Masterpiece (The Masters of The Order Book 1) (8 page)

Bent with arms wrapped around her twisting stomach, Julianne babbled to no one, “Please, no. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

*****

“Answer the phone, damn it.”

Julianne’s light was on, so she was obviously there.

Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.

Zachary helped him find the courage to be honest, but now that he was finally here, he couldn’t reach her.

He had to tell her the truth.

He had to explain what he’d become for her.

And he had to do it right now. Something told him tomorrow would be too late.

Jerard paced the sidewalk outside of Julianne’s house as the phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

*****

Julianne was wet. A killer headache clouded her thoughts.

Where am I?

Her eyes shot around the tiled room, straining to see clearly through a blur of water.

Running
. She remembered running away.
Did he follow?

She waited, afraid to move, shaking so hard her teeth chattered even in the steam. Minutes passed before the cruel memories released their hold and reality reemerged.

It was your imagination. He doesn’t know. He won’t hurt you.

Empty and spent, she pushed herself off the shower floor and turned off the water. Her head throbbed and her legs felt like limp noodles, but she managed to creep out of the bathroom. Touching the wall for support, she made her way down the empty hallway, scared and unsettled. Stripping off her wet underwear, she flopped onto the bed and stared into the crystals dangling from the light overhead.

So I have a little crush and I slipped.
She threw her hands over her face.
A crush? Try again, Julianne.

Yesterday, she didn't simply cross the line between teacher and student. She obliterated it. And in her folly, disregarded the Colonel. She’d never done that before.

I try to be good, but with Nicolai it just isn't fair
.

The man was like Belgian chocolate and her craving for a taste was becoming insatiable. She indulged her fantasies and let Nicolai become the ever-present Master of her dreams, but the woman lurking in the shadowy depths of her soul wanted more.

Always more.

She was trapped, suspended between desire and expectation, but the fact remained that this infatuation was one-sided, with all the attraction being on her side. While Nicolai's recent behavior was confusing, his kindness surely meant something else.

And it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t
, she reminded herself.
At the very least, you managed not to throw yourself at him like some shameless animal in heat. You want to be an artist. From now on, keep the focus on art.

Despite her resolve, she was badly shaken. Hiding her head under the pillow, she gripped the down as if that would squelch the irreconcilable conflict raging in her mind. Her father may have won this fight for her loyalty, but she wondered for the first time how long that would continue to be true.

Julianne closed her eyes as if she could fall asleep in the midst of her mental battlefield.

*****

Julianne slipped into the gallery.

Nicolai was angry and she knew it. She’d stayed away too long. Jerard was angry too, but for the opposite reason. He didn’t trust Nicolai and wanted her to stay away. But it wasn’t Nicolai who couldn’t be trusted. It was her.

Her mind was resolved to resist this ridiculous and inappropriate infatuation with her sexy teacher; her body, not so much.

This is about art. Not him,
she told herself, but deep in her heart, she knew the truth.

Nicolai was nowhere to be seen. She sighed at the reprieve and hurried down the steps. Only to stop dead at what greeted her at the bottom.

The frosted doors to Nicolai’s studio stood wide open. The haze of the glass no longer obstructed her view. Nicolai crouched, arms outstretched, in front of a huge block of clay. Every exquisite detail displayed clearly for her starving eyes.

He was, in a word, divine. Like an angel floating in a sea of white.

His chest and feet were bare. Silken skin flowed over every inch of him. A loose pair of white pants that tied daringly low hung off his trim waist. The delicate fabric teased with hints of what lay beneath. The strength of his thighs. The statuesque curve of his backside. Even his feet were beautiful, reminiscent of his hands, long and elegant.

Without turning to look at her, he said, “Welcome back, Julianne. I have a special surprise in honor of your return. You’ve learned discipline, but I feel you still don’t trust me.”

“I trust you, sir,” she lied.

Nicolai cast a doubtful glance as if he knew she was lying.

I do…to an extent
. But she never revealed anything personal. Never talked about her life outside the gallery. Nor did she plan to.

“No painting for you today,” he said, gliding like a cat across the white floor toward her, his movements fluid, effortless. Without a shirt, she could see why.

Ça alors! Nicolai works out.

He flashed a Cheshire grin as he took both of her hands and led her through the open doors. “Today, we will work together.”

Settling a hand on each shoulder, Nicolai coaxed her to her knees. She dropped, dumbfounded, her mind scrambling to catch up to the situation. She’d longed for him to open those doors and invite her in. Now that he did, she felt paralyzed.

The change is so abrupt. The safety of his distance, gone!

“I’ve been commissioned to create a modern day
David
. I've been staring at this dead block of mud for hours and can’t find the inspiration for him. Perhaps you can help me conjure Michelangelo.”

“I’ve never worked with clay, sir. I’m not sure I’ll be any good at this,” she stammered.

Another lie. She had taken a sculpting class and wanted to take more, but her father decided that sculpting was a distraction from her painting and disallowed it.

“Indulge me, Julianne. You are good at everything you do. That much I’ve learned over the past months. What makes you think this will not be the same?”

Without really thinking, she blurted, “My father wants me to be a painter."

Merde
. She hadn’t meant to focus Nicolai’s attention on the Colonel, but the words slipped.

Nicolai lifted her chin so he could read her eyes as he asked, “And you always do what your father tells you to do?”

“Yes, of course.”

He gave her a confused look. “You’ve never tried other mediums? Never taken a risk and tried anything just for yourself?”

The surprise in his voice shamed her and she could only shake her head in reply.

“Well, it’s time you did,” he declared.

The stern tone made her wonder whether he was angry for more than her extended absence.

“You’re stunted by the brush. Technically proficient, yes, but I’ve yet to see the inspiration in your work.” He brushed his fingers along her cheek and his tone became almost wistful. “I cannot find
you
behind the paint.”

Nicolai’s words stung, but as much as she wanted to deny them, he was right. There was no “inspiration” in her work. She did feel stunted by the brush. She knew she could never hope to create something uniquely her own if she didn’t explore her talent, but she’d never been offered that type of freedom and although she desperately wanted to break free, she was afraid.

Nicolai crouched down and looked her level in the eye as if to underscore the finality of his next words. “If you will not do this for yourself, you will do it for me. Together, we will see what happens when you work directly with those beautiful hands of yours.”

She opened her mouth, but he silenced her with a quick tilt of his head. “I insist, Julianne. I will discover the artist locked inside of you. You will inspire me.”

When Nicolai gave her his '
I’m waiting, but not for long'
look, her palms twitched and a door unlocked in her mind. Her bossy teacher could never be dissuaded from something he wanted. And he wanted this. The implacable position gave her the freedom to explore something new. She was suddenly excited, eager for the new challenge. Grinning in anticipation, she laid her hands against the cold clay.

“Much better.”

The approval in that low, smooth voice only enhanced the thrill.

Over the next hour or so, they knelt side by side, working in companionable silence. She tried to adjust to the feel of the clay, but it felt so foreign. She was unsure; her movements, awkward and harsh. She pinched too hard, leaving the impression of fingertips instead of molding a desirable shape.

"I'm sorry, sir, I can't…"

Nicolai moved to kneel behind her, spreading his knees to allow her legs to lie between them and whispered against her ear, “You can. Free your imagination, Julianne. This is a man. Don’t feel the clay. Feel his skin.”

He leaned in to lay his hands over hers and a sweep of silky hair brushed her cheek. Her awareness of him kneeling at her back was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. His heat soaked though the thin cotton sheath she wore. His warm breath fell over the skin at her nape. She inhaled the subtle combination of fine milled soap, expensive cologne and mint, and lost herself in the fresh scent of him.

He began to guide her hands over the clay, moving them with flowing, even strokes. She felt safe and cherished.

And bold.

“Sir, why didn’t you tell me what you thought about my painting before?”

He continued the lazy glide of hands over clay before answering in an equally lazy voice. “You weren’t ready to hear it.”

She twisted to look at him. “Are you implying that I painted that damn fruit over and over by my own choice?”

He shrugged and leaned his shoulder into her back to turn her around. “Not exactly. I told you to obey me and you did,” chuckling slightly, he added, “for much longer than I expected.”

She stiffened in his arms and his tone became instantly serious. “Art lives inside the soul, Julianne. A true artist must follow her own path. Until you were strong enough to follow yours, we could not move on.”

How could I be so stupid?

The repetitious painting of that cursed fruit was a tool. A crippling restraint meant to force her to believe so strongly in what was inside that she simply had to break free. Nicolai actually wanted her to assert herself. Once she did by painting Le Bois, he could be honest and they could move forward. All this time, he was waiting to begin.

“I suspect you understand me a bit better now, Julianne,” he said, running his hands over her wrists and up her arms.

She drew in a deep breath. “And my punishment?” she asked in slightly more humble tone.

“You disobeyed me.”

“You just said I was supposed to disobey you.”

“No. I said that you would. You could have put your trust in me, Julianne. You could have talked to me. I am not your enemy. I’m your teacher.”

So the painful final touch of his lesson was meant to punish her for not trusting him enough
as her teacher
. Well it taught her much more than that. She’d been physically disciplined many times, but all she ever felt was pain. Nicolai made her feel something entirely different even if he didn’t feel it himself.

Now that she’d danced the fine line between pain and tormented pleasure, the woman inside would always crave the thrill of being dominated. A single taste of submission and its blissful freedom, and she was hooked. It was simply a matter of finding the right man.

But Nicolai isn’t that man.

She must have mistaken the dark passion she thought she’d seen so clearly in his eyes. She must have imposed her own unexplored inclinations on the fantasy lover she conjured him to be. If he saw that interaction as nothing more than academic, perhaps he wasn't the type of lover she imagined him to be. Perhaps she could have this relationship and not betray the Colonel. A tension in her chest released at the thought.

Nicolai swayed, tightening the arc of his arms, and pulled her back into the moment. She softened at his unspoken command and turned her thoughts back to the clay.

Flexing his hands over hers, he whispered in her ear, “I’m thrilled to see the artist in you break free. There’s so much locked inside you, Julianne. If you trust me, I will help you set it free.”

If he wanted trust, she would give it to him. At least as far as her art was concerned. She pressed her back against his chest and synchronized her breathing with his, wordlessly ceding control and hoping he understood her silent answer.

“Thank you, my quiet Beauty.”

He began to move her hands again. Back and forth, up and down, over the clay. It felt like they were dancing. In the cocoon of that almost-embrace, she let her mind roam free.