by Gia Dawn
To Touch the Sun
Gia Dawn
Book 4 in the Red Masks series.
After a robbery leaves her brutally injured, the fantasy artist known as Kitty Sunshine disappears from public view.
In reality, Kiera has become a terrified recluse. Only the sexual exploits of her hunky next-door neighbors inspire her to paint again. When she is persuaded to exhibit her erotic works, Kiera’s sexy subjects—Jason and Marco—enthusiastically attend.
Huge fans of Kitty Sunshine, they discover they are the subjects of their favorite artist’s sexual fantasies and cook up a plan to commission a personal painting—and treat her to the ménage of her life.
But Jason and Marco want more than a few isolated sexual encounters. Can they earn Kiera’s trust and persuade her to take them on forever? Or will she slip away like sunshine on a cloudy day?
Reader Advisory: This story has graphic sexual language and scenes—no closed bedroom doors (or other rooms) here!
A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
To Touch the Sun
Gia Dawn
Chapter One
Jason Samuels stood in the public art gallery of the Gaston Plantation House enjoying the spectacle of the decadent exhibition. He nudged his buddy hard in the side as he eyed the woman across the room, a thrill of recognition working its way down his spine, along with a rush of satisfaction. He’d finally pieced together the mystery that had been nagging at him for months. “That’s her.”
“Who’s who?” Marco seemed singularly unimpressed, not even flicking his gaze away from the breasts laid out before him.
“Take your eyes off the boobs, asshole, and look.” Jason grabbed Marco’s head and spun it around so the idiot could see what had gotten him so excited. He could tell by the smile that lit up the other man’s face that he finally understood.
“Kitty Sunshine,” Marco said, raising a hand to slick across his buzz cut. “Fantasy artist extraordinaire.”
“And our voyeuristic neighbor.”
Marco punched Jason hard in the arm. “No way. She can’t be that nosy creature who watches us through her window.”
“She is,” Jason insisted, turning his gaze back to the woman in question. “See that scar on the inside of her wrist?” He pulled out his cell and scrolled through several pictures before blowing one up on the screen. “Look at this.” He held the phone beneath Marco’s nose, daring him to argue. “Took that shot last weekend. You know when we had—”
“Mistress Abigail over for the night.” Marco looked as smug as Jason felt although for different reasons entirely. “Best piece of ass that can be bought by the hour.”
Jason didn’t bother to disagree because Marco had a point. The call girl was by far the most fun they’d had in a long time, her adventurous nature showing even the two of them a few new and naughty tricks. And she’d managed to take Jason’s mind off a recent tragedy in his life—which was beside the point. “Get your head out of your ass,” he ordered, bringing his attention back to the present, shoving the cell closer to his buddy’s nose, “and use it for a change.”
With a grunt that said he would make Jason pay for that remark, Marco grabbed the phone and squinted at the screen before flipping through several more photos in the sequence. “I’ll be damned,” he whispered at last, looking from the pictures to the woman to the pictures once more. Then he frowned. “Nasty piece of work, that scar. Do you think she did it herself?”
Now it was Jason’s turn to study the pictures more closely. The scar was thick and ugly, beginning in her palm and winding its way up the inside of her wrist before curling around the back of her arm. “Can’t be. Starts at the wrong place for suicide and no one—no matter how completely stoned or out of their mind—could manage a cut that long and deep.”
But he wondered what had happened. “I’ll check this out when I get to the precinct tomorrow. She’s famous. There’ll be a record somewhere.”
She was famous. Kitty Sunshine’s work had taken the fantasy world by storm when she’d done the illustrations for Adonais Rising, an epic graphic novel series that gained cult status practically overnight.
Then she’d dropped off the face of the earth nearly two years ago. That was why he and Marco had been flabbergasted when they’d seen the ads for her newest exhibition. And they’d been even more intrigued when the show had been dubbed “an erotic feast not for the faint of heart”.
Which had more than lived up to its hype.
Miss Sunshine’s newest works were most definitely for adult eyes only. While they still held the color and style of her earlier drawings, these exploded from the canvas in scenes so explicit the paint practically steamed off the canvas.
In Prometheus Bound, the traitor god was shackled in leather andchains while the demon who came to feast on his flesh was a woman in full dominatrix regalia, her mouth poised at the very tip of his cock, ready to devour the swollen member.
Another, The Garden, showed a buxom Eve on her back in a bright summer meadow reaching up to pluck the apples of knowledge from between the legs of Adam who was on his hands and knees above her with his face buried between her thighs in traditional sixty-nine position.
And the most interesting feature of the exhibition was the artist’s obvious fascination with taking on two men at once, for she had painted an extraordinary number of ménage a trois, a scenario so close to Jason and Marco’s hearts they stopped at every canvas to study them more closely.
But Jason had noticed bleak details in some of Miss Kitty’s latest works. There was darkness and a violence to them that had not been present in her paintings before she disappeared. Those emotions were directly related to that scar on her arm, and he swore he would find out all there was to know about the woman and whatever had caused her such terror and pain.
His chest burned as a flicker of his own pain surfaced. He pushed it back and turned to Marco. “So let’s go be nice neighbors and introduce ourselves.”
Marco bared his teeth while he smoothed out the front of his shirt and tucked it into his jeans before running his hands along his jaw. “Ready, bro.”
Jason sighed in silence, knowing his friend’s actions stemmed more from insecurity than ego, although no one would guess the muscled Italian firefighter possessed less than perfect self-esteem.
Only Jason knew the man had a heart as big as his biceps, and a gentleness of spirit that was belied by the swarm of military tattoos that decorated both arms and bore testament to their two tours of duty together in Iraq. But this was the persona Marco insisted on showing to most of the world—the rough and seasoned soldier—and Jason had no intention of ever betraying the other man’s trust.
Not to be outdone by his friend’s preening, however, Jason checked his own appearance in a mirror across the gallery, making certain the faded jeans showed off his assets to their best advantage, and that he didn’t have any leftover bits of dinner stuck between his teeth.
The sad truth was they were wildly underdressed for the opening of the exhibition. Most of the men wore business suits or at least a dress shirt and tie, but Jason and Marco had on well-worn jeans and t-shirts…although to their credit they’d at least worn freshly laundered clothes.
And they weren’t hard to look at, which was happening quite a lot, Jason noted with dawning certainty. Heads turned their way and voices whispered in growing curiosity as the two men made their way across the floor.
“What’s up?” Marco demanded in a low voice as a group of patrons went silent when they passed. “My balls hanging out or something?”
Jason snorted. “If that were the case they’d be laughing instead.”
“Jackass.”
“Douche. Fuck us both,” Jason added,
pulling Marco over to a particularly colorful painting. “I think I figured out why they’re staring. Anything about this seem familiar to you?”
Marco studied the work for a very long time before he ran his tongue across his teeth. “Little Red Riding Hood looks like that waitress we did several months ago.”
Jason shook his head in disbelief. “That’s all you got?”
Marco turned his attention back to the canvas. “And the woodcutter looks a little like you—with a much bigger package.”
If he had an ax, Jason would use it to bash some sense into Marco’s head. “You don’t think the big bad wolf in any way resembles you…even though its dick is large enough to need its own address?”
Marco had the nerve to laugh out loud, drawing even more stares from the crowd around them. “Very good likeness if I do say so myself. It’s stylized, Jason. Like in a Japanese pillow book or on a tantric temple in India.”
Jason blinked in shock that Marco had managed to spout off such artistic knowledge.
The other man spread his hands in exasperation. “What? I read.” But he frowned when he turned back to the painting. “Do you think that’s how she really sees me? The big bad wolf?”
A woman’s voice interrupted them. “Many women are aroused by thoughts of being taken by one of such ruthlessness and power.” They whirled to find an elegantly dressed woman studying them with equal curiosity. “And the woodcutter symbolizes a woman’s desire to be protected even while she longs for him to show his dominant side. I wondered where she found such inspiration,” the woman added in a purr, holding out her hand. “Manette Brisson.”
Jason didn’t know whether to shake it or kiss it so he opted for the most unusual choice and brought her knuckles to his mouth. “Jason Samuels.”
Not to be outdone, Marco clasped one arm around his waist and bowed. “Marco Cavelli at your service, milady.”
She whispered a laugh as she pulled her hand away. “Delightful. Both of you. No wonder Kitty has done such amazing work of late. Would you like to meet her?” The woman turned without waiting for them to answer, her heels clicking across the tile as she led them toward another woman tucked away in a far corner of the gallery.
Marco grabbed Jason’s arm. “Do you think all these paintings are really about us?” His gaze roamed to the other ménage scenes hanging on the walls.
“I do,” Jason stated in a voice that held no trace of his excitement. “And we are about to meet the lady who holds us in such high regard.”
* * * * *
Kiera clasped her hands together so hard she thought she’d broken every bone in her fingers as she watched Manette lead the pair of men across the room in her direction. Dear God, they’d actually come to her exhibition! How on earth had they found out about the showing? It had only been advertised in the most exclusive art magazines, and surely the two of them weren’t art connoisseurs—were they?
And what was Manette up to? She knew Kiera was desperately terrified of coming face-to-face with her hunky next-door neighbors, especially since she’d so obviously used them in nearly every one of her latest works…well, at least Kitty Sunshine had.
Her only consolation was that she’d dressed as she always did while attending a show or other public event—in costume. She’d adopted the practice years ago to calm her nerves when she was forced to face an audience, and while it didn’t keep her from wanting to throw up or pass out, it did make it possible for her to chat about her paintings or sign prints at various conventions when it was absolutely necessary.
Tonight she wore modified Ren Fest attire. A black skirt topped with a corset and jacket, thigh-high boots that laced up the front, and she’d added a burgundy wig with bangs so long they hid any panic in her eyes.
Not that it did any good when she was shaking from head to foot as the men approached. But they couldn’t recognize her in costume, she assured herself, and there was no way they could know she was their neighbor. She made certain she never let them catch her watching, or went outside when either one of them could possibly see her. She’d bought the house in her given name, Kiera Shriner, so even if they did care enough to check the records, they would never be able to put her two identities together. That gave her some small measure of relief.
But now they were standing before her in the flesh, nearly thirteen feet of combined male muscled force, so much larger and intimidating in person than she’d ever imagined that she could feel the sweat begin to pool between her breasts.
Manette’s smile bordered on smug as she introduced them. “Kitty, this is Jason Samuels and Marco Cavelli, the unintentional models for some of your works tonight. Wherever did you find them?”
While she wanted to smack the smile off the other woman’s face, Kiera knew Manette didn’t mean any real offense. They’d been friends for quite a long time, and it had been Manette’s idea that Kiera move to Charleston after the horrible incident in New York. It wasn’t her friend’s fault that Kiera still had nightmares about the incident, or had developed a fear of leaving her house that bordered on true phobia.
Wrapping her arms around her waist—both for moral support and to keep either of the men from seeing the telltale scar—Kiera fought to keep her stomach from flipping as the two men stepped past her physical comfort zone.
“Wherever did you find us indeed?” Jason demanded, bending low to try to peer beneath her bangs.
“Excellent question.” Now it was Marco’s turn to stare, his gaze raking over her from head to toe.
How was she supposed to answer that? Racking her brain for any plausible explanation—which proved to be an exhausting task with the two gorgeous men so close she could barely breathe—Kiera stumbled upon a fairly decent lie…well, not a lie…but not exactly the truth either. “That, um, charity calendar. For the Saladar Center,” she managed to squeak out.
Several local public hunks had posed for the calendar, including Jason with one or two other officers from the police force, and Marco with a few of his firefighter buddies. “The…uh…pictures were quite good, and I understand the calendar raised several thousand dollars.”
Jason’s smile grew wicked as he bent his head to whisper in her ear. “Not a snowball’s chance in hell, my lovely.”
Even Marco was shaking his head. “Needed to have a magnifying glass to see me stuck behind the chief’s sorry ass.” He looked so disappointed Kiera almost smiled.
Almost.
Until he moved to her other side and bent his head in just as close. “We need to have a talk. Just the three of us,” he promised, sliding his hand over her shoulder and down her back.
But Kiera’s deep-seated panic crept in at his touch. She remembered the fire, remembered the pain. Remembered the man who had scarred her for life. No one other than her doctors and therapists had laid a hand on her since then. Not even friends she’d known and respected.
She wanted to scream but her throat squeezed shut. She wanted to flee but her legs locked together. She wanted be anywhere but caged between these two beautiful strangers who made her dizzy with panic and desire.
Then Jason grabbed her hand and she felt the heat of his skin against hers while the smell of sandalwood drifted across her senses, so she sucked down the terror and blinked, noting with fascination that his hair was more the color of honey than wheat, and that his eyes weren’t the crystal blue she’d expected. They were a dark and intriguing green speckled with shards of gold that glittered in concern as he pulled her against him.
At the same time Marco’s hand stiffened against her back, holding her up as she gulped for air, his eyes as dark as she’d imagined, but his mouth softer, his expression less rigid. She reached out and traced the line of his jaw, her fingers smoothing over the shadows beneath his cheeks before exploring the outline of his lips.
Then she turned to study Jason whose pupils had dilated to nearly eclipse the ring of emerald green. His breath was heavy and his heart beat hard beneath her palm where he’d clutched it to his
chest.
They held her until her anxiety faded, leading her to a chair in the corner where Marco took her pulse and forced her to breathe. “Panic attack, huh?” He wrapped one hand around the back of her head, ready to push it between her legs if she looked like she was about to faint.
Kiera nodded, still unable to speak, until as if by magic Jason touched a glass of water to her lips. “Drink,” he ordered, holding it stubbornly even though she tried to take it from his hand.
“S-so s-sorry,” she finally managed, feeling like an idiot as she regained control. “I…um…I mean I—”
“It’s okay.” Jason knelt beside her until they were eye to eye. “We’ve actually been fans of yours for years, Miss Sunshine. If you ever need anyone to talk to, we’re here.”
“Always,” Marco added, kneading the knot of muscles around her neck.
It felt so good she wanted to melt into both their arms and let them take care of her forever. A totally crazy thought. You couldn’t have a relationship with two men—not long term. Eventually Kiera would have to choose, and that thought made her pulse hammer out another note of dismay.
Why was she even thinking relationship? While she might have been spying on them these past few months, they had no idea she was the psychotic recluse living across the street and she had no intention of ever revealing that particularly humiliating truth. After tonight she would crawl back into her hole and they would go back to having perfectly contented lives without her.
“Why don’t you let us drive you home?” Marco glared at the crowd, many of whom had already left. The others who still milled about were making their way steadily toward the exit.
“No.” Kiera shook her head and stood, nearly knocking Jason over in her haste to get out of the situation. “I have a driver.” She managed a smile to show them she was perfectly okay as she pointed to a grim-faced man, Manette’s brother Ty Brisson. “Thank you both for your concern. Please, if there is a particular piece you are interested in just let me know and it’s yours. In payment for your inspiration,” she added before she turned and ran the other way.
