Seductive Shadows (22 page)

I sat in the seat across from him, my knees touching, my shorts riding up well past mid-thigh. My purse acted as the sheet that covered me during my exams. I laid it on my legs and crossed my arms over it.

“Hello, Charlie,” he said, pausing as his eyes roamed my face. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long to make contact again. I’m sure you’ve been wondering what this is all about…why I’ve risked my job yet again to come here.”

He’d done more than just risk his job; he’d broken all the rules. Every night that had followed our meeting, I’d lay in bed trying to figure out what would be important enough for him to reveal his identity, for him to take the chance of someone from the mansion finding out.

“I’ve tried to imagine, yes. But I haven’t come up with a reason.”

“I want you to quit the mansion.” His tone was polite, yet firm.

“Quit?”

“Yes. I want you to stop working there.”

My fingers wrapped around the bar, and I crossed my legs. “And why would you want me to do that?”

He hesitated. “I can’t tell you why at the moment…you just have to trust me. You have to believe that I have your best interests at heart, that I’m doing this to protect you.”

This confused me. “You’re asking me to quit my job, but you won’t tell me why?”

“Yes,” he said.

“It isn’t that easy.” He had to know how complicated that would be for me.

“I believe it is.”

“Well, I’m not you.”

He took a deep breath and held it in, his face reddening slightly. “No, you’re not.” He exhaled and shook his head. “Thank God for that…thank God you’re better than me.”

His tone wasn’t sarcastic or mocking; it was sincere and serious, as if he were truly relieved. But I couldn’t understand why he’d be thanking God that I was better than him, or why he’d made this request of me at all. And the silence that followed only frustrated me further. So did his posture…the way he sat so straight, so confident. It hadn’t wavered any more than his intent stare.

“So just like that,” I said, “you want me to ignore tonight’s text and not show up for the pick-up?”

“I want your commitment first. Then we’ll talk about the next steps.”

“I can’t give you that.”

His composure cracked a bit. “Is it the money, Charlie? Or the sex? What is it that makes you want to keep working there?” He shook his head. “Haven’t you found meaning in your life outside of the mansion yet?”

Money had been my personal excuse, my internal means for justifying my actions and my decisions. I still had an overwhelming amount of debt, but there was no reason I couldn’t scale back my life. I could find a roommate to split rent and utilities; there were ways to reduce my cost of living, despite how minimal it already was. It was more than just money that kept me working there, though. And it was more than just sex.

It was the dark sense of belonging that came with the job.

I had to wonder if the person I was expected to become inside the mansion might be the person I was actually meant to be all along.

Lilly downed gallons of wine and vodka; the thin glass pipes in her dresser told me she smoked more than just weed. Drugs and alcohol gave her a lapse, a pause from her life, no matter how temporary it might have been. The mansion did the same for me. When Cee was reborn every night, I was able to rest Charlie’s pain, her fear and loneliness. I could shut off her brain. But it wasn’t just the sex I yearned for anymore; it wasn’t just the holding or the adoration or the attention, the feeling of being wanted.

It was the promise of becoming someone else.

“Money is a big part of it,” I explained. “But the mansion also gives me a break from my life.”

“I can give you an escape, and money. I can give you whatever you want, Charlie. Let me care for you. It would give my life so much meaning.” His eyes burned with intensity, but they held no cold calculation. I was taken aback by his sincerity. “Please…tell me you’ll do this.” He was almost pleading.

I didn’t answer him. It was true that he made me feel safe and cared for…but there was always a price, I knew. I couldn’t give him anything right now. I certainly couldn’t take his money, or whatever alternative he was offering. I may have been desperate enough to sell my body, but that was money I
earned
. Even with the complications the mansion held, I still had my pride. And Victoria had told me during my interview that if I wanted out, I was allowed to leave at any time. I didn’t need him telling me when to do it; I could decide that for myself.

“Will you think about it, at least?” He was pleading again.

After considering everything the mansion held for me, I couldn’t come up with a reason that I would...until I did.

Cameron.

Whatever was developing between us wouldn’t be truly possible if I continued working there. He would never accept me as Charlie if he knew about Cee, about the mask I wore...in the mansion, and in his studio. Even when I’d been half-naked with him as he painted me, I’d been concealing something, covering myself so he wouldn’t see everything I really was. I had no idea if there was a chance for us to ever be anything more than friends, even if I did quit my job. But I knew for certain if I didn’t, there would never be a chance for us at all. Even not knowing what the outcome would be, I realized it was a step I should consider taking.

A step toward the light.

“Yes,” I told him finally. “I will think about it.”

He seemed relieved to hear this. “Please do. I’ll need an answer soon…you don’t have much time.”

I didn’t ask what he meant by that. I had enough to think about.

“How will I find you?” I asked. “Outside the mansion, I mean.”

“You won’t,” he replied, his composure returning. “I’ll find you.”

***

Cameron was standing near the elevator door in the galley kitchen as I stepped into his studio. Light from the adjacent buildings shone through the wall of windows; the overhead fixtures had been dimmed, creating a subtly romantic vibe. Alternative rock played lightly in the background. Instead of being filled with paint fumes, there was a hint of cologne in the air, and something spicy like a cinnamon candle. He handed me a beer and I followed him toward the small sitting area in the back of the room. A gentle quietness filled me, softened me.

“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?” I asked. “I still have a lot of work to do.”

He took a sip. “Should I put yours back in the fridge?”

I thought about the Doctor showing up outside my apartment and our short limo ride just a few minutes ago. “No. I can definitely use it.” I let the frigid liquid fill my mouth and run down my throat as I reached for the wrapped canvas at my feet. “I have another piece for you.”

Before my finger could reach the strap, he placed his hand on mine. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“Just enjoy the silence for a second. Try to relax a little. I’ll look at it in a minute.”

He slowly released my hand and I leaned back into the couch, crossing my legs underneath me. My neck fit into the corner of the pillows. I closed my eyes, and felt his arm brush up against mine.

Enjoy the silence
.

All twenty pieces were due tomorrow and I’d be dropping them off at Professor Freeman’s office in the morning. They needed to be finished in the next few hours, so they’d have plenty of time to dry before I wrapped them. Every time I looked at one of the canvases, I found something I wanted to change or add. I didn’t know that I would ever be able to consider them truly
finished
. But I had to let them go after tonight, let them breathe someone else’s air. Let them fill a stranger’s wall.

I brought the cold glass up to my lips and took a sip, and then another. I downed what remained until there was only a small swig left in the bottle.

“One more?” he asked.

“I think so.”

When he returned, he took the empty bottle out of my hand and replaced it with a full one. He took a seat next to me, and I heard him unravel the cloth covering from my piece.

“I—”

“Eyes closed,” he said. “Lean back into those pillows again. I’m viewing; you’re relaxing.”

This was the only piece he hadn’t seen, the one I had been saving, perfecting since he had told me something was missing from my story…that something needed to come after
Kerrianna
.

Wounds heal, Charlie. So what happens to her after they do?

I buried my neck in the couch and waited for more of his sounds. But I didn’t hear him at all; I felt him, instead. His hand pressed against the side of my face. I felt the warmth of his skin spreading down my chest and my stomach, stopping only once it reached my clit, even though he never touched it. His breathing was fast and steady as it spread across my mouth. I kept my eyes closed.

“What inspired this piece?”

I wasn’t sure if I was ready to give him that answer.

“Open your eyes, Charlie. Look at me.”

My gaze met his, icy blue in its intensity, and the tingling turned to a pulsing throb. “You asked me what happens when
Kerrianna’s
wounds heal.” I pointed in the direction of
The Kiss
, the painting with two faces extended from opposite corners of the canvas, their lips reaching toward each other.

“Answer me.”

“I did.”

He shook his head. “Answer me, Charlie.”

I glanced down, unbuttoned only the top of his shirt, and slipped my fingers inside. I ran my hand over his tattoo and covered his scars. “That kiss…it’s
Kerrianna’s
dawn.”

“And what
inspired
it?” His body stiffened. “Answer me.”

“You did,” I whispered.

His hand was still on my cheek, but his thumb moved to my mouth, and he swiped it slowly across my lower lip…then my top. His eyes followed. My neck continued to sink into the pillows, my body following suit as he leaned over me. I wasn’t going to reach out of this shadow; Cameron was going to come into it, to me.

And he did.

Gently, he pressed his lips against mine, and his fingers pulled me even closer. I tasted the slightest hint of beer on his breath mixed with the spicy cinnamon I had smelled earlier. The muscles in my stomach tightened; my toes pushed into the couch. I wasn’t sure if I had stopped breathing completely, but I knew my mind was consumed with his tongue, his hands, the way my body was pooling beneath him. Tingles trickled into my chest and a tiny moan arose from the back of my throat.

Suddenly, my lips turned cold. He had left them…and left them wanting more. He pressed his forehead against mine. Our noses touched softly.

“You only have a few hours left,” he said.

Only a small part of me wanted to get up from the couch. The rest wanted to stay underneath him, to have his hands ripping off my clothes, his mouth finding its way down to my nipples. But he was right: my artwork was due in the morning, and I couldn’t disappoint Professor Freeman.

“I need to review each of the pieces again and add some finishing touches,” I said.

“Yes, you do.”

Neither of us moved.

“Don’t make plans the morning after the exhibit. I want to take you out to breakfast so I can hear all about it.”

My eyes opened. “You’re not going to be there?

“I’m not sure I will. I’m certainly going to try.”

I never thought to ask Cameron if he’d be coming. I knew he was on the invitation list; I just assumed he would be there because he had helped me so much, and because of what was happening between us. But as I repeated his words in my head, a shard of disappointment stabbed through me.

“Hey,” he said, his thumb moving to my chin. “Something came up. That’s all.”

It must have shown on my face.

“Breakfast?” he asked again.

I nodded.

I had spent two afternoons hunting for a dress, filling the department store dressing rooms with possibilities, only to leave empty handed. I wasn’t a shopper; I didn’t purchase fashion magazines as a habit, and I didn’t search the Internet for the hottest new looks. I wore things that fit, that were comfortable and complimented my style. I expressed myself more with the use of accessories, which were usually carefree and lazy. And until recently, most of my clothes had come from thrift shops and second-hand stores. But my art was being exhibited now; the expected media coverage and the presence of high-end collectors who had committed to attend made it necessary for me to find something far more sophisticated than what was already in my closet.

I didn’t have a girlfriend to go shopping with…another reminder of how much my life had changed since Emma’s death. After returning home from the second trip with still nothing to wear, I asked Dallas if he would come with me. I wanted it to be sophisticated and elegant, yet sensual and seductive. He knew my body better than anyone, and he was the most honest person I knew. I knew he’d be truthful.

 Unbeknownst to me, Dallas’s sister was big into fashion; when he told her what we were searching for, she suggested a boutique at the south end of the city. Once we were there, I bought the second dress I tried on. It was simple, black and strapless and fitted through the bodice, and it ballooned slightly before ending at my knees. It readily met with Dallas’s approval.

As I dressed for the exhibit, I added a thin red belt that matched my heels. I straightened my hair using a round brush and hair dryer, the way Sandy did. Once the heat had flattened out the frizz, I wrapped sections of it around the curling iron, making soft waves that framed my face and flowed down my back. I kept my makeup subdued: a dark caramel covered my lids, pink gloss stained my lips and a thin layer of mascara rested on my lashes. When I was finished, I examined myself in the mirror. I wondered if I looked like I belonged in the art world, if I was actually close to becoming what I wanted to be most.

Something better than myself.

Flutters tickled the inside of my stomach on the ride to the gallery. I tucked my red clutch safely under my fingers as I exited the taxi, and I knocked on the back door. Professor Freeman opened it immediately, drawing me in for a hug. This wasn’t the first time we had embraced; he’d held me in a lock a few days ago when I had dropped off the final piece at his office, and again this morning when I stopped by the gallery to ensure the canvases had been properly hung. But this hug felt a little more meaningful than the others. It was an embrace filled with genuine love and affection.