Seductive Secrecy (Shadows series) (15 page)

They’ve drawn down to a dull roar, which is a great thing.

I mentioned to you last time that I should stare at the sky more often. Well, I have been
every evening out on our balcony. I step outside, and I watch the stars. I send them my “hello,” and I hope they deliver it to you whenever you see them next.

I’ve always signed my letters to you as C. I feel like maybe it was my way of only revealing a piece of myself at a time, until we got to know each other better. I was holding back out of fear. It feels like that’s changing now. I’m grateful for it.

-Charlie

THE DOORMAN DIDN’T JUST LET ME INTO THE LOBBY
of
Chet’s building; he also signed me in at the front desk, waved a
wand over my body to ensure I wasn’t concealing a weapon and quickly searched my bag. Then he escorted me into the elevator, pushing the button for the top floor and riding with me the entire twenty-eight stories. I had been to numerous high-end apartments all over the city that housed athletes and celebrities…and yet I had never been babysat quite like this. I could only imagine the aristocratic residents who were present and called for the added measure of security.

Mansion people
.

The thought made me shiver against the back wall of the
elevator. It caught the attention of the doorman. I knew there were probably
hundreds of clients who hadn’t been publicly outed in the
newspaper. One of mine could be living in this building. As long as my identity remained a secret, I didn’t believe I had to worry about my safety. Still, I imagined the possibility that I would walk into someone’s apartment one day and not only be spotted, but be slapped with memories of his wiggling tongue. As long as they didn’t know who I was, I’d be fine.

Victoria, though…she was a concern I couldn’t quite get past.

She knew so much about me. If she ever decided to tell the
world what she knew, there would be no hope for me. But at that point, there would be no hope for her, either.

I knew she’d never risk her own neck, even if it was to wring
mine.

I breathed through the anxiety of her memory as the elevator door slid open. Waiting on the other side was a woman dressed in a
housekeeping uniform. She thanked the doorman, who stayed
inside. Once I stepped out into the foyer, she requested that I follow her to the living room and asked if she could get me anything to drink. I politely declined; my attention was too focused on the décor.

The high-end apartments I had been to were usually decorator-chic—everything was coordinated from the window treatment to the flooring. Tastes ranged from modern to traditional. But because they were all so similar in style—and because most of my clients played it so safe with their accents—the only elements that stood out were the tall windows, high ceilings and breathtaking views of the city. This apartment had all three, but it also had a style that I had never seen before; it could only be described as a collection of fetishes. This home screamed
lust
; it cried out
se
x. It moaned through its art, its color, its decorations—even its smell: pure leather and latex. These not-so-subtle hints were everywhere: in the hooks hanging from the twenty-foot ceiling, in the vases that closely resembled cocks, in the full collection of canvases that depicted various parts of nude bodies. The chairs had high backs that were folded in and shaped like a pussy, and even the lines of the couches dipped like an upper lip.

Sex was everywhere in here.

I took a seat in one of the chairs. My feet rested on the skin of an
animal; a mirrored ceiling hung above me. I tried to imagine how someone could conduct a business meeting here without completely
revealing their lifestyle. I wondered if the other people he asked to come here were freaked out by their surroundings. Shouldn’t I have been, too?

Why was the dark, twisted side of me feeling almost nostalgic?

“Charlie, welcome,” Chet said, approaching me from behind and lightly kissing my cheek. He took the chair across from mine. “I hope my staff offered you something to drink?”

“Yes…very hospitable. I’m fine, though. Thank you.”

“Very well, then.”

For having such an eclectic and erotically charged home, Chet didn’t have a personality that matched the vibe. He seemed much
more bashful, his cheeks flushing with ease. And his dress was
casual, proper, with heavily-starched light-tan trousers and a light-blue striped polo.

His eyes didn’t move from mine, so I made sure to avert my
stare. I didn’t want him to think I was passing any judgment on his choice of décor. The truth was I actually liked it very much.

“Do you think you can work with my tastes…my décor?” he
asked. His face hadn’t lightened at all since he’d entered the room. As he finished speaking, it only reddened more.

“Absolutely,” I said. “It’s a taste I can appreciate.”

“I knew I was going to like you, Charlie. Should we get started, then?”

I reached into my bag and pulled out a pencil and my sketchpad and placed both on my lap. “Where is the piece going to be hung?”

He smiled. It almost appeared as though it wasn’t natural, as if he’d been overtaken by shyness and was covering his real feelings behind the grin. “It’s going in my den, which I plan to show you. But I’d like to hear your vision first.”

I was often asked this question when I met with a client for the first time. Unless they had a specific idea that had been stirring, they usually wanted to be approached with several options for them to choose from. But before I could provide any, I needed to get a feel for their appetites and desires, for how risky they would allow me to
be. I needed all of this before I could design an image or select a
theme.

The colors throughout the apartment were cold, masculine,
dominating tones, with varied shades of black and gray. Burnt
orange and deep crimson were used as accents. I liked the palette he had chosen, but I didn’t want the piece to blend. I wanted it to pop, to stand on its own.

“You mentioned that you liked
The
Lace Mask
. What if I create something similar…” I glanced up, beyond the furniture, to the hooks on the ceiling. They reminded me of what had held the chains and cuffs above my bed at the mansion. “But instead of it being a showcase of dark, erotic fantasy, what if it’s just dark? And submissive?” My eyes continued to scan the room for inspiration as it was quite common for me to brainstorm in front of the client without an official destination, allowing the ideas to just come to me while I spoke until we settled on something solid. “Maybe a window into a much darker place, like…” I hesitated; the idea that had come to me was different than anything I had ever created before. It was daring and bold, black and gritty; I was about to take a huge risk, greater than I’d ever felt comfortable taking in the past. “Like a portrayal of Stockholm Syndrome.” He was silent. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it. I could put her
the mask-covered beauty
in a place of captivity, emotionally…and physically.”

“Charlie…”

The tone of his voice startled me from my place of reverie…not that I’d zoned out while imagining it. It was more like I’d tapped into my own murkiness, pulling out thoughts that cast shadows over my own walls as well as his. But as my eyes traveled to his face and assessed his reaction, I felt as if I’d taken it too far. I’d allowed my voice to be persuaded by my memories of the mansion. Had I really just offered to create a piece that showed a kidnapped woman for a total stranger? What the hell was I thinking? This was darker than anything I’d ever come up with for a client before.

I had overstepped.

“Chet, I apologize if I
”

“It’s fabulous.”

His reply shot my back straight against the chair. “I’m sorry… would you mind repeating what you just said?”

He smiled again. “Your idea, it’s absolutely fabulous; it’s exactly
what I was looking for. It takes a certain type of person to
understand my taste. Most are just…overwhelmed by all of this.” His index finger circled the air, indicating his collection of fetishes. “Based on what I’ve seen of your work, I had a feeling you’d be open-minded…
but I didn’t expect you to catch on so quickly. Let’s say I’m
pleasantly surprised. And
very
pleased.”

I believed Gareth’s request had been nothing more than a coincidence; my art was dark with sexual overtones and that’s what
he was looking for. But now I was beginning to think it was more than that. Maybe I really did attract male collectors with a penchant for domination. I
wondered if I’d somehow become the Madam of Boston’s dark art
scene.

I could satisfy them…because I was them.

A madam
and
a whore? You’re moving up in the world, Charlie.

It chilled me that Lilly’s voice could reach me even here.

I pushed her out.

“Thank you,” I told him. “I have an ability to read people quite well.”

And apparently they were able to read me just as well.

“Would you like to take a gander at my den?”

I nodded. Then I bent over and placed my pad and pencil back inside my bag, realizing I hadn’t needed either. The inspiration was everywhere. The sketches would wait. I hung it over my shoulder and stood up.

“Charlie, may I ask…is your cell phone in your bag?” Chet asked.

“Yes, it is.”

“Then I’m going to have to ask you to leave your bag down here. I assure you no one will touch it or take anything from it. The request is just for my protection since I don’t allow cameras in there for…obvious reasons.”

Suddenly the word
den
had taken on a whole different meaning. This wasn’t an extra living room, like the one on the second floor of Emma’s parents’ house that they’d referred to as the
family den
.