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He set the brush aside. “I’m a man who enjoys beautiful women. And they enjoy me.” His eyes met hers again. “You would enjoy me, I promise.”
Her heart fluttered, and heat rose to her face as she struggled to keep her composure. “Are you propositioning me? Your business manager?”
“Do you want me to?”
“No.” Yes. Maybe. She couldn’t deny her strong attraction to this man, and the chance he presented to explore so many things that had been forbidden to her in her old life.
But he was her boss. Not the person to do her exploring with. “That would be unprofessional,” she said. “As would my posing as your model.” She nodded toward the easel.
He shrugged and turned to cover the painting once more. “This isn’t IBM. You’re living here as well as working here. You can expect a certain informality at times.”
Did he really consider having her pose—most likely naked, judging from the paintings she’d seen—to be merely informal?
He turned to her again. “Despite what you think, I can be a professional, especially when it comes to my work.”
The question was, could she remain a professional around this man who stirred so many feelings she wasn’t sure it was wise to explore?
All her life, her mother and those who had trained her at the Cirque du Paris had berated her for her rebellious nature. When she would race across the back lot before a performance, Gigi would command her to walk to conserve her energy for the show. When she tried to incorporate a new move into her act, the choreographer would lecture her on the need to do everything exactly as scripted, for the safety of the other performers and herself.
When she had risked a love affair with a member of the crew who set up the tents for each show, her mother had raged about her throwing her life away for a man, and had had her lover fired from the show.
In time, Natalie had learned to restrain her wilder impulses. But now, she was free to indulge herself as never before. Except that the world outside show business had its rules, too: She wasn’t supposed to get involved with the man who hired her. She wasn’t supposed to feel so drawn to a man she’d only just met. She wasn’t supposed to want these things, and yet she did.
Maybe all the more so because they were forbidden.
SARTAIN WAS a man who enjoyed puzzles, and his new business manager presented him with an intriguing one: how had a woman who had been a member of one of the elite performing troops in the world ended up in his employ? Why would she want the job, and why had his agent, a meticulous businessman, hired her?
Of course, considering how she had handled his fit of anger this morning, perhaps Doug knew more than Sartain gave him credit for. Natalie’s refusal to wilt in the face of his fury had startled him out of his rage. Her courage—or foolishness, depending upon one’s point of view—captured his imagination.
She pretended to be indifferent to him as a man, but he sensed a heat between them he wanted to explore further. How much of her resistance was due to ideas about proper behavior between employer and employee and how much was because of some inhibition within herself?
With the idea of exploring the question further, he continued the tour of the castle, taking her quickly through the public rooms and down to what one writer had dubbed “evidence of Sartain’s wickedly twisted outlook.”
“This is the dungeon,” he said, swinging back an iron gate at the bottom of a narrow flight of stairs.
Natalie let out a shaky laugh. “A dungeon? You’re kidding.”
“I wanted an authentic castle. That includes a dungeon.” He flipped a switch and electric torches fastened along the walls flickered yellow light onto a macabre scene: a man clamped in stocks, another on a rack, a third chained to the wall.
Natalie gasped, and recoiled at the sight. He put his hand on her shoulder to steady her. This was why he’d set the scene this way, wasn’t it? To shock people? To distract them from probing too deeply into his private life? Reporters who visited the castle and saw the dungeon left convinced that the more scandalous rumors about him were true and didn’t bother to question anything else.
The tension in her shoulders eased and she turned to stare at him. “Mannequins?”
He nodded. “Without people in the scene, it was just another room with a lot of rusty chains.”
“That’s a very odd way of looking at it.”
“People have said I have an odd way of looking at a lot of things.”
She moved to stand in front of the rack. “Where did you find this?”
“From a place that makes props for movies and haunted houses.” He stood beside her and ran his hand along the metal wheel that, when turned, forced the opposite ends of the frame farther apart. “It’s supposed to be an authentic copy. I used it in a painting once—a commissioned piece for a collector.” Last he’d heard, the painting was hanging at a very exclusive S & M club in Los Angeles.
He felt her eyes on him and shifted to meet her gaze. “Why do you paint the scenes you do?” she asked. “What is the attraction of bondage and sadomasochism and all that?”
“Other than the fact that it’s set me apart from other artists and made me a lot of money?”
“I doubt that’s reason enough for an artist to keep working in one area for so long. Doesn’t creativity require more to feed it than the promise of a big paycheck?”
“Don’t tell Doug that. The man relates everything to money.”
“That’s because he’s not an artist. So what is it about this…this kinky stuff, that interests you?”
He lifted a loose manacle and fastened it around his wrist.
Natalie gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Don’t worry. I have a key.” He admired the fit of the metal around his wrist. “Art explores emotion. When I paint, I want to elicit some emotion from people. And some emotion from myself.” His eyes met hers, daring her to look away. “Take, for instance, bondage. People resist the idea of being tied up. Of having their freedom taken from them. But the restraints offer another kind of freedom. There’s freedom in surrendering completely to another. Freedom in not having to be in control, in allowing yourself to enjoy an experience totally without having to be in charge of what happens next.”
She swallowed, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips. “Are you speaking from personal experience?”
“Perhaps.” He took an ornate iron key from a peg at the end of the rack and fitted it into the lock. When he was free once more he took a step toward her.
“What about…the other? S & M? Pain as pleasure?” Her mouth twisted in an expression of distaste.
“I’m interested in exploring sexuality from a lot of different angles. The endorphins released as a response to pain can be related to the endorphins induced by pleasurable experiences. Different people respond to different things—fetishes, being dominant or submissive, role-playing. They’re all ways for people to get out of themselves, away from the things that limit them, to something purer.”
Her breathing grew more irregular, her eyes dilating. They were playing a dangerous game here, a kind of foreplay he enjoyed perhaps more than he should. She could stop him anytime, but he would take this as far as she let him. He wanted a glimpse at the core of the woman. Was she the innocent girl Doug had described, or a woman who felt the pull of attraction the way he did? He stepped closer still, reaching for her, even as he prepared for her to push him away.
The lights flickered, then went out, plunging them into the darkness of the blind. Natalie’s scream pierced the silence. He reached to comfort her, but she wasn’t there.
3
SARTAIN FOUND Natalie huddled against the wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She flinched when he touched her, but didn’t try to run away. “What is it?” he asked, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. Her fingers were icy, and he could feel her trembling.
“I—I’m afraid of the dark,” she said. “I know it’s silly, but I can’t help it, I—”
“It’s all right.” He released her hand but kept his arm around her as he felt along the wall until he came to a niche that held a candle. He located the lighter next to it, and flicked it open.
She began to relax as soon as the candle was lit. “What happened?” she asked. “Why did the lights go out?”
“Probably the storm we’re having. Lightning could have struck a transformer, or a tree could have fallen on the lines.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Enough that we keep candles in every room.”
“Why candles? Why not a flashlight?”
“Flashlight batteries corrode if left too long unused.” He looked around at the shadows cast by the candle across the stone walls. “Besides, the candlelight adds a certain atmosphere, don’t you think?”
“Damn your atmosphere. Just get me out of here.”
“In a moment.” He turned to look into her eyes. They were black in the dim light, the pupils enlarged. She’d stopped shaking, her body warm against his. All his better judgment told him to move away and lead her to the door, but then, when had he ever let judgment rule his decisions? He was a man used to indulging his passion and right now he wanted to know if Natalie felt the heat simmering between them.
Slowly, half prepared for her to slap him away, he bent toward her, and covered her lips with his own.
She stiffened, and he held still, not pressing his advantage, waiting for her to decide how far this would go. Then her breath, like a whisper, escaped in the slightest sigh, and she relaxed against him, her eyes closed, her lips parted.
He pulled her closer still, the pressure of his lips on hers increasing. Her mouth was soft and sensuous; the velvet feel of it sent desire surging through him.
Her lips parted farther and he plunged his tongue between them, tasting a faint sweetness. She gripped his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin, and he shut his eyes, surrendering to the hot wanting that engulfed him. Every nerve was alive to the feel of her, the sweep of her tongue across his teeth, the points of her breasts pressed against his chest, the tiny moans of pleasure escaping from her throat.
Light flashed behind his closed eyes, and he opened them to see that power had been restored. Once more the electric torches flickered in their sconces.
Natalie pulled away. He resisted the urge to hold her and reluctantly released her. She pressed back against the wall, one hand to her lips, confusion warring with accusation in her eyes. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said, her voice breathy.
“Why didn’t you stop me?” He had expected her to, up until the moment her mouth opened to him, and he felt her body melt into his. He had the sense that Natalie was a woman who was used to denying herself, and that her brief surrender to him both horrified and fascinated her.
She looked away. “I wasn’t myself. I was upset. I—”
“Shhh.” He brushed her hair back from her forehead. She trembled at his touch, but didn’t push him away. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”
“Of course I do.” She straightened and fixed him with a stern look. “I work for you. What just happened between us—”
“It was a kiss. You don’t have to be afraid to say it.”
Her cheeks were a deep pink, and he sensed her struggle to continue to meet his gaze. “It was highly unprofessional behavior,” she said.
He shrugged. “Sometimes it’s okay to do something simply because it feels right.” Kissing Natalie had felt more right than anything he’d done in a long while.
She shook her head. “I don’t believe that.”
“You don’t?” He grinned. “Then I’ll do my best to teach you.”
Her expression hardened and she marched past him, out the door. Her high heels sounded a sharp retort as she hurried up the stairs.
He followed at a slower pace, still on edge from that amazing kiss. Something was definitely going on between the two of them and though he’d never admit it out loud, this sudden and intense connection had left him every bit as unsettled as she was.
NATALIE STOPPED in the hallway outside the suite of offices and tried to regain her composure. Her lips still burned with the feel of Sartain’s mouth on hers and the memory of the fierce desire he’d raised in her left her shaking.
Was it the man himself or only the situation in which they’d found themselves that had affected her this way? She’d been shocked at her first sight of the dungeon—as he’d no doubt intended. Then she’d recognized the black humor of the moment—the juvenile fun of scaring oneself that made haunted houses and horror movies so popular.
She’d wondered about the connection between Sartain’s appreciation for the dungeon and his rumored sexual proclivities, and had been bold enough to ask him about it. His answer had stirred her more than she cared to admit. All his talk of the freedom to be gained by surrender spoke to her own longing to rebel against the restrictions she’d operated under all her life. Self-control and mastery over her own body had kept her safe when she was performing on the high trapeze, but how often had it held her back from the pure joy of her art?
Then the lights had flickered and the familiar terror had overtaken her. Vertigo made her head swim, as if she was falling, and a scream tore from her throat before she could bite it back. Part of her mind knew she was in no danger but that part held no sway over the fear that had been a fixture in her life since her accident.
She’d welcomed Sartain’s arms around her, so solid and comforting. His strength and calmness wrapped around her like a blanket. Then on the heels of her retreating panic came fierce desire, the need to revel in everything that made her feel so alive.
For a moment, in Sartain’s arms, she had glimpsed the ecstasy of abandon, every bit as exhilarating as her first leap into space from the trapeze tower.
And then the lights had flickered on, reminding her of the danger of falling, and she’d drawn back, shocked at her behavior, and at Sartain’s.
She tried to remain angry with him, to convince herself he’d taken advantage of her when she was in a vulnerable position. But the memory of the pull between them, of the powerful attraction that was almost outside of their control, dulled her rage. Sartain was a man with a known appetite for women, and she was a woman who hadn’t been with a man in a very long time. That alone was probably a powerful enough combination to create sparks.
“Natalie, I’ve been looking for you.”
Doug’s appearance at the end of the hallway startled her. She straightened her shoulders and pasted a smile on her face. “Hello, Doug. Sartain was just showing me the castle.”
Doug glanced past her, his expression gloomy. “He showed you the dungeon?”
She laughed, though the sound was forced and brittle even to her own ears. “He enjoys playing the eccentric, doesn’t he?”
Doug moved closer, frown lines etched deep on his forehead. “Are you all right? He didn’t try anything, did he?”
She shook her head, avoiding meeting Doug’s gaze. “Of course not.” Sartain hadn’t had to try very hard. She’d welcomed the kiss, welcomed the chance to explore the feelings he kindled in her. Never mind that doing so was wrong. She’d spent so many years always doing what was right, and what had that gotten her? Not love or happiness or any of the things she really wanted in life.
Doug gave her a fatherly pat on the shoulder. “If he does, you tell me. I’ll make sure he behaves. I’ve already warned him you’re not one of his models. You deserve his respect.”
And why is that? she thought silently, but refrained from saying as much. For as long as she could remember, Doug had tended to be overprotective of her, to the consternation of Gigi. “You’re my agent,” Natalie’s mother would say. “Why would you concern yourself with my little girl?”
Why indeed? Natalie had often wondered. In the end, she’d decided that Doug, who had never married, and who had no children of his own, saw her as someone on whom he could spend any stray paternal feelings.
However, she was certainly old enough now not to need his misplaced protection. “I can handle Sartain,” she said firmly. “I’m sure he won’t give me any problems.”
Whatever feelings she had for her boss, they were no doubt fueled by the novelty of her situation, a reaction to the unaccustomed freedom of living on her own for the first time ever. She’d soon get her feelings under control and behave in a more professional manner.
As for Sartain, she was sure he would soon find some model or other woman upon which to focus his attention. Someone who viewed his darker passions with more than curiosity.
AFTER LEAVING the dungeon, Sartain went to the orangery on the second floor. He hadn’t even known what this was until he’d spotted it on the plans for the castle. The architect had explained to him that the most ostentatious castles had these indoor solariums where tropical plants and even orange trees flourished year-round. At hideous expense, of course. It was one more way for the lord of the manor to show off his wealth.
Privately, Sartain had thought it a foolish conceit, but since he was working on establishing himself as a true eccentric, he’d ordered the architect to include every detail of a proper castle, including the orangery.
Doug found him bouncing a tennis ball off the brick floor and catching it. The mindless rhythm of the activity often stimulated his creativity. “I came to talk to you about the donation for the Young Artists’ Endowment Fund benefit,” Doug said without preamble.
Sartain caught the ball and held it, then greeted his agent. Doug Tanner had been with him since he was a penniless art student. He was a pain in the ass sometimes, but he’d been a first-rate agent, and those were rare enough in this business for Sartain to put up with Doug’s occasionally overbearing manner.
“I told them I’d donate something. No problem.”
“They don’t want one of your own works. They want something from your collection.”
He scowled. “What do you mean they don’t want something from my own works?”
“It’s the marketing angle for this year’s auction. Giving the public a glimpse into the artists’ own personal collections or something like that.” Doug folded him arms across his chest. “Besides, your stuff is a little too…edgy for them. After all, this is a Young Artists’ Endowment.”
“And my paintings are every adolescent male’s fantasies.” He began bouncing the ball again. “Fine. What should we send them?”
“You decide. Whatever it is, it will be worth a lot of money to them. You’ve built up quite a collection.”
