Читать книгу Fear of Falling - Cindi Myers, Cindi Myers - Страница 7

BY FOCUSING on work, Natalie was able to put thoughts of her disturbing encounter with Sartain in the dungeon out of her mind. It helped that the artist himself stayed away from her. He spent long hours in his studio, finishing one commission and beginning another. Natalie was left to settle into her office and sort through the surprisingly complex workings of Sartain Enterprises.

In addition to privately commissioned work for collectors, Sartain had a lucrative sideline producing CD covers for various rock musicians. He also had his own line of T-shirts, calendars, playing cards and other items that were featured on a Web site and in a semi-annual catalog. A separate catalog was produced quarterly to showcase his fine art paintings and prints, which were handled exclusively by a gallery in Denver.

Friday, at the end of her first week on the job, Natalie was reviewing copy for the upcoming fine-art catalog when Laura hurried into her office. “He wants to see you,” she said.

“What?” Natalie looked up from the copy, momentarily dazed. “Who wants to see me?”

“Sartain. He wants you in his studio right away.”

She frowned, tempted to make him wait until she’d finished the task at hand. Then again, he was her boss. That entitled him to a more prompt response to his summons. She pushed back her chair. “Then I’d better go see what he wants.”

She hurried along the corridor and up the stairs to Sartain’s studio. Had he suddenly come up with an idea for a new project, or did he have something more personal to say to her?

She stopped outside the door to the studio and knocked.

“Come in!”

She pushed open the door and came face to face with a naked woman.

Not completely naked, she realized, when she’d somewhat recovered from the shock. The well-endowed blonde was draped in a diaphanous swath of coral silk which highlighted, rather than hid, her full breasts and the triangle of pale curls over her mons. She was reclining on the fainting couch, arms extended over her head, eyes fixed on Sartain with a look of raw wanting.

Natalie quickly looked away, a hot flush of embarrassment engulfing her. “Come in, Natalie,” Sartain said. “Monique, you can take a break now. Go downstairs and ask Laura to fix you some coffee.”

“Okay.” Monique pulled on a thick, floor-length robe and shoved her feet into a pair of red satin mules. She glanced at Natalie as she shuffled past, her expression bland.

“Come see my newest work.” Sartain beckoned Natalie to the easel.

The painting was still in its early stages, but the subject matter was clear: Monique was reclining on the couch as Natalie had seen, but Sartain had painted in two men with her, one black, one white. The black man’s head was bent over one of Monique’s breasts while the white man caressed her thigh.

The scene summoned a throbbing between Natalie’s own thighs. Once she had been part of a performance at the Cirque du Paris called “Menage.” She had been the centerpiece, the moving partner passed between two men who remain fixed on opposite trapeze towers. The costumes, lighting and music had all been designed with overtly sexual overtones, and the message had been of a woman both pleasured by and at the mercy of the two men.

As a performer, Natalie had reveled in the demands and the attention the piece had brought her. As a woman, she’d found herself aroused by the idea of not one, but two lovers wanting to please her. Of course, the feelings had never gone further than the privacy of her own room. One of her partners was gay, the other happily married.

But here was her private fantasy in rich color and bold lines on canvas.

“When someone stares like that and doesn’t say anything, I can’t decide if they hate the work or if they’re stunned by my genius.” Sartain’s words broke through her reverie.

“Oh, it’s…it’s beautiful.” She studied the painting more closely, searching for something specific to comment on, something about his technique or choice of colors, or anything other than the subject matter. Her gaze fixed on the white male again, and recognition shot through her. “That’s you!” she said, pointing to the figure.

He laughed. “A particular conceit of mine. And I save the cost of a model, using myself.” He pointed a paintbrush at the figure of the black man. “That’s me, too. My darker side, as it were.”

She glanced back at him, sure he expected her to laugh at his joke, but unable to see the mirth of the situation. Remembering the look on Monique’s face, she wondered if the two of them were lovers. It wouldn’t be surprising, considering his reputation.

She tried to ignore the tightness in her chest that made it hard to breathe. His personal life was none of her concern, so she shouldn’t waste her time speculating about it. “Laura said you wanted to see me,” she said.

“Yes.” He turned away and began cleaning the paintbrush. “I’ll be attending the Young Artists’ Endowment Fund auction Saturday night and I want you to accompany me.”

She blinked. “Me? Why?”

The sharp tang of turpentine stung her nose as he wiped the brush clean on a rag. He turned to face her again. “Because I don’t want to go alone. Because it will give us a chance to know each other better.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to socialize.”

“Why not? Do you find me repulsive?”

“No, of course not.” She flushed. “I mean, you’re my employer. I think we should keep things between us on a professional level.”

“Ah. That again. So was that a professional kiss we shared in the dungeon?”

Damn her inability to keep from blushing around him! “A gentleman wouldn’t bring that up again.”

“Whatever led you to believe I’m a gentleman?” His tone was teasing. Before she could think of an answer, his expression sobered. “In any case, this is not a social invitation. I want you to come to the auction with me so that you’ll have the opportunity to meet some of the major players in the local art world. You’ll need to know them if you want to do a good job as my business manager.”

She couldn’t say no now, could she? First, he’d unsettled her by reminding her of the physical attraction between them, then he’d pleaded business concerns to force her to accompany him.

“The dinner’s at seven, with the auction afterward. Dress is formal,” he continued, not waiting for her answer. “Did you bring something suitable with you?”

“Yes.” She crossed her arms over her chest, resigned now to doing this. “I’ll look forward to meeting some of your colleagues.”

“I don’t think of them as colleagues. I think of them as competition.” He turned back to the painting. “This is for the cover of an erotic novel,” he said. “A new venture for me. It could lead to a lucrative sideline.” He picked up a brush and added a bit of shading to the side of the female figure’s breast. “When you go back downstairs, send Monique up here again. I want to finish roughing this in while the light is still good.”

So she was dismissed. His sudden strictly professional attitude had her more off guard than his flirtatious persona. Was that his intention—to keep her constantly unsteady, vulnerable to giving up whatever it was he wanted from her?

Or was this another way to make her think about what she wanted from him? Like the woman in the painting and the role she’d played in “Menage,” would she dictate the terms of their relationship, or surrender to what she really wanted?

SARTAIN DABBED at the painting, but his thoughts were on Natalie. Her insistence on keeping things strictly business between them was prudent and wise—but he wasn’t a man accustomed to either quality in himself or in most of those with whom he associated.

It was why Doug had hired her, of course, to act as a brake on Sartain’s freewheeling approach to life. He doubted his agent had counted on how much Natalie’s cool and lovely exterior would fire Sartain’s passions. There was something within her that called to him, so that when he was with her he felt both more settled and more stirred up. The idea both intrigued and alarmed him. Superficial physical relationships were one thing, but he’d known within seconds of meeting her that Natalie would demand much more.

Pursuing a relationship with her was risky professionally and personally, but the danger added an edge to his attraction for her. He’d decided to start slowly—by inviting her to the auction. It was a professional function, one she could reasonably be expected to attend. But a night away from the castle and the formality of the office would give him the opportunity to see if she was open to exploring this chemistry between them further.

Monique returned and took her place on the sofa, careful to arrange the drape just so. As she settled back on the pillows, she yawned. “Tell me about that woman,” she said.

“Natalie? She’s the business manager Doug hired to keep me in line.”

“Looks to me as if you’d like her to be more than a manager.”

“I’m a man who’s interested in women, Monique. That doesn’t mean I want to take every one of them to bed.”

“You want her. I saw it in your eyes the minute she walked into the room.”

He dabbed his brush in umber paint and began shading along the back of the female figure’s thighs. “I want a lot of things, but even the Great Sartain doesn’t get all of them.”

She laughed. “You shouldn’t admit it. You’ll ruin your reputation.”

“What does it say about me that being too virtuous can ruin my reputation?”

“No one is going to believe you’re virtuous. A virtuous man wouldn’t paint the way you do.”

He stepped back to consider the work in progress. It was almost there. Maybe a little more curvature to the stomach…. “You don’t think there’s virtue in my honesty?”

“Honesty?” Monique arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“I paint the dark fantasies we all have. I’m just honest enough to admit to them.”

“Speaking of fantasies, I wouldn’t mind making this one come to life.” She arched her back, stretching like a cat. “I know a friend who might be interested in joining us.”

He shook his head. “The power of fantasy is that it isn’t poisoned by reality.”

“I’ll bet if Natalie was making the offer, you wouldn’t turn her down.”

“Don’t pout. It ruins the expression I’m trying to capture for the painting.”

“You didn’t answer my question. If Natalie proposed a threesome, would you take her up on the offer?”

He shook his head. “No. If Natalie invited me into her bed, I’d want her all to myself.”

“SO WHAT did he want?” Laura met Natalie at the door of the office when she returned from her visit to Sartain’s studio.

“He wants me to go with him to the Young Artists’ Endowment Fund auction tomorrow night.”

“He asked you out?” She followed Natalie to her desk.

“No. Of course not. This is business.” She picked up her calendar and pretended to study it, not seeing anything except Sartain’s face when he’d made his request. His expression had been intense as always, but unreadable. She set the calendar back on the desk. “He wants me to meet some of the players in the art world. I need to know them in order to do my job.”

“That’s what he says, but he wants something else from you.” Laura crossed her arms over her chest. “Believe me I know. The man never met a woman he didn’t want to know better. He knew you’d object to a real date, so he presented the idea in terms you’d accept.”

The fact that the same thought had occurred to Natalie didn’t make it any more palatable. “It is important for me to know the people Sartain does business with,” she said. “This dinner is part of my job, nothing more.”

“People will talk, you know,” Laura said. “Next thing you know, your picture will be on the cover of some tabloid as ‘eccentric artist John Sartain’s newest paramour.’”

“Paramour?” Natalie laughed at the old-fashioned-sounding word. “They’ll be disappointed to discover I’m only his business manager.”

“Any woman who appears in public with Sartain is going to be linked to him in some scandalous way. He encourages it, even.”

Natalie had no doubt of this. Sartain seemed to relish his role as a hedonist. How much of that was a manufactured image and how much the true man? “Is that what happened to you?” she asked. “Did your picture show up in the tabloids?”

Laura ducked her head. “No. But we weren’t together that long. And we were very discreet.” She looked at Natalie again. “But if you go out to a public function like this, the press will be there. They’ll see you.”

“They can print anything they like about me, but it doesn’t make it true.” Natalie sat behind her desk and booted up the computer, signaling an end to the conversation.

Laura didn’t take the hint. Instead, she sat in the chair across from the desk. “Do you have a boyfriend?” she asked. “Someone in the circus maybe?”

“No.” After her brief relationship with the construction-crew member, she had kept to herself. Life in the close confines of the Cirque du Paris was not conducive to romance. There was little privacy and the fallout from breakups affected the whole company.

“That’s too bad. You could have used him as an excuse to stay away from Sartain.”

“Do you really think the prospect of another man would deter him?” The artist struck her as someone who would relish a chance for competition.

“Probably not. But it would be something.” Laura leaned forward, her tone confiding. “So what do you think of Monique? She’s been his model for three months now. Longer than almost anyone else.”

Natalie was not in the mood to discuss Monique, or to gossip about Sartain’s supposed conquests any longer. “I really need to get to work,” she said. “I’m sure you do, too.”

When Laura left, Natalie tried to concentrate on the catalog copy once more. But the secretary’s questions had stirred up memories of her one ill-fated circus romance.

His name was Hal. He was blond and muscular, the kind of man who would elicit a second look from women of all ages. They had met secretly for a few weeks until Gigi had discovered them. She had lectured Natalie on the need for self-control. “You have a chance to be a star. You’d throw away that for a roll in the hay?”

“I can be a star and still have a life!”

“What if you get pregnant?”

“I’m not stupid. We use a condom.” Her face had burned at the very idea of having such a conversation with her mother.

“Condoms break. You’re proof of that.”

Natalie had seen then what this was really about. Her unknown father had gotten Gigi pregnant and left. Overnight, Gigi had been relegated from star performer to wardrobe assistant. Even after Natalie was born and Gigi returned to performing, she had never regained her former glory.

“You can’t do this to me!” Natalie had cried. “I can’t stand having you run my life anymore. I’ll leave the show.”

“And go where?” Gigi had asked. “With him to whatever pathetic job he can find?” She’d spat on the floor of the warehouse the troupe was using as a rehearsal hall. “Do you think he even wants you again now that he’s had you? He didn’t ask you to go with him, did he?”

Even blinded by anger, Natalie had seen the truth of Gigi’s words. The Cirque du Paris was the only world she knew, so she remained there, as Gigi had known she would. She had not rebelled again, focusing instead on performing, venting her passions in the demands of the complicated acrobatic routines which became her specialty.

In that way, leaving the circus now was almost a relief. Though she was giving up everything she’d worked for her whole life, here was her chance to explore a life away from her mother’s control.

The phone rang and she answered it. As if summoned by her thoughts, Gigi’s voice barked at her. “Something terrible has happened,” she announced with her usual drama.

Knowing Gigi, this could be anything from the loss of her favorite costume designer to a cancelled tour date. But Natalie’s days of being drawn into her mother’s hysterics were over. “What is it, Mother?” she asked calmly.