"Mad at me for what? I'm giving your so-called union everything it asked for. What more do you want?"
"It's not about that. It's about her."
"Who? Carmen? But she wants to leave. I tried like hell to keep her. Ask her yourself."
"I don't mean Carmen, either, I mean Morgan."
"Merilee, that's enough,” he said sternly. “I thought I made it clear no one was to mention her name?"
The blonde in the tight sweater, legs tucked underneath her, hands behind her back narrowed her eyes menacingly. “Morgan, Morgan, Morgan,” she defied. “Morgan, Morgan, Mor—"
"All right, I get the idea. You want to talk about Morgan. What about her?"
"Sit,” she inclined her head.
Nick sat wearily beside her, against the wall. Would he ever be done hearing about this woman?
"I hate to be the one to tell you this,” she said. “But with all due respect, you screwed up. Whether you realize it or not. She's the one. The one shot you're ever going to get in life at happiness."
"But I don't even like her, Merilee."
"No, but you do love her."
"Why does everyone keep telling me what I'm feeling,” he threw up his hands.
"Because you won't take responsibility for your feelings yourself. You're like an emotional drunk driver, out there behind the wheel, a total menace to everyone around you."
"I'm not that bad,” he insisted, though in truth he had no idea.
She eyed him. “Compared to what?"
"Compared to session's over for the day, Merilee, time to go home.” He undid the rope behind her back.
"You'll have to face this sooner or later,” Merilee said.
"I think we'll make it later, like in about a hundred years."
"Mr. Tremaine?"
Nick looked up, startled. “Carmen. What is it?"
The young woman never came into the studio, ever.
"There's a photography exhibit, in two weeks, I think you would be interested in attending."
"Oh?"
"It's at the gallery, the university gallery. The artist is supposed to be local, though his identity is being kept a mystery."
"Well, no offense, Carmen, but it will stay a mystery to me, because I have no interest whatsoever in exhibits. They bore me to tears."
"But you know someone involved."
"I do?"
"You know the organizer, the woman who discovered the photographer. Her name is Morgan Baines."
He clenched his teeth, preventing his heart from escaping out his throat. “Morgan?” He kept his reply neutral. “But how would she know any other photographers?"
"It's someone she's only recently met. If you must know, they are lovers."
Nick pushed down the raw, liquid rage. “How nice for them. I'll be sure and send a card."
"I think you should go, Nick."
"Why is that, Carmen? Seeing as how I could care less about this woman?"
"What if she is making a mistake? What if she falls in love and wants to marry him?"
"In that case scratch the congratulations card. We'll send a sympathy card to the prospective groom."
"You should at least see him,” said Merilee. “Make sure he's good enough for her."
"I can get tickets,” Carmen offered helpfully. “We can go together if you like, just as friends, of course."
"No way, ladies.” He was on his feet. “No fucking way on god's green earth. Does that spell it out plain enough? They could be handing out handfuls of priceless gold coins and the secret to eternal youth and I still wouldn't go near the place with a ten foot pole."
"So you'll think about it?” Said Carmen.
"N ... O...” he spelled out. “How much do I have to think about that?"
Nick walked out of the studio for some fresh air. Why was everything choking him up so bad? So what if Morgan had somebody else? Didn't he want that for her? Still, Merilee was right. He might be some scumbag. There were plenty of them in this business. Look at Wally. He was a photographer, too. He couldn't count on Morgan seeing through all their tricks. She was damned smart, but a little on the naive side when it came to men.
What harm would it do just to check the guy out? If he turned out kosher, no harm done. If not, he could give him the bum's rush. Morgan would never be the wiser. Maybe then he could finally lay her ghost to rest. Not to mention get everyone off his ass about her.
"All right,” he walked back into the studio. “I'll do it. Get the tickets, Carmen, if you please."
She held two tickets out in her hand, red with black lettering. “I already got them, sir. I'll have your tux pressed."
He thanked her, though a part of him had to wonder why these two were so anxious. Were they up to something again?
"I'm not going talk to her,” he told them. “Just so we're clear."
"Absolutely,” said Carmen.
"Totally,” said Merilee.
Nick grumbled under his breath. He didn't believe them for a second. Luckily he had time to figure out their scheme, whatever it was. “I'll be upstairs,” he announced. “Reading my mail. I'll send down another photographer, Merilee."
* * * *
Carmen waited till Nick was gone. She was as excited as a schoolgirl. Everything was falling into place perfectly. Morgan had been able to arrange an exhibition virtually overnight. The curator of the gallery had been thrilled with Nick's work and was sure he would be an overnight success. And now Carmen had managed, with Merilee's help, to tempt Nick into going. Little did he realize that the secret artist who was Morgan's lover was he himself!
Now there was just one final step and that would require Merilee's help. In order to draw these two together once and for all, the sparks would have to fly. Nick would have to think that Morgan really had fallen for another man ... an artist to be specific.
"I need a handsome man for this exhibition,” Carmen explained.
"Oooh, honey,” winked the superannuated cheerleader. “You and me both."
"It's not for us, silly. It's for Nick, and Morgan."
She explained the situation, giving the blonde a chance to check her mental address book for possible candidates.
"And remember,” said Carmen, “we have to make Nick jealous without Morgan knowing what we're up to. She won't want anything to do with another plan to trick Nick into getting close to her for any reason."
Merilee's eyes lit up. “I know exactly who we need. He'll be perfect. And I have just the cover story, too."
Carmen listened to Merilee's plan. In short, it was brilliant. Beyond brilliant, actually. What she would do is to co-opt a gay friend of hers, very debonair and handsome. They would tell Morgan that the man needed her to act like his date in order to make another man jealous. Naturally, Morgan want to help, never knowing that the man they wanted to make jealous was really Nick.
"You're a genius,” Carmen hugged her. “Even if you are a blonde."
"Actually I'm a natural brunette,” she giggled. “But don't tell."
Chapter Eight
Morgan wasn't too sure at first about helping Merilee's friend Rupert. But the man proved to be so funny, charming and handsome, she found herself more than happy to have him as an escort for the evening.
Rupert had curly black hair, a thin mustache and darling rosy cheeks. His looks were classic and he filled out a tuxedo almost as well as Nick.
So far his ex hadn't shown up, which was okay as far as she was concerned. She was nervous enough watching for Nick, hoping he'd get here before the unveiling of the photos. It would be so much more dramatic to have him be surprised to find himself introduced as the mystery photographer.
He would have this most amazing look on his face. Wonder, shock, and probably some displeasure at what she'd done without permission. A sexy little chill went down her spine as she thought of the man taking her over his knee as punishment for bringing his work into the public eye.
Obviously Carmen had a lot to do with it, too, but Morgan
was pretty sure she'd bear the brunt of his displeasure. As usual.
"Darling this acting straight is killing me,” Rupert whispered into her ear as she was sipping a glass of champagne. “I don't know how you keep it up."
"Right now,” she retorted, “I just want to be out of these heels and in a bathtub soaking my feet."
"Bathtub sounds good,” he agreed. “But I kind of like the shoes, too ... oh, my,” he let his attention veer off suddenly to the entrance to the gallery. “Heavenly object front and center. Sign me up for the taste testing, please."
She grabbed her date's arm as she saw the couple walking in. “It's him. It's Nick."
"Oh, my..."
"He really came.” She took a moment to appraise the handsome Nick Tremaine in a silk suit, dark blue with light blue shirt and tie. He looked more confident, lean and sexy than she'd ever seen him.
"Yes, and with a date,” Rupert sighed. “A female date. What a waste, no offense."
"None taken, anyhow, that's not a date with him, that's Carmen, his secretary."
Rupert grabbed her arm. “You mean there's hope?"
"Sorry, the man's not gay. Actually, he's not straight either."
"Is he switch?"
"No ... he's more Nickosexual, into himself."
"Well you can't blame him with looks like that."
"Rupert,” she gasped. “He's coming this way. What do I do?"
"Oh, I don't know, call me crazy ... you could introduce me."
"Right ... good thinking. I'm glad one of us still has a brain."
"I'd trade it for anything he's got on him, though, in a heartbeat."
Me, too, thought Morgan. Me, too.
* * * *
Morgan looked incredible tonight. Beyond incredible, she was absolutely radiant. The black cocktail dress offset her hair and skin perfectly, not to mention her fabulous physique. He wanted her right here, on the floor in front of all these people. He wanted up under her dress, and down under her stockings and panties so he could get at that warm, vibrant flesh. He'd make her moan with pleasure, he'd make her claw and claw at his back till she screamed out his name begging for orgasm.
But he couldn't think about sex right now. He had business here. Beginning with the clown standing next to her. He pegged him right away as an opportunist. He wanted Morgan for her body; that was clear. The man could never appreciate her for her heart or soul.
Was this the photographer? Had to be. Seemed pretty smug and full of himself. Why not, he was screwing the most beautiful woman in the world. Taking advantage of her in the worst way.
Should he confront the man right off the bat? Punch him out or call him on the carpet? No, there'd be time for that later. For now he just needed to make his presence known. Walking purposefully toward them, he drew his battle lines.
"Hello, Nick."
"Morgan."
So far they were one for one, nice safe opening moves.
"I'd like you to meet Rupert,” she said.
"It's a pleasure,” said Rupert, extending his hand.
Nick didn't like the handshake. Not strong enough. Not trustworthy. As he suspected, he was using Morgan for some cheap thrills. “Good evening,” he inclined his head curtly, returning his gaze to Morgan. “I didn't realize you had this much interest in photography."
"I have a lot of interests, Nick. If you'd bothered to ask."
Okay, so he had that coming.
"I'm Carmen,” said Nick's neglected date.
"Sorry,” mumbled Nick. “Rupert, this is Carmen, my personal assistant."
The two shook hands just as the curator called everyone's attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you would kindly take your seats, we will begin."
There were chairs arranged in several rows in the center of the main room. Up front were a podium and a covered easel. Around them, on the walls of the pristine white room were covered frames, each representing a photo by the mystery artist.
Nick fumed as Rupert escorted her to a seat next to him in the front row. He had no right, none whatsoever. Morgan was his find, and he was her photographer. Even if they couldn't bear to be in the same room with one another.
Look at what they'd been through, after all. It was almost as if he wished her off limits now that he couldn't have her. What did he expect, though, for her to be a nun? Trying not to focus on his perplexity, he tuned into the curator, mid speech.
"...Rarely do we find in the course of normal events such a talent,” droned the curator. “And in each instance we must thank the man or woman who brings such genius to light..."
He was introducing Morgan. Gracefully, like the princess she was, the woman walked to the podium. This has to be the last night I see her, he told himself. It is just getting too hard—harder each and every time I have to lay eyes on her knowing she will never be mine.
"I thank you one and all. Curator Jones, in particular, though I must take issue, I think it is far more laudable to honor talent, as you have done than to find it as I have. But what does it mean, really to find talent...?"
See? There she was, doing it again, being perfect for the occasion. She did this first and foremost in lovemaking, each and every time offering up her body for just what he needed it to be, naked, hot, willing and full of life. His cock ached just to think of it. Truly, this artist and his exhibition could not be farther from his mind.
"But I don't want to take too much more time, or force undue suspense,” she was saying now, her pretty, melodic tones breaking into his reverie. “The time has come to introduce the one you really want to see. Our mystery artist. I see he is here, and I would like to invite him forward..."
Rupert was looking more smug than ever. Bastard. He was about to get the girl and the applause.
"Mr. Nick Tremaine."
Huh?
"Would you please come forward?” She was coming straight for him, extending her hand. He let her pull him to his feet. She was joking, right?
Nick floated more than walked. It was like one of those dreams, where you know you are dreaming but you're still in it. Things happen around you that seem real enough, but when you break them down into their elements, they are totally absurd.
He couldn't have an exhibit. He had no photos.
"To begin, I want to unveil my personal favorite. Lips of Passion."
She pulled the cord, lifting up the covering to reveal a black and white profile, an enormous lower and upper lip. Had he done anything like this? It seemed vaguely familiar.
"To see this is know beauty, to want to plunge into it. For a woman, these lips are perfection and for a man, a chance at the perfect kiss. But this is only the beginning."
All around the room, attendants were removing the cloths. Photo after photo appeared, each one familiar and all of them frighteningly private. Blast it; these were pictures Carmen was supposed to have thrown out.
He looked at her, only to receive a cute little shrug in return, as if to say, “What did you expect from me? I love you and love does crazy things."
"Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Nick Tremaine."
They were applauding. Him. They wanted him to stand behind the podium. They wanted him to talk. About his art. Like it was something real and public and worth talking about.
A speech, he was supposed to make a speech. But how? He'd talked about any number of things before, but never about something so deep and personal.
How could this be, that something from so deep inside himself could be worth anything to others? He hadn't been out to impress anyone with these. He hadn't given a damn, as a matter of fact. It was just playing around, and it showed.
Taking a deep breath he began. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. First, let me say, no one is more surprised to be honored tonight than myself. Quite literally, it was the last thing I expected. Now I know it is customary to give thanks, and I owe some people here tonight. Two in particular. Very well meaning young woman, who seemed to have had an epiphany where I was concerned. All I can say is ..
. wow."
The audience broke into laughter. The rest was a blur as he gave thought to what would happen next, when he confronted Carmen and Morgan. It wasn't sparing his photos from the trash that he wanted to pick a bone about, either. It was this nonsense about Morgan dating the photographer. Clearly that was him. So who was the con artist in the suit? That's what he wanted to know.
* * * *
Morgan dabbed the tears from her eyes. She was so proud of him. He sounded so wonderful up there. He looked so wonderful up there. He was in his element, you could tell. Finally, after all that hiding, he'd been smoked out into the opening. And what an opening it was.
Of course you didn't expect him to be totally thrilled in every respect. One might even anticipate relapses.
"We need to talk,” he approached her after the speeches.
"Oh, Nick,” she enthused. “That was so awesome ... even if I don't like you, I can't help but wish you well after that."
"How could you like me,” he snapped. “When you have your new flavor of the day here. So who is he and why were you passing him off as an artist?"
"Hush,” she chided. “He'll hear you."
Rupert was about ten feet away, flirting with the curator and one of the museum's burly security guards. It was two on one, and the two of them were no match for Rupert.
"I hope he does, because he and I have business to settle."
"What business, Nick? Have you gone insane? This man and I have nothing to do with each other. I never said we did. I never said he was an artist. I never said a cotton picking thing, as a matter of fact."
Nick frowned, reviewing events in his mind. “Well you all left me with an impression,” he said. “And that is the same as misleading me. I had the distinct impression the man was your lover, and frankly, I have not received a sufficient alternate explanation."
Morgan was fuming. He'd crossed the line this time. “You want another explanation? Rupert is gay. He's hanging all over me to make another man jealous."
"What man?"
"I don't know, why don't you ask him, since you want to be in his business so bad."
"It's okay, Morgan,” said Carmen. “I'll answer his question. Rupert is here to make Nick jealous. He's Merilee's friend. We worked it out."
Getting Naked: A Romance of Bondage and Discipline Page 11
