Slow Seduction (Struck by Lightning) (19 page)

I was starting to get my breath back. “Where did you watch the performance from?”

He looked at me with guarded eyes. “Michel hinted that there was something in store regarding the art. I told him I had always planned it as an interactive exhibit, but I didn’t expect it would ever be used the way I intended.” He looked away, his cheeks flushed.

“Let me guess. I came pretty close to what you had in mind.”

He nodded, then put a hand across his eyes. “We should go back to the gallery now.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you go anywhere before I get some answers, James.” I reached toward his chest, where the chips of glass sewn into my bodysuit had left red scratches on his skin. He let me touch him and didn’t protest. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my cool. I was not going to fall apart merely because my dream reunion wasn’t going perfectly. Not yet, anyway. “You at least owe me a decent explanation about what happened between us.”

“Is that what you want? Closure?” He tried to shift away from me on the bed, but I held fast to that sleeve with both hands. “Now that you’ve moved on, what does it matter?”

So much for staying calm. I felt my eyes go hot and prickly with tears as I shouted, “Closure! Are you kidding? I want you, James. You! What the fuck do you mean, moved on? I haven’t moved on at all! I’ve spent this entire summer trying to track you down!” I wanted to hit him, but I didn’t dare let go.

He made a dismissive
tch
sound. “It certainly looked to me like you’d moved on when you let Damon and the men at the club have their way with you.”

“You’re a fucking idiot! You don’t know anything about it!” I threw a shoe at him I was so angry. It was one thing if he didn’t want me anymore. It was entirely another thing to blame me for things that weren’t true. He deflected the shoe and it struck the door. “The only reason I was at that damned club was to look for you!”

He gave me a cold glare. “And what made you think I’d be there?”

“I’m not stupid, James! When I realized the society Damon was talking about was the same one you’d mentioned to me, the same one that hosts the balls in New York, I grabbed at the lead. You had completely disappeared. I had to pursue any connection I could find!”

He stared at me, his expression moving from angry to puzzled to annoyed. His voice was still skeptical. “Damon wouldn’t have known about New York. And you didn’t know about the society.”

“I wouldn’t have known about the society except Renault got drunk and ranted about how he’d been barred from it,” I hissed.

His eyes widened and his mouth softened. “You turned him in? You did it?”

“Yes…I did.”

He looked proud for a moment, a caring expression flickering across his face as one of his hands settled on the back of mine. “We…we clearly have a lot to talk about.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Inside I felt a pang of relief, as I started to believe that he wasn’t about to flee the scene. I still didn’t let go of the sleeve in my hands, though. “I have so many questions. And you owe me answers.” A spike of anger made me ball my fists. “In fact, you’d owe me those answers even if I had slept with Damon George or anyone else at that damned club.”

“I’m still not convinced you didn’t.” His eyes flared with anger.

“Did you forget I was wearing a chastity belt when you saw me there?” I couldn’t help it. I raised my voice. “That was my dictum. No sex. You can ask Damon. You can ask Vanette! The belt was her idea to keep me safe from club members who might forget and get carried away!”

James got to his feet in front of me and jerked his head toward the door. “He’s down there, you know. Mooning over that painting of you.” His jaw clenched.

“Imagine that, a man who couldn’t have me turning me into a muse!” I smacked him in the thigh with both hands, letting go of the sleeve and pushing him back.

He went pale as he stumbled back a step. He pulled the coveralls up the rest of the way and fastened them, keeping his eyes off of me.

“Tell me you don’t love me. Tell me you have nothing more to say to me. If it’s true, go on and say it.”

“It’s not that I don’t love you…” He trailed off, struggling to find words.

“It’s that you don’t trust me,” I spat.

He broke off and stood still for several seconds, drawing deep breaths. When he finally spoke, he was calm. “There is more going on than you know.”

“Ha! Yes, James, that’s one of the problems. You’ve kept too much hidden from me.”

He ran his hands through his blackened hair. “I haven’t just been hiding from you. I—”

I reached down from the low bed and picked up the phone where it was lying amid the strayed pearls. “I’ve been texting you, you know. Why didn’t you shut this phone off?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t meet my eyes.

“Who has the matching one now? Stefan?”

He nodded.

I pulled up the log of texts. “You want to know how loyal I’ve tried to be? I texted you every time I told a lie.”

He looked up and swallowed, his expression both hopeful and taken aback. I thrust the phone at him.

I got called a slut and a whore for reporting sexual harassment at the hands of my thesis advisor. Yet when I rode naked in the back of a limousine and screamed from orgasm as we drove through the streets, I was cherished and praised. I know which world I’d rather live in.

He handed it back after reading the last text I had sent, his hands shaking a little. “What about Damon?”

“What about him?” I shook my head.

“Have you seen the painting?” His voice was bitter with venom.

“No, I haven’t,” I said. “I wanted nothing to do with Damon and his painting. He delivered it earlier today when I was busy getting ready to perform. For
you
.”

He put his hand over his eyes. “You were amazing,” he whispered.

I stood and pulled on the bathrobe Paulina had given me. It was Turkish, she had said, “fit for a pasha.” I belted it and held my head high. “What is amazing is that everything I’ve done to try to stay true to you means nothing.”

“That’s not true,” he said.

“It is. If you don’t believe me, then none of it means anything.” I felt my eyes prickle hotly again, but I drew a deep breath and did not cry. “Let’s go ask Damon what he thinks, hmm?”

James scrubbed his face with his hands. “You know there are people downstairs waiting for us.”

“You’re not going to hide from them?” I chided.

He winced as if stung. “I have my reasons for hiding when I do.”

“That line is getting old.”

This time he bristled. “All right. Let’s go back to the party. It’ll be down to friends and family now, all people who know I’m the artist. Are you up to it, though, Karina? Can you put on a public face for appearances?”

“They’ve already seen everything there is to see of me,” I said angrily as I slipped the phone into my robe pocket. “I will be fine. After all, I only have to be
one
person.”

I marched ahead of him, down the stairs, my mind whirling. A voice in the back of my head was pleading with me not to scare him off again, but that voice was tiny compared to how angry I was at him. But maybe it was time to be angry. Maybe if we were going to start fresh, it was necessary to get it all out now.

I wasn’t sure. What I
was
sure of was that he stuck right behind me, never letting me get too far ahead, and he was at my elbow as we entered the gallery again, to sudden applause.

I
n the gallery, the coffee and wine were flowing freely. Fifty or sixty people remained out of the crowd that Michel said was close to two hundred at the peak. “Packed to the rafters!” he enthused, “and then you brought the place down! Karina, that was amazing!”

As we moved through the crowd, James stayed right at my side. I watched him, sharing a smile or a handshake with this or that person, accepting their congratulations and listening to their praise. He was used to this, I realized, this sailing through the public eye while churning with angst underneath.

Well, if he could do it, so could I. And I admit, it was very nice to hear the compliments from people who had enjoyed my dancing. A friend of Michel’s gave me his card and said he could introduce me to Richard Alston, a choreographer of high repute. As James had said, Damon was there. He was standing beside his canvas, talking animatedly to a few onlookers and yet with only a hint of his usual cocky edge. Vanette was hanging back from the group, watching him. James and I stood just beyond her, where I could get a look at the painting and hear what Damon was saying.

“I would be paralyzed for days, looking at the great works. Then I’d walk up to the canvas with a brush in my hand and freeze, thinking I can’t do this. It’s not even worth trying. I’ll never be that good.”

The painting, though, was grand. It wasn’t quite Burne-Jones, but it was luminously done. Damon had chosen one of the side camera angles, and one of the poses where my legs were together, my head back, and his expression of longing was almost one of helplessness. My skin seemed to glow in the sunset light, which suffused the dark rock and the shine of his leather armor with warmth. The way James had reacted, I thought for sure Damon must have picked one of the pornographic poses. If anything, it was the emotional content that was too raw and naked in the painting, not my skin.

The man Damon was talking to was a skinny fellow with a patchy beard wearing a red “patron” ribbon, meaning he had donated more than a thousand pounds to the ArtiWorks. “And you go through this every time you paint?”

“Well, truth be told, every time I’ve tried to paint for the past ten years, and I’ve never broken through it. Until now. And I thought I would be rusty, but no, once I started putting paint to canvas, I felt as if I had been working on my craft all those years! All those canvases I had worked on endlessly in my mind, it was as if I had trained myself with them. I can’t explain it.”

“You must be very pleased with the result.”

“I am.”

“How much for the painting, then?”

“Aheh. I’m not sure yet if I’ll offer it for sale. I hadn’t thought beyond getting it finished by today.”

Michel and Martindale accosted us then. “James and Karina are brilliant together, aren’t they?” Michel was saying.

“Certainly,” Martindale answered. “It was already a very powerful piece! But it took Karina to bring it to life. I’ll never be able to look at this sculpture without imagining her there.”

“Was it that obvious it was made for her?” James asked.

“Far from it,” Martindale said. “I don’t know that any of us would have wrung your intended interpretation from it, as we’re on this side of the looking glass. But Karina saw it from the inside, from your side. Karina, you are brilliant.”

“I agree,” Michel said. “And the brilliance of the piece is that it lends itself to so many interpretations, and yet all of them lend themselves to a facet of the vision her performance crystallized.”

“Oho, crystallized. Was that a pun?” Martindale said.

“Perhaps!” Michel said and poured more wine into Martindale’s glass. “Karina, chérie, have some wine.” He handed me a glass from the tray by the wall.

“Thank you.” Martindale clinked his glass against mine. “Oh, by the way, Karina, I have a message for you from Tristan.”

“Oh?” I swallowed the wine quickly. “Er, he told me he was going to bring his mother tonight.”

“I believe that he did. He told me to tell you thank you for a fantastic performance and, I don’t quite understand the message, but he said
his
went swimmingly as well?”

I laughed. “Long story. But all’s well that ends well. I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Martindale. You’ve been really awesome to me all summer. I wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for you.”

He smiled and blushed a little. “Art is my call of duty,” he said. “And look what’s come of it.” He gestured around. “We’ll be sorry to see you go. I was going to suggest that this week you ought to hand back all the tour duties and do some sightseeing.” He raised an eyebrow at James, as if hinting at who should be playing tour guide for
me
. James merely raised his glass with a small smile.

Another well-wisher took James’s attention at that moment, and I took the opportunity to finally sample one of Paulina’s mini-éclairs from the tray on the sideboard. Delicious. Paulina hadn’t skimped on the chocolate at all, and she’d made the custard intensely vanilla.

I was just licking the chocolate from my fingers when I got a hug from Helen, who called the performance “Brilliant!” and then motioned at me to turn and look at something.

Peter and Linae Simpson were locked in a movie-pose kiss, with her bent back, one toe pointed and one hand keeping the hat on her head. He had a bandage on his cheek and one on the hand I could see, but neither one seemed to be hampering him. When the two came up for air, they began saying their good nights.

“What’s the story with them, really?” I asked Helen as they waved good-bye on the way out the door.

“They’re mad, I tell you. You know how he gets so jealous? But if he doesn’t get jealous, it’s like the spark goes out of their relationship. It’s why she and I go out. We don’t even talk to men, but the fact that Peter thinks we do, that’s what gets him all hot and bothered.” Helen grinned. “I’m not sure which of the blokes here talked to Linae and set him off, but there you go. They’re on their way back to the bed-and-breakfast to make mad, passionate love. I best wait a while before I head back myself or I won’t get any peace.”

“When are you going back to York?” I asked.

“If I can manage it, I think I’ll stay until Monday. I met the nicest boy here tonight. You must know him, says he works at the Tate, too.”

I smiled. “I’m sure I do.”

“Yeah, his mother and I got to chatting about York while he was in the loo, and then when he came back we were talking art, you know, like you do, and I ended up talking him into showing me around the sights. His mum seemed all right with it, so that’s out of the way, and he’s such a cute fellow. I’ll give him the time of day and see what happens, you know?”

“Yeah. You can only try and see.”

“Cute though. Very cute. That helps.” She giggled.

“That it does. Come on. Let’s get more éclairs before they’re gone.”

I put a few onto a small plate and carried one over to James. I wondered if I could see the real James under his public veneer.

I held up the pastry without saying anything. He took it gently with his teeth and licked my finger as he pulled back, chewing it thoughtfully.

“Hmm, that’s twice,” he said, licking his lips.

“What’s twice?”

“Twice we’ve had éclairs after you had a public art performance involving glass.”

“Involving my
ass
, you mean.”

That made him break character. He made a silent laugh and shook his head. “I’ve missed you.” He glanced toward the others as if wondering if it was safe to say more.

I looked around the room. The crowd was beginning to thin a little. Over by his painting, Damon was listening attentively to Vanette. She was wearing an almost military-style jacket, which may have added to how severe she looked.

Then Damon got down on his knees and kissed the pointed toe of her well-polished boots. I stared. I couldn’t help myself. James turned to see what I was staring at and then looked away quickly, pretending he hadn’t seen.

“What do you suppose is going on there?” I asked.

He had an impeccable public mask, but I couldn’t miss that he blushed. “I’m sure I can’t guess.” He looked at me instead of at them, his expression darkening.

“Let’s go find out,” I said.

“Karina—”

I marched up to them. Vanette smiled when she saw me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “That was an inspiring performance,” she told me. Her eyes flicked back and forth between me and James.

“Thank you,” I said. “And thanks for your help. I was wondering if I could ask Damon a few questions, though.”

She snapped her fingers and Damon got to his feet, his hands folded in front of him and his head slightly bowed. “Actually, I have a few questions for you, too,” she said. “Can we go somewhere private to speak? All four of us?”

There were still too many people in the gallery to do it here. James cleared his throat. “Stefan is driving one of the larger cars tonight.”

“Excellent. That would do perfectly,” Vanette said coolly.

James took a phone out of one of the many pockets in the coveralls and texted a message. A car in front of the gallery flashed its headlights. “Ah, he’s there already.”

Stefan tried hard to contain his excitement and happiness at seeing me, keeping his stoic and professional demeanor as he opened the back door for us. But his eyes were alight and his eyebrows twitched at me. I couldn’t help but give him a little smile back, squeezing him on the arm as I climbed into the car.

He closed the door behind James and then stayed on the curb, as if keeping watch. I suppose he was.

James and I sat on one side of the spacious limo. Vanette sat across from us with Damon on the floor at her feet. Other than earlier, I had never seen him dressed so casually. He was in worn-looking black jeans and a plain white T-shirt. His hair was tousled and glossy, as if he’d gotten out of the shower with it wet and it still hadn’t dried. His eyes were on the floor.

Vanette looked back and forth between the two men like a dog trainer trying to figure out which puppy had peed on the carpet. “I think there’s been enough miscommunication between the three of you to fill a couple of plays of Shakespeare and a Russian saga.” She crossed her arms. “Frankly, I’ve had enough of it. Karina, what did you wish to ask him?”

“I wanted him to explain some things to James.”

Damon looked up.

“Like first of all, my dictum.”

Vanette smiled. “Go on, Damon.”

“Penile penetration,” Damon said in a low voice, like a schoolboy being chastised by a teacher.

“Louder, please.”

“Penile penetration,” he said with a huff, looking up and meeting James’s eyes.

“And what about before she joined the society?” James pressed. “What about then?”

“As you know, she refused me when we met. Her sole motivation for getting into the society was to search for
you
.”

Vanette took up the questions then. “And do you remember what I said when we interviewed her as a trainee candidate?”

“You said you feared she wouldn’t make a good trainee because the real reason she didn’t allow sex was that she was saving herself for someone.”

“And was I right?”

“Yes.”

“And did we take her as a trainee anyway?”

“Yes, though now I have to wonder why we bloody bothered,” Damon snarled.

“Language,” she snapped. “Tell us why you agreed to help her reunite with James.”

“Because James is a coldhearted fucker who would never give her a second chance, and I knew she’d fall into my lap once he turned her away,” Damon said, then, “Ow!” because Vanette had seized him by the chin and slapped him across the face.

“I warned you to watch your language,” she said, then released him. “Again, please.”

“I hoped she’d come to me after he rejected her,” Damon said.

“And would you say you did your absolute best to be sure they met under fair and neutral circumstances?”

“Oh, come on, Vanette. Now you’re being—” he huffed. “Of course I didn’t. I did everything in my power to make her look bad in his eyes and I engineered every possible opportunity for her to choose me. All right? I didn’t expect to fall for her. Of course I pressed her as hard as I could.”

“And did she crack?”

“No.” He sounded quite bitter. “She isn’t interested in me in the slightest. Nor any other man. Only
that
one.”

Vanette looked at me then. “Karina, what would you say was the most valuable thing you learned in your short time as a trainee in the society?”

I ran through possible answers in my mind.
Even the most complicated lusts still boil down to the same thing. Sometimes people can’t ask for what they want.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Then I will be more specific. Did you learn anything about yourself?”

“Oh. Well, I definitely learned that I get turned on by kinky things, but that getting turned on, fantastic as it is, isn’t that big a deal to me.”

She looked surprised at that answer. “Truly?”

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that although I discovered I liked being flogged and I was excited by all the blindfolds and tests and things, they didn’t
mean
anything. All I did was obey. It was a practice run for submission, but it could never be surrender. And it wasn’t love.”

I dared a look at James. He was staring at Damon and shaking his head slowly.

“James taught me that I had to be honest, about my desires and my feelings, and with the people around me,” I said. “Isn’t that kind of what the society is about, too? I mean, I understand why it has to be a secret, but isn’t that why people have to be honest about everything else? Isn’t it kind of an unwritten rule?”

“Yes,” she answered simply. “Anything else you’d like to know?”

It was too good a chance to pass up. “Oh yes, actually…Damon, when did you first meet James?”

“When I was still in art school,” he said. “He was sort of in and out. I met him through Paul and Misha’s crowd.”

“And how did you get hooked up with the society?”

“I don’t know about James. In my case, well, my father passed me his membership.”