that she didn’t fit in, she tried not to cower at his comment. No one else in the room wore Chanel or as much clothing as she did for that matter.

Stupid, naïve little girl. To think that you look sexy because you tucked up your hem and unbuttoned an extra button on your blouse.

She fought the urge to rip the ponytail out of her hair.

“Watch, you might learn something,” he said, laughing, and motioned behind her.

As she turned, a spotlight blared to life revealing a large platform in the middle of the club. A man wearing a leather hood guided a line of bodies onto it. Each of them stopped where he directed and stood with their legs apart, heads bowed and hands behind their backs.

Someone called out, “Anybody else brave enough to join us?”

No one stepped up.

As the crowd moved in for a better view, another group began working their way around the base of the platform to assess the bound figures elevated before them. Words were exchanged with the hooded man. One by one, he attached a chain to a collar around a neck from the group on the platform and placed the other end in a hand from the group on the floor. He dismissed those left unleashed with a swat on the backside. In the space of a few moments, the platform was empty and the light gone.

The images of the auction stole Julianne’s breath. Not because they scared her. Not because they sickened her. Because they enticed her. Because buried beneath the ladylike exterior lay a latent desire. A secret lust for the taboo of being mastered. A hunger for the forbidden lifestyle that was being played out before her riveted eyes.

In a dark place.

At the end of a hidden ally.

In Montmartre.

What would it feel like to be one of those women? To be chosen. To surrender to will of a Master?