CUTTING LOOSE

by Kristin Hardy

  It might once have started out as a photograph, but the artist had taken it well beyond that. The image was printed on a mosaic of paper squares, a nude woman standing in front of a bed, looking back at the viewer. Color replaced the lines of the photo, giving the gut level impression of sexuality and challenge.

  "Nice," Jocasta murmured, setting it aside to look at the next.

  "Ty said you'd know what to do with them."

  "Oh, I most certainly do." Jocasta laid out another image, this one a landscape. The texture of the paper this time didn't provide counterpoint to the image but rather underscored the lines of what might have been scrub oak and eucalyptus, with a hawk whisking by.

  Trish looked at the image and then did a double take. She knew that view, she realized. It was the canyon behind Ty's house. At the bottom of the sheet were the initials T.R. The conclusion could only be…

  "Ty made these?"

  "Of course," Jocasta said. "They're for his show next month."

  "But he's an actor," Trish said stupidly.

  Jocasta shot her a look. "So?"

  Trish stared at the works. She knew Ty could act. Never in a million years would she have suspected he was a talented artist, too. The works held a confidence that spoke of vision and experience. "How long has he been doing this?"

  "This?" Jocasta considered while staring at a self-portrait of Ty rendered in tones of sepia. "The textured paper is new. He's been an artist for as long as I've known him. Since college, anyway, or maybe before."

  She just couldn't take it in. "I had no idea he was having a show. He never said anything."

  "He wouldn't have." Jocasta studied Trish, then glanced back down at the pictures. "Have you known him long?"

  Was there a cool tone in her voice or was Trish just imagining it? "I just came on board as his assistant."

  Jocasta's eyebrows raised a fraction. "Mr. I'll-never-have-a-staff? Where did he dig you up?"

  Trish felt her cheeks heat. "We met at a party."

  This time Jocasta's eyes definitely filled with cool dismissal. "Really? And you're working with him." She began measuring the works. "That's our Ty."

  "I'm his assistant. That's all I am," Trish emphasized.

  "Well, I'm sure you'll be a big help to him." Jocasta glanced up. "I'm all set here. Tell Ty I said hello," she said briskly and turned away, leaving Trish with the distinct feeling she'd been dismissed.

  And subtly dissed.

  * * *

  "You're going to cook?" Cilla stared at Kelly. "Isn't that what restaurants are for?" Shaking her head, she picked up her drink.

  "It's the first time Kev will have seen his parents since we moved in together and it's my first time meeting them, period." Kelly picked up her fork and set it down. "He wants something more, I don't know, intimate than a restaurant."

  "This isn't intimate?" Trish asked, raising her voice over the racket that was the L.A. Farmer's Market. The various members of the Supper Club crowded around a couple of plastic tables at Miguel's, tacos and enchiladas before them. Miguel wasn't big on décor and service consisted of an attendant passing laden plastic plates through a slot, but the food was enough to make a person swoon.

  Paige watched Kelly toy with a silver twist that hung from her earlobe. "If I didn't know it was impossible, I'd say you were nervous. Take them to a restaurant. It's the perfect location for a family event. Any time anything gets uncomfortable, you can always signal for the waiter." She reached for a taco, taking care to keep the cuff of her goldenrod jacket out of the enchilada sauce.

  "They're only here for a few days. I want to get to know them. Anyway, Thea's going to help me plan something foolproof, aren't you, Thea?" Kelly asked.

  Thea nodded. "But we've talked about this, Kelly," she said, her voice still raspy from the flu. "It's not going to do you any good unless you do a test run before the big night."

  "I will, cross my heart." Kelly marked an X over the striped Fair Isle sweater she wore. "I really want to do this. I want it to be nice for Kev."

  "Ah, young love," Sabrina said with an exaggerated sigh. Kelly stuck out her tongue.

  "My vote's with Paige." Delaney reached for another taco. "You can get to know them, just do it in public. That way you get your recon out of the way and you're not a nervous wreck while you do it."

  "Don't listen to them, Kelly," Trish said. "Go with your gut. Sometimes you just have to dive in." Of course, that thought only made her think about Ty, which was a mistake.

  "Dive in? Like you did at the party last week?" Delaney asked. "One minute you were there and then poof, you were gone."

  "You know me and parties." Trish's shrug was casual. So far, she'd managed to avoid questions about just where she'd disappeared to. Lucky for her; if they'd asked, she had no idea what she'd say. Tell Sabrina she'd been gullible enough to get romanced by her cousin at the party? Hardly. Tell her she'd been foolish enough to do it again? No way. Not that it meant anything, of course, but that was a tidbit she'd keep to herself for now. They could laugh about it after. Maybe.

  "Well, you missed out," Paige told her. "The documentary was excellent."

  "I can't believe I had to miss half of it," Cilla complained. "At least I made it in time for the bondage segment, though. Tie me up, baby. Great stuff."

  "I loved that part." Delaney leaned forward with relish. "It's the first thing I've seen on bondage that made it seem like something a normal person would do."

  Thea raised her eyebrow. "Any normal person we know?"

  "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you haven't at least wondered about it."

  Trish remembered the feel of the silk rope around her wrists and shivered.

  "I tried it once," Cilla tossed out offhandedly.

  "Spill it," Delaney demanded.

  "A couple years back. Remember Camera Boy? He took me up to Mendocino one time. We stayed in a room with a four-poster bed."

  "You're my idol," Kelly said admiringly. "Hands and feet?"

  "Do I do anything by halves?" Cilla grinned. "We raided the robes in the room for their sashes and used his belt and my scarf."

  Trish thought of Ty's script, of the scene that called for the heroine to be tied up. What would it be like, she wondered, to live the fantasy, to be well and truly ravished, to give up control completely?

  Paige pondered it. "Isn't it a little weird not to be able to move?"

  "Sure. The first thing that happens is your nose itches like mad. It goes away, though, as soon as you have something else to think about."

  "It always did for me," Sabrina said.

  Kelly stared. "You, too?"

  "Of course. I needed to connect with my subjects, didn't I?"

  "So, about those group-sex segments…" Delaney began.

  Sabrina cut her off. "That would be no."

  "So what's it like, being tied up?" Trish asked.

  Cilla grinned. "It's an amazing turn-on. Usually when you're having sex, you're busy doing things and focusing on the other person and all that. Which is wonderful, but when you're tied up, you can't. All you can do is think about how he's going to touch you and where he's going to touch you, and when he finally does, wham!"

  "My round was with Bobby the weight lifter," Delaney said dreamily, winding her hair around one finger. "Did that man have a body."

  "Scarves?"

  "Handcuffs. He had a night job as a security guard," she explained. "He'd hook me to his headboard. We got into the whole role-playing thing—he was a crime boss and my brother owed him money, so I'd be the desperate sister offering myself as his sex slave to do whatever he wanted with me."

  "What was your safe word?" Paige asked.

  "Daffodil," Delaney said with a bashful smile. "It was what he used to call me. I never had to say it, though. Bobby was a pretty intuitive guy that way. Incredible orgasms. He was dumb as a post about anything beyond sex and weight lifting, but boy, he was good at those two. Perfect justification for meaningless sex," she added as an afterthought
before taking a bite of her taco.

  "Something to be said for meaningful sex, too," Kelly pointed out.

  "No argument here, but sometimes junk-food sex is exactly what I'm in the mood for," Delaney pointed out. "I don't want to deal with anything meaningful. I want it to be something new, something fun and something over."

  Trish had always envied Delaney her frank and easy appreciation of men and sex. She acted as though it were of no more consequence than indulging in a dish of ice cream—something to savor, something to appreciate, but when it was gone she was already looking forward to her next dessert.

  To Trish, sex was huge, probably because it was such a rare thing in her life. To Delaney, it was good, lighthearted fun. There was something to be said for fun, Trish thought, nibbling on her lip.

  "It can be risky," Thea said, as though reading Trish's mind. "It's a good way to wind up in over your head."

  "Not if you're prepared for it," Delaney disagreed.

  Getting prepared for it was the challenge, of course. Could she, Trish wondered, remembering Ty's mouth.

  "We go through different stages." Delaney warmed to her subject, pushing up the sleeves of her denim jacket and flipping her hair out of the way. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm all for deep and meaningful sex, but not any time too soon. I think everyone needs to have at least one completely physical affair. How else can you recognize gourmet sex unless you've had fried-pork-rind sex?"

  Paige made a face. "Now there's a tasty thought. Thanks for that."

  "My pleasure," Delaney laughed.

  Trish summoned up an image of Ty and the warnings started churning out of a little slot in her brain. Wrong for her. Dangerous. Heartbreaker. Fatally sincere.

  But only if you were expecting something past the moment.

  Trish stirred. "Say you've got Mr. Wrong. How do you keep from getting caught up?"

  "Know what you want going in." Kelly said decisively. "Sometimes a guy is absolutely perfect in some ways but it's glaringly obvious he won't work in others."

  The way it was glaringly obvious that things couldn't possibly work between her and Ty, Trish thought.

  "Take Bobby. Physically, we were perfect." She gave a little sigh and then snapped out of it. "In every other way we might as well have been speaking a different language. It was easy to be in bed with him and it was easy for both of us to walk away when we were done." She crunched on a chip. "I knew I didn't want anything more than passing sex from him, so it wasn't a big deal."

  Trish considered. Maybe she'd been thinking about it all wrong. She'd been trying to stay the hell away from Ty, but maybe it was her mindset that was wrong. If she knew she didn't want anything more than the moment, what did it matter if he fell out of a crush as quickly as he fell into one? Why should she care if she didn't get anything more than the moment? Hell, she should be happy about it ending, be looking forward to it.

  Not, she reminded herself, that she was thinking about the idea in anything more than the abstract. Ty Ramsay was out of her league.

  But why did that matter if it was all about the moment, a little niggling voice asked in her head.

  "I think that sex is just completely snarled in all these different expectations," Thea spoke up. "It's impossible for anyone to know what they want and expect out of it when every time you turn around, society and the media and your upbringing are all telling you what to think."

  "It's probably not for you, Thea," Sabrina suggested.

  "It's just hard for me to understand. I know it can work great for some people. I mean, you're comfortable doing it, Delaney, Cilla. You were, Kelly."

  "Back in the bad ol' days before she became a born-again monogamist and moved in with Kev," Cilla said with a wicked wink.

  Thea mulled it over. "I don't know, it just seems too easy to make a mistake and wind up confusing sex and love. I'm not sure I could take the chance."

  "And Trish wouldn't because she's a hopeless romantic," Delaney added.

  No, she never did anything, Trish thought. "I might—you never know," she burst out suddenly. "Maybe it's my turn now." Six heads turned to stare at her. "You guys aren't the only ones who want to have a good time," Trish added defensively.

  "Sure," Cilla said, looking a little alarmed, "but it's like they say in those car commercials, 'Professional driver. Don't try this at home.' I don't know if a purely physical affair is the way to go your first time back in the water."

  "What better time to do it?" Trish demanded. "I'm not twelve. Besides, I'm sick of always sitting around on the sidelines." She took a breath and told herself to calm down. "Sit back and watch, I might surprise you all."

  "That sounds like the voice of a woman with a plan," Sabrina observed. "You have a victim in mind?"

  Trish fought the urge to squirm. "Not now, but maybe I'll find one, now that I know what I'm looking for." Think like Delaney, Trish told herself. "Sex doesn't have to be about true love every time you do it, does it?"

  "I think you can have sex without bringing all of the overhead into it," Paige agreed. "You just keep it compartmentalized."

  "You must keep your guys on a tight leash, Paige, honey," Cilla said. "Are you sure you haven't tried bondage?"

  "I'm starting to feel like I'm the only one who hasn't," Kelly complained.

  "Well, no one's holding you back."

  "Kev and I have been talking about buying a bed," Kelly said thoughtfully. "Maybe we should get one of those four-posters."

  "Tell him it's one of the benefits of cohabitating," Delaney contributed.

  "One of the many," Kelly said with a wicked smile.

  * * *

  7

  « ^ »

  Birds chattered in the eucalyptus near Ty's house as Trish walked across the parking apron. The morning air felt cool to her, even through her layers. They would have to do, though—she was enough in denial about the approach of winter that she'd refused to wear a jacket. In a concession to vanity, though, she'd ditched her usual sweatshirt for a cotton fisherman's sweater over a dark-green shirt. True, the sweater could have accommodated another person easily and she'd worn it for so many years that the hem sagged to midthigh, but at least she'd made an attempt. Hell, she'd even buttoned her cuffs, as far as that went.

  She stood in the shadows at the front door, knocking on the polished wood, anticipation dancing in her stomach. Silly, she told herself. She was just going to work. Her bravado the night before had been one thing, but it wasn't as if she'd been foolish enough to put Ty Ramsay on her hit list. You didn't learn to ski by starting on an Olympic downhill course, at least not if you were smart—and Trish considered herself a very smart woman. No, she'd start with someone easy, maybe Billy the plumber the next time she was working around him. Maybe with someone else.

  Except that she couldn't stop thinking about kissing Ty, about the feel of silk wound around her wrists. If a kiss were that good, didn't it follow that the real deal would be incredible?

  The idea thrilled and alarmed her. Taking on Delaney's attitude was all well and good, but the problem was that Delaney knew she was good at sex. She'd had lots of practice and more than a few admiring lovers. Trish? She was a little murky on the location and operation of the equipment, even, let alone the technique.

  But what about Delaney's idea? If she told herself she didn't want anything long-term, did it really matter if she was embarrassingly inexperienced? After all, if her heart weren't involved, how bad could it be? Think like Delaney, she told herself. Sex was not a life-changing event, not anything that was going to change the course of the world. Just a fun, healthy way to spend time. Trish shivered. The heat of a man's mouth, his bare skin against hers, the sinewy flow of his muscles under her fingers as he slid himself into her. She could think of many apt ways to describe it.

  She wasn't sure that fun was remotely adequate.

  Trish stirred in the quiet of the morning and knocked again on the door. "Ty? You around?" There was no answer. She hesitated. Come
in if he wasn't around, he'd told her. "Ty?" She forced herself to reach out and turn the knob.

  As she stepped over the threshold onto the rough marble tiles of the entryway, she faintly heard the sound of the White Stripes singing about falling in love with a girl. She ducked her head outside. No, it was definitely coming from inside the house.

  "Hello?" Trish stepped quietly into the entryway, listening to the trickle of the waterfall, and over it the faint strains of music. She had two choices, she supposed. She could sit down and wait until Ty appeared, which meant she'd be wasting a client's time and money, or she could listen to what he'd told her previously and track him down to get started on her day.

  But immediately, she felt like a snoop. She was stepping into his private space. That he'd told her to find him didn't help; he wasn't there to lead her personally. The polished wood of the hallway stretched out before her, padded with a central runner covered with a twining pattern in vivid greens and golds. It was the longest hall she'd seen in a house; doors opened off it at intervals, some of them spreading slanting rectangles of sunlight onto the carpet.

  Trish had always figured Eve had gotten a bad rap in the Garden of Eden. There was temptation and then there was unbearable temptation. Why blame a person for failing to stand up against the truly impossible? Trish began walking, unable to keep herself from glancing into the open doors to either side as she passed. Okay, so maybe if she'd been a truly virtuous person she'd have just stared forward, but she was this far down the slippery slope already. She might as well indulge herself with another look into the life of Ty Ramsay.

  The rooms were enormous. One, with thick, soft carpeting and demure gold walls, appeared to be a guest room. The space held comfort, calm, with a plush fainting couch, fat cushions, and a cozy-looking bed. A red blossom bloomed in a painting on the wall. Georgia O'Keeffe, Trish was pretty sure. Probably an actual Georgia O'Keeffe, considering whose house she was in. Why bother with prints when you could indulge in the real thing?