by Elsa Holland
The Curator was unmoved, his touch practical and functional. This man did not see the source—he did not see the woman before him as Goldboom did—he saw the product. Like a chef who sees the meat and gives no thought to the animal. Her skin was flipped, turned and tugged and each efficient action generated tension in his arms and across his back.
Goldboom looked at the Curator’s face which was gradually taking on sour expression.
“This is disappointing work.” The verdict finally came. “The small incisions through the skin, no matter how small, will get larger if it remains unmounted or dried into a form. This is far below the work you submitted in your training. Your skills and training should have made this exceptional, and it isn’t.”
There had been reasons. He’d had an unexpected sense of euphoria and revulsion. That reaction, along with reality of finally performing the actual ritual rather than merely practicing, had disoriented him. It was as if he had somehow been drawn some way out of his physical form, as if he was both performing the task as well as watching on.
“Goldbloom?”
“Practice doesn’t quite prepare you for the realities in the field.”
The Curator waved an impatient hand. “You should have anticipated that, practiced on others before you took on a Painted Sister.” The Curator pounded his finger on her silken flesh on the table. “This here, this hide is worth tens of thousands of pounds, maybe even hundreds of thousands to the right buyer, but who knows how much your poor work has devalued it.”
Whatever disgruntled Collectors told themselves, what they may perhaps have told each other as they went rouge and decided to harvest their living Art, those skins that were the product of murder were worth several times more than those of a natural death. The Curator ensured the utmost quality of the art’s presentation to maximize the return, not just for the sake of his reputation but because he received commission on the sale.
Goldboom drew in the chastisement, soaked it in so he would learn. He hadn’t done a full test trial as no one had suggested it or given him permission, but he had to own his lack of confidence. It would not happen again.
CHAPTER 49
Vaughn walked into the theater and stopped. The space shrank, squeezing the air out of his chest. There she was brazenly standing in the room as if it weren’t an act of erotic provocation to wear so many buttons. How in heaven’s name was he going to concentrate?
The doors swung back behind him and staff hurried to finish what they were doing. She moved at her usual efficient pace, eliciting no sign of what lay between them, no sign of the aching comfort he had found just laying with her.
The double doors to the ops room opened as the first patient was wheeled in, already under the ether. A calm descended upon him as the familiarity of the scene brought his professional self to the fore.
He reached an open hand behind him. “Scalpel.”
It was placed surely in his grasp without delay. He sliced, handed it back.
“Cla-“ The word not yet complete and the metal clamp was in his hand. His fingers touched hers as they folded over the instrument. Sunshine washed over his skin with ruthless elation at her touch. The blinding preoccupation with her made him oblivious to the bleak world of slices and stitches he stood in. The afternoon trudged on and each operation was measured by the number of instruments he needed, the chances he had to feel her fingers, the sleeve of her shirt, her palm, a fingernail.
The landscape of his mind was no longer one of the muscular and the skeletal frameworks, nor the judgment of depth, the position of nerves, arteries and veins, but of her.
“Lam, take over from Appleby.”
“But Doctor . . .” She was clearly confused, knowing she was doing a superlative job. The hurt in her eyes affected him like a cut to his own chest, however his patients deserved his full attention and he could not give that with her standing near him. “Is something wrong, Doctor?”
“Surely you would not presume to tell me how I utilise those under my tutelage, Miss Appleby?” Not now, Apple.
Her face washed with the slightest touch of pink, but it remained passive and focused in the most professional of configurations. It was his surgeon’s eye which saw her hand tighten on the swab she held and then relax.
“Of course, Doctor.” She stepped back and out of the way; position lost, and purpose removed. But still she reached out to him and his awareness. When he raised his head from the patient she was in his direct line of sight and was always in his peripheral vision; as much a distraction as when she stood right next to him.
Between patients, he went over to where she was disinfecting surgical instruments.
“I want you to leave the room.” He kept his voice low, aware that this would sting.
“No.” Her answer was firm.
“I’m serious,” he said under his breath.
“No.” She muttered back and moved further down the bench.
Vaughn followed her. “Are you ignoring my request?”
She didn’t answer.
“Appleby?” His voice rose. She lifted her gaze.
“You are in no way instructing Lam and Lam is slower than me with your instruments. He is quick to blame my nurses when things go badly, and I will stay to make sure there is a voice for them if anything unfolds.”
“Your nurses?” Pleasure washed warm in his chest.
“Yes.” She held his gaze.
Blood pumped hard through his veins, but not in anger as he would have expected. Oh no, it was lust. He wanted to see her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth open, cheeks flushed and sweat form on her brow as he rode her hard against the wall, on the gurney, on the floor . . . hell, he didn’t care where just so long as his cock burned with the heat of her and she clutched his waistcoat as if her life depended on it.
“I can’t focus,” he said under his breath, but she moved away. Stubborn, stubborn woman.
The next patient was wheeled in.
Damn it, what was he going to do, throw her out? No. This was his problem, he was the one who couldn’t concentrate, who drooled for even a finger of hers to touch his. She was, in fact, doing a stellar job.
“Scalpel.” The little silver beast was slowly laid in his hand. She was right; if Lam and Fraser were here he should put them to work.
“Lam. Step up.” Lam was so eager he almost knocked the silver tray of implements over, blasted idiot. “Do you know what this operation is?”
“The removal of a growth under the arm, Doctor.”
“How deep should the incision be?”
“The incision is only through the epidermis, along the full length of the growth. The first step is to see if it can be removed without further intrusion.”
Vaughn handed Lam the scalpel. It was a minor operation, there was always the risk of infection but that was not due to surgical skill.
“So, Dr Lam, let’s see what you can do. Talk us through as you go.”
The young man was flushed with pleasure. His hands shook slightly but were under control in a few moments. Frazer looked on with envy. They were less than he would have taken on himself, but another surgeon would have been relatively happy with them.
His Apple finished what she was doing and placed herself a small distance away. The next patient was brought in and he left Lam at the helm.
“Appleby, assist Lam.” She moved quickly, bringing two more implements with her, a hose to drain away fluid and an extra clamp. As the operation unfolded, the implements proved to be key to its success. Lam had not asked for them.
He stepped back and watched her work, letting his mind go where it would, imagining what he would do when the day was done, and they were alone in the surgery.
CHAPTER 50
They stumbled into the preparations room, her pulse racing, her body blazing in anticipation.
The surgery had been an agony. She had enjoyed his obvious suffering as his eyes stalked her around the room, and his foolish attempt to have her leave had been both infu
riating and satisfying.
No sooner had she stepped out of the doors, the theater emptied of staff and cleaned, than he grabbed her, ushering them into the linen room.
Vaughn guided her towards the large table up against the frosted glass window as his mouth ravished hers. His tongue, thick and firm, pressed between lips and into her mouth. Edith moaned deep in her throat, moaned and sucked on his tongue. He was an addiction.
The desire to have his bare skin against hers made the tugs at her clothes hard to resist. Made her wish more than ever that she was just an ordinary woman who could love an extraordinary man.
“The light,” Edith managed to get out as he bit her jaw, her neck, sending shivers over her skin.
“It’s frosted, no one will see us.” His hands tugged at the buttons of her gown. “Edith, you need to trust me.”
“No! My clothes stay on.”
Vaughn growled at her. “This has got to stop sometime, why not today?” He lifted her onto the table nudging his body between her legs.
“In the dark,” she whispered. “Penetrate me in the dark. I want to feel my sex around you. Feel what it’s like with you inside me.”
“No.” He growled as his hand felt her body, followed the lines of her as if each inch was a thing of beauty.
“No?” She went to pull away. “I want you.”
“I will not take your virginity by flipping your skirts up in the dark,” he muttered as he bit at her nipples through the wool and her head fell back. “I want a bed.” His hand threaded into her hair and pulled her head back as he gave small bites to her neck. “I want a month in bed with you, naked, and I promise you’ll know exactly what it feels like for me to be inside you.”
His words gave her that all too familiar mix of joy and pain. Five days left. How had the last few days gone by so fast?
“Lights.” Edith arched her breasts forward for more. He leaned over them and flipped the curtain closed. It was thick, and the room fell into blackness.
“Better?”
Edith’s yes was muffled by his lips as they covered hers again. As the feel of him, his taste, filled her senses. Her hands held his shoulders, fingers gripped him with all her strength as if he would slip away.
“I can’t even see my hand in front of my face, Edith. I want flesh.” Vaughn reached out and found the buttons running down the front of her dress and started to undo them.
Her hand came down on top of his, however he was right, they were in total darkness. Her pulse spiked. Yes, no, yes, no. ‘Yes’ won. Soon all of her buttons were open. Excitement warred with fear as he felt for the ribbons of her chemise and expertly tugged them loose, pulling the garment down over her breasts and arms.
“My arms are locked against my sides.”
“Fancy that.” His hand covered her breast and she gasped. He moaned. “Why are you doing this to us Edith?” Then his mouth latched onto her breast and sucked. Edith arched her back, pressing herself hungrily into him as he moved from one breast to the other and back again. Her flesh under his mouth grew more and more sensitized, more aware of every lick of his tongue, scrape of his teeth and tug of her nipple.
There was nothing in the medical and anatomical journals that told her that her nipples had a direct connection to her sex, that the attention he lathered on them, each nip and twist of her nipple, would shoot down between her legs and make it throb with need.
“Kiss me.”
He moved up and took her mouth. His shirt rubbed across too-sensitive skin and his hips pressed down at the juncture between her legs.
“I’ll show you a real kiss,” he whispered into her ear. Vaughn moved off and she felt her skirt lifting.
“Vaughn . . .”
“I still can’t see a thing.”
He loosened her drawers and slid them off. Edith panted at the feel of the cool air against her hot skin. His hand slid up her thigh sending ripples of nerves and excitement, then he touched her between her legs.
Edith drew her legs further apart.
“Oh, you’re going to like this, Apple.” He tugged her dress over her hips and stomach and his palms pushed her thighs wide, then she felt the tickle of his hair, and she yelped as he swiped his tongue over her folds. Pressed it against her full sex and started to move it. Fingers, tongue, lips and teeth and she was writhing with the need to come, her fingers grabbing onto the curtain, seeking anything to hold onto. Loud sounds of need came from her mouth as her body clasped and throbbed for its first release, and she knew he would not leave it at one.
And then suddenly, as if from nowhere, her muscles clamped tight and pulsed as wave after wave of pleasure throbbed through her. Distantly, she heard a ripping sound, and then there was light.
Light. Her body froze in terror. She’d grabbed at the curtain and ripped it open in her climax. His face was still pressed between her legs, then she watched him as his face pulled back from that gloriously intimate place. Watched him as he looked up her body, watched with anguish as the expression of self-satisfaction dropped away.
CHAPTER 51
“Don’t look. Please. Please, it’s nothing, think of it as a birth mark . . . or a burn,” she desperately babbled, as she wriggled and tugged the chemise to free her arms and cover her breasts. “Turn around.”
Vaughn didn’t move.
“Turn around!” She yelled. But instead he pulled the curtain right back, bathing her in light.
His hands clasped over hers and lifted her skirt back up to show the tattoos that ran down her upper thigh and covered her sex.
“Edith?” He shook his head trying to work it out. “What . . .” He looked at her as if they could solve it together. “What is this?”
It was a redundant question, they both knew what he was looking at. She lay there clearly covered in dense and extensive tattoos, a Japanese motif of flowers and leaves against a jet black background.
His shocked expression evolved into one of hurt, and she let out a single sob.
“Please. Please Vaughn.”
His gaze lifted to her chest. There was a cascade of white orchids, her breasts two large red chrysanthemums, with long tendril petals that ran down the sides of her breasts. The hurt on his face dissolved into raw pain.
“Chrysanthemums. I have been sucking chrysanthemums.” His face tightened as he clearly made the shift to anger. “Open your legs.”
Edith shook her head as he pulled her thighs apart. “Vaughn, please.” She kicked out but missed him then tried to push her dress down. He pushed her hands away and lifted her skirt up.
“Open them!” He bellowed.
“I will not be bullied.” Her voice rose as she pushed herself up.
“I deserve to see!” He roared at the end of the table by her legs. He could have forced her but instead he waited for her to obey. Heat flushed over her. Never—not in all her viewings—had she felt so self-conscious at being seen.
Her face burned as she pulled her skirt higher. He stilled and focused on the movement of her hem line as it rose. He leaned forward as she rested back on her elbows and slowly, slowly opened her legs. The eroticism of the moment was not lost on either of them as his gaze caught hers sending pulsing ripples through her body, then moved down to look at her sex.
“It’s a peony,” she whispered, chest tight.
“How forthcoming of you,” he growled back as he stepped closer. “Keep them open,” he warned.
Her chest rose and fell too fast.
Vaughn reached out and touched her labia, light tantalizing touches over the lips and the inside of her thigh. He moved her pubic hair aside to see the image underneath, a hydrangea. Edith looked down her body at his hand between her legs, saw his pelvis behind. He was angry, but his cock was pressed long and hard against his trousers. She was mortified, yet her sex pulsed with even more excitement and need than moments before. Edith bit her lip as his fingers trailed the pattern of the flower and circled her entrance. As he pressed his fingers in and then out, in and then
out as he looked. Her sex screamed for release as those knowing touches continued. And then his touch stopped.
He stood there between her legs looking for some time.
“You would have been shaved when these were done.” His fingers again trailed through her pubic hair.
She nodded, senselessly want him to finish her and give her some peace, give her a chance to concentrate and present her case.
“Did he shave you Edith? Did he take his time as his fingers moved over your sex, did they accidently slide into you?” His fingers moved back into her. Again, moving in and out as she squeezed around them seeking relief.
“It wasn’t like that.” She panted.
He lifted his fingers and put them in his mouth. She closed her eyes. In spite of the situation, she was wet from excitement at his touch.
And then his hand lifted off her and she opened her eyes. He flicked her skirt down and turned away. Hurt at his rejection was sharp.
“Vaughn.” She struggled to think, as her body screamed at the abandonment. She fought to sit, grabbed out and caught his arm. “Please . . .”
“Stand up.” His voice was cold as he peeled her fingers away from him and walked to the linen cupboard to pull out a sheet.
“What are you doing?” Edith swung her legs down from the table and started to adjust her clothes with hands that shook.
He didn’t respond, just opened the sheet and, once she was standing, threw it over her so she was covered. In moments, she was over his shoulder and he was carrying her through the swing doors, then up the stairs. His steps were muffled on the hall carpet, then through one doorway, then another.
