Lena was aware of the buzz in the air, an excitement regarding the work on display and the artist. She experienced a similar sensation at her showing and at the few others she attended since then. Tamping down the longing, which never fully disappeared, she glanced around the room, slowly working her way through the crowd with Michelle. It was hard to see the pictures from a distance since each one had a group around it, but Lena heard snippets of conversations when people passed.
“Very talented.”
“Exciting.”
“Wish I could afford it.”
“I wish I had a place for it.”
The part of her that once wanted this life—dreamed of it—envied the artist, but at the same time she was relieved she no longer needed to worry about the pressure of nights like this. Soon the artist would have to face the reactions of the critics and if they were against him, none of the positive comments would matter.
“I see something I want,” Michelle said in her ear as they continued to maneuver toward the displays.
“A painting?”
“A man. Do us both a favor—find one for yourself.”
“You can’t leave me so quickly.” She was embarrassed by the note of panic in her voice.
Michelle placed a hand on Lena’s shoulder and looked into her eyes. “You need fun, not a chaperone. I’ll connect with you later. Be brave and let go a bit, sunshine. You deserve it.”
Lena smiled and nodded, although she wasn’t certain she agreed. Watching her friend move purposefully through the crowd, she thought she would trade almost anything for Michelle’s confidence at big events, and with men. Lena was more comfortable in small groups, like business meetings or a dinner party. That was how she met her last boyfriend, through mutual contacts. She winced. Maybe she needed a larger function after all.
What if she followed Michelle’s advice and allowed herself to be seduced? What if she let the next man who caught her interest take her to bed? The thought of losing control, even for one night, was stirring—and scary. And exactly what you need, a daring voice said in her head. It was not something she ever permitted herself to consider, let alone do. Maybe it was the call with her mother, or maybe it was the prospect of a weekend filled with nothing but work and whatever was recorded on her cable box, but Lena knew it was time to do something different, maybe drastic. She took another sip of her drink and made her decision.
She continued to walk slowly around the gallery, which wasn’t hard given the crowd and her heels. Focusing on the pictures, she was moved by what the artist created. His show choices were arresting. He started with a basic photo of a woman or man, frequently nude, then made them into creatures of myth and fantasy using a combination of digital art and more traditional mediums, like oils and acrylics. Sometimes the original photographs were displayed next to the finished creations. Griffins, sorceresses and the phoenix from the postcard surrounded her with color and energy. And sex. The figures were distinctly sexual. Their poses, exposed bodies and expressions of pleasure gave her a tingling feeling that had nothing to do with the drink in her hand.
Walking over to the next portrait, Lena had the sensation people were staring at her and she thought maybe her bra strap or something was showing. She adjusted her dress again, hearing in her mind Michelle’s voice telling her not to fuss, and her mother’s suggestion to have fun. It was getting crowded in her head. She stepped closer to the picture and her breath caught at its beauty.
Within the silver frame, at least five feet high, a brunette woman wearing nothing but her hair and flowing water stepped out of a river to reach for a man reading a book under a nearby tree. Or maybe he was writing in it, since there was a pen nearby.
Her gaze traveled slowly over the vivid figures, entranced. The scene was set deep in a forest, the colors as lush and abundant as the trees giving the two characters their privacy. The river was so real Lena thought if she touched the canvas her hand would come back wet. When she finally focused on the face of the being coming from the water, her heartbeat increased as she stared at an image of someone who looked remarkably like—her.
The woman’s expression was one of longing and joy mixed together in an intense expression. Lena wanted to weep. It was a feeling she ached for. There on the canvas she was confronted with her hunger for a happiness missing from her life. Passion was rarely a part of her days anymore and it made her sad. Michelle and her mother were right, painfully so. Ignoring emotions didn’t make her crave them any less. In fact, in this moment, they were stronger than ever. She allowed herself to have half a life, and suddenly, she felt that was no longer an acceptable option.
She looked at the title of the picture. The card read, His Muse.
“So, do you think the man is going to get lucky?” asked a deep voice, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath on her neck. Caught up in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the man walk up behind her. Lena turned to see a very masculine chest then raised her head to look into pale-blue eyes that were welcoming and warm. And sexy as hell. He’s exactly what you’re looking for, the daring voice said again, definitely louder than the voices of doubt. She finally recognized it. It was her, the way she used to be when she jumped into things and enjoyed them. She couldn’t stop her smile.
* * * * *
Everyone assumed Daniel Royer’s pacing was opening-night jitters, but he knew better. Once his work hung on the walls he stopped worrying. Alice Hamilton, his agent, and the people at the gallery knew what they were doing, and he was proud of the pieces he chose. His inability to stand still was for a completely different reason. He wasn’t going to relax until he learned whether or not Lena was intrigued enough by his postcards to come tonight.
She inspired and initiated his interest in art during a summer at sleep-away camp, and art remained a first love—as did she. Could following up on a crush that lasted more than a decade be considered stalking? He hoped not.
At nearly fifteen, he was awkward and didn’t fit in with the more athletically inclined boys, like his older brother, at Crane Hill Camp. He wasn’t sure why Lena was there that summer, since she was older than most of the counselors, but she was one of the only people with whom he felt comfortable during his weeks at her parents’ camp. There were three periods a day when campers could choose whatever activity they wanted and while most of his bunkmates headed to the soccer fields and the lake, Daniel spent all the time he could in the art cabin with her. After the first week, she let him enjoy self-directed projects. She would get the group of kids started on their craft for the day, and then give him guidance for whatever he chose to work on—pastels, charcoals or another medium. Initially he thought she was being kind since she was the daughter of the directors, but eventually he realized her attention was genuine.
Because of her photography work, the camp had a small yet functional dark room. She lent him a camera when he showed an interest in the process of developing film. It was love at first click. The little machine was made for his hands. He didn’t touch another canvas for the rest of the summer. He was constantly snapping pictures, talking to her about art, and helping create the camp’s annual yearbook. But a teen boy’s concentration can be held by photographs for only so long, especially in the presence of a beautiful woman. One afternoon in the dark room his attention was on her, not the picture he was working on. He could smell her skin above the chemicals they were using, and he wished with all the longing of his young heart he could kiss her.
He still wanted that kiss. Of course, now he wanted a hell of a lot more. He willed his thoughts off her beauty and body. The last thing he wanted was to embarrass himself with an erection. Images of her fueled years of fantasies and inspired his art. In his memory she was graceful, bold and energetic. He still saw that in her tonight, but as he watched her from a distance, he took the time to learn more from her body language, scrutinizing her with an artist’s eye and a man’s appreciation.
The way she held her arms close to her body and made li
ttle eye contact with those around her suggested a shyness he’d never noticed. As she skittered around other guests she seemed almost frightened. But there was more. She wore her dark hair longer, and the dress that showed off her legs was much better than the shorts she favored at camp. With her lips parted and wet from her drink, her eyes focused on his work, she looked like a woman waiting to be pleased. He was going to need to hold something in front of him if he continued to be aroused by her.
He ambled through groups of people, acknowledging those he knew and taking thanks from those who recognized him. When he couldn’t immediately locate her he became concerned she left. Finally, however, he spotted her standing transfixed in front of the work he considered the best in the collection. It was not for sale because it was special to him. The one he created with an image of them both in his head. His pulse raced. He ached to know what she thought. Did she see the resemblance? Did she like it?
Heart hammering, he walked to her. She was so focused on the canvas, she didn’t notice him. He stood behind her, breathing in her scent, which lacked the suntan lotion and fresh air he remembered, but included a floral bouquet that was new to him and tickled his senses. He needed to bend to get closer, which made him smile. When they first met, he was barely an inch or two taller. Tonight, even with her stiletto heels, he had more than six inches on her. She was going to fit beautifully in his embrace.
It was driving him insane waiting for her to turn, so he spoke first and asked if she thought the man in the picture was going to connect with the spirit who was approaching him. She jumped and stumbled slightly. He reached out to steady her and her drink when she looked up at him. The skin on her bare arms was warm and soft and he wished he could caress her. “I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It was my fault. I guess I was caught up in the picture. Were you talking to me?” she asked.
“I was. I am. I was wondering if you thought the man in the picture was going to get lucky.”
She smiled at him then turned back to the painting, taking a step toward it. He could have indulged in a tray of drinks and not felt as intoxicated as he did when he saw Lena smile. He didn’t know why his question made her respond the way she did, but whatever the reason, he wanted her to continue. Her whole face brightened and there was a glimmer in her eye that was daring yet wary.
“Yes, I think he is. Although whether it’s lucky in love or creativity I can’t say.”
“How about both?”
“Both is definitely better,” she said.
“Do you like it?” For the first time he felt nervous regarding his work as he hoped for her approval. He gave himself a mental shake. Less than two minutes with her and already he was questioning himself and feeling fifteen again. That needed to change. She was no longer his counselor.
“I love it, actually. There’s an entire story in this one moment. He looks so peaceful, so available for what might happen next. And she’s powerful. She may not be certain how her presence will be received by the man, but she knows this is where she is supposed to be.”
Her thoughts on the picture were completely different from his since he was thinking of the man’s perspective. The man was creating, lost in his thoughts and the woman comes to him as if answering his call, his plea. “I like your interpretation.”
“Thank you.” She gave a gentle sigh and said, “Wouldn’t it be great if we could be visited by our muses?”
I’m standing next to mine.
“I would love to have a chance to speak with one and hear her—or him—talk to me, guide me. I’m in corporate identity design and there are times when I would give anything to grab the phone and dial 1-800-MUSES4U to get what I need on a particular project.” She bit her lip as if surprised she said so much. “I’m sorry. I should introduce myself. I’m Lena,” she said, extending her hand.
As he reached for her hand he realized, surprised, she had no idea who he was. It never occurred to him he might have changed to the point where she wouldn’t recognize him, and because last names were rarely if ever used at summer camp, his name wasn’t familiar. He debated with himself whether he should tell her, and decided against it. He knew he’d receive more honest responses if she didn’t know he was the artist. He’d have a chance to explain later. He shook her hand, allowing her touch to warm him. “I’m Daniel.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” He didn’t see the friend she arrived with and wondered if she planned to meet someone. “Are you alone?” Please say yes, please say yes. The voice in his head once again sounded suspiciously like it did when he was fifteen.
“My friend, Michelle, was with me, but she saw someone she wanted to get better acquainted with.”
“Then it would be my honor to escort you around the exhibit.” He gave a mock bow. She smiled. What he wouldn’t do to keep that smile on her face, he thought. A waiter came by with a tray of red and orange drinks. He took her empty glass, grabbed drinks for them both, and handed her one.
“I don’t know if I should have a second. I haven’t eaten much this evening.”
“Then we’ll look for one of the servers with food as we wander.”
He put his hand on her back to guide her, and thought it a good sign when she didn’t move away from his touch. The next picture was one of his favorites, Passion by Moonlight. In shades of blue and silver he tried to create the intensity of two lovers coming together for the first time, giving in to all their desires, preparing to feast on each other.
“Oh yes,” she sighed, sounding dazed.
Something in her voice sent a shiver through him that went straight to his groin. He wanted to hear her say that when she was naked beneath him. Being next to her was sweet torture. “You like it,” he said.
“Absolutely. The artist has given us so much to see. Intensity, need. It’s amazing the oils don’t melt off the canvas with the heat these two are generating. Look at her eyes.” She pointed to the picture. He kept his gaze on her. “Can you see the longing and recognition? It’s as if he’s the one person in the world who understands what she wants. The only one who can give it to her, and she is thrilled to have found him.”
He didn’t know what stirred more, his cock or his heart. She saw and expressed his vision in a way no one else had. It was interesting to him she saw hunger in the woman when his own longing went into creating the man. He worked for hours to make the man strong, yet open, to convey both his availability and yearning for this precious woman. This piece required more work than any other in the exhibit. He poured everything he could into the two lovers, hoping and striving to create visually what he longed for, but never expressed or experienced with another person.
“What do you think?” she asked, looking directly at him and breaking him out of his reverie.
He was lost in the cocoa brown of her eyes, then answered without glancing at the picture. “I think it is a gift for two people to find and desire each other the way these two do.” He leaned in as he continued. “And I hope for them the feelings of the night never end.”
He assumed she liked his answer when she smiled slightly and sipped her drink as a blush stole up her cheeks. He had an urge to move closer to her and lick the moisture from her lips, but before he could act a familiar voice called out loudly, “Daniel, darling, there you are.” He grimaced internally and hoped it didn’t show on his face. He knew this could be the end of their time alone for the rest of the evening because his agent, Alice, was heading straight for them.
“Lena, how good are you at improvising?” he asked, speaking directly into her ear.
She responded as if whispering a secret, “I think pretty fast on my feet. I spend almost half of my work time convincing clients to take risks for improving their corporate image and spend money in advance of knowing the success of a campaign. Why?”
“That should do. I need to talk to the woman and the people coming toward us. I would be grateful if you would play along with w
hatever I say so I can end the conversation gracefully and we can continue with our tour. Will you help me?”
“What’s my reward if I help you succeed?”
His blood heated at the thought of the ways he wanted to reward her. “Lady’s choice.”
“Deal,” she said with a huge smile.
Alice was upon them a moment later. “Daniel, you must meet Mr. and Mrs. Davis. Jim, Barbara, this is the outrageously talented man behind these fantastic paintings, Daniel Royer.”
He didn’t need to look to feel Lena’s head turn to stare at him.
Chapter Two
The pictures were his, Lena thought. He created all the glorious art around them, and she had no idea. Did he think her foolish for not recognizing him? No, from his smile he clearly didn’t mind. Still, she was surprised and flattered he would want to show her his work and spend time with her.
“Lena, this is my agent, Alice Hamilton. Alice, Mr. and Mrs. Davis, this is Lena Crane.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” Lena shook all the extended hands.
Alice, a woman of dark beauty, a pixie haircut she made look sexy, and infectious energy, led the conversation with ease, and as Lena admired her skill she did her best to follow the discussion. Being at the fringes of the conversation had its advantages. It gave her a chance to study Daniel undisturbed.
He was tall, although not as tall as the men in her family, with brown hair so wavy and unruly it would probably always appear as if he just got out of bed. His nose looked as though it may have been broken once, and he had a great smile leading into a strong jaw. He had a thin beard and mustache and something about the soft hairs made her want to reach out and stroke them. His light-gray eyes were his best feature and because of the navy shirt he was wearing, had blue undertones. They would be challenging, but fun, to paint and difficult to capture. Each time he spoke of his work she could see the excitement in his face.
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