Crossing the Lines (31 page)

If he’d surprised her, it was only that reserved, private, practically-asexual-in-public Henry would be willing to give the impression. Although that, too, might be a bonus for him. The edgy and eccentric artist persona.

She shifted her weight, eager, anticipating.

“If the idea makes you uncomfortable, Alice, you may use your safeword at any time. You know that.”

Uncomfortable, no. Or only in the best way. The one ending with her drenched panties on the floor in Henry’s bedroom. “It doesn’t. If you had your hand between my legs right now,
you’d
know
that
.”

“What a lovely thought, Alice. I hardly needed the encouragement, but I assure you, I’m envisioning it now.”

He kissed her mouth, greedy and demanding, a kiss that surely told everyone in the room what he’d be doing to her when the soiree ended. An extension of the game, no more, but he probably would do those things to her. Whether he would or not, these strangers would imagine he was. They assumed she was his, and he didn’t object to them believing it. His possessive hold strangled her doubts.

He tipped his head as he pulled away. “Go on.”

“Yes, Henry.”

She skirted groups of chattering people, some gossiping about her. The evening’s small talk had revealed Henry never brought a date to his shows. Well, that he always brought Jay, but he never treated him as more than a friend. He kept his sexuality as private as she’d assumed he did. Not tonight, though.

A cluster of beautiful, predatory women surrounded Jay. He played the charmer well. They might take artwork home in lieu of him.

“…friends with the artist?”

“Henry? Sure, I’ve known him for years.” Jay’s grin broadened.

The women preened as if his smile were for them. Temptation begged her to tell them he wore his I’m-sucking-Henry’s-cock-tonight face.

“He’s a fascinating guy. Art really lets you get right into a man’s head, doesn’t it? Like you’re touching his soul.”

The brunette on the end smirked as if she’d like to be getting right into Jay’s pants and touching his cock.
Not to worry, Jay. Henry has a fix for that.

She circled behind the women, drawing Jay’s attention, and slipped into the space he stepped back to create beside himself.

“Ladies, this is Alice, a very good friend of Henry’s. I’m sure she’d agree with me. Right, Alice?”

“That what you see on the walls is exactly what Henry has on his mind? Oh yeah. I’d agree with that.” Her tone oozed sex and confidence. Playing the role of a secure woman who knew her worth, she’d enjoy every damn minute of it. “In fact, I know what Henry has on his mind right now.”

The brunette glared at her. “Well? Are you going to share?”

Alice turned her back to the women, laid her hand on Jay’s chest and stroked his tie. She curled her hand loosely around it, fondling it like she would his hardening cock. Henry would be watching, but breaking her stare with Jay would disrupt the excitement of the game.

“Share. Funny. That’s exactly what Henry told me to do. And I always do what Henry tells me to.”

She tightened her grip around Jay’s tie, holding him in place, and kissed him with the greedy, possessive need Henry had demonstrated on her. And kept kissing him. And wrapped her other arm around his back until her hand rested dangerously close to his ass.

Jay let her. He responded with enthusiasm but without trying to take control of the kiss.

When she let his mouth go, half of the room was staring sideways at them. The women he’d been charming had disappeared. Other attendees displayed shock, arousal and confusion as the rumor mill started its work. On the other half of the room stood Henry. The whispered chatter increased as he inclined his head and raised his wine glass in a salute to her.

“Jesus, Alice.” Jay hadn’t moved away, probably because he couldn’t without displaying the erection pressed to her belly. “You’re one hot switch.”

“A hot switch? What, because I turn you on? Please. A stiff breeze could turn you on.” She said it with affection, rubbing his tie between her index finger and thumb.

Jay laughed. “You do turn me on, but that’s not what I meant. You’re a natural switch. Submissive as all get-out for Henry but no trouble dominating me. I’d let you, you know. Henry could teach you. It’d be fun.”

She stilled her fingers, her thumbnail a white crescent digging into the slick red tie bisecting his chest. Jay breathed charm on the surface and fragility underneath. Henry knew how to handle him, when to be delicate and offer comfort and when to demand and push him further than he believed he could go. “You’d trust me that much?”

“I
do
trust you that much. And Henry wouldn’t let it get out of hand.”

“I’ll think about it.” Excitement danced in her neurons. Like having a new puppy to play with, an already trained puppy, and the owner promising to show her all the commands.

If her dominance pleased Jay, that would please Henry, and the submissive part of her mind wriggled in pleasure. Dominating Jay would be one more way to tie herself to them, to make a place for herself in this relationship.

“C’mon. Let’s look at the walls and play ‘guess Henry’s motivation’ until he needs us. He said his agent wanted to pimp him around.” She eased back, giving Jay room to breathe.

“Yeah, the art crowd likes their five minutes with the enigmatic artist before they buy. Henry puts up with it. I’m surprised the pimping doesn’t bother you, though.”

Her? She wasn’t bothered. Not at all. What had he noticed? Her quick scan failed to find Henry but yielded face after face of people who’d never sampled his lips. Never lain beside him in the stillness of exhausted satisfaction. “He’s not taking them home with him.”

“Nope.” He offered her his arm with a wink, a playful imitation of Henry’s manner with her. “Just us.”

They strolled around the gallery, ignoring—and sometimes laughing at—the whispers that followed them.

Peaches and Cream
swamped her in lust and yearning and a grateful astonishment threatening to smash her into tiny pieces on the glossy mahogany floorboards.

A familiar orange plate graced its center, a glass tipped on the edge, spilling milk across the plate toward a ripe peach with a single thin slice missing. Beside it,
A Bountiful Feast
displayed one of the daylilies Henry envisioned as her labia. A fat bee hovered above the unfurling petals, the splashes of black and dark gold a match for Jay’s hair and her own. The view was from above, the way Henry would’ve seen them as she writhed in his lap and Jay brought her to climax with his mouth.

Jay leaned in, his lips touching her ear. “We could re-create it when we get home. We still have the plates. And thinking about how you taste is making me hungry.”

She didn’t doubt their first night together had inspired the pair of paintings. The colors. The detail. The best decision she’d ever made.

Jay nudged her shoulder. “Need a minute?”

She executed a slow neck roll, dropping her gaze to his pants, and gave him her best are-you-fucking-kidding-me stare below her raised brow. “Do
you
?”

“More than a minute, I hope, but not just yet. I’m pretty sure that ‘Henry, what do you say you guard the door and watch me fuck Alice in the manager’s office? Can you work with that scenario?’ would get a resounding, ‘No.’ But if you wanna ask…”

“Not me, thank you.” Intriguing variations skated through her mind. How thick was that door? “You want it, you ask for it.”

“I think what I want is a trip to the bathroom to adjust things.” He moved to a more proper distance. “Please excuse me.” He rolled his eyes at her and headed off into the crowd.

Wandering on her own, she kept to herself. Henry appeared through gaps in the crowd, trapped in smile-and-handshake conversations with his agent and various strangers. The abstract piece before her married shadow-gray squiggles and red splotches in what resembled splashes of blood on rumpled sheets.

A man bumped her elbow. “Sorry about that. The crowd is pretty thick in here, don’t you think?”

Ugh. Time to trot out an uninteresting reply to chase the pickup artist away. She had more important things to consider. Why Henry would display that night like a trophy. “Huh? Yeah, sure. No problem.”

“So, artist, actress, or escort?” His smarmy tone intimated prostitute every time.

“Excuse me?”

He crowded her, forcing her back unless she wanted to touch him. His arrogant smile annoyed her. “What legitimate name do you go by, so I know how to bill for the business expense?”

“I’m not for sale.”

“Right, right, you’re working, you’re on his time. But that performance earlier…” His gaze dropped to her chest. “Do you have a card?”

This loser would never believe she wasn’t some kind of sexual performance artist. Kneeing him in the balls would cause a scene and distract from Henry’s art. Lacking a drink in her hand, she couldn’t go for the stereotypical female response and drench him. But she was still a woman. No reason not to use the jackhole’s idiocy against him. Manipulation. Jay and his tie. She’d been in control then.

Dropping her voice, she aimed for thick and sultry. “Not on me, honey. But you stop by the coffee shop down the block tomorrow morning and we’ll talk business, all right? If I’m not there yet, you just wait for me, sugar.” She pulled a quick fake, waving to no one. “Oops, gotta go. I’m on the clock, and when I’m performing, I always like to give it my all.”

He let her slip away without complaint. She doubted he’d be so calm tomorrow if he sat at the coffee shop alone all morning. Too fucking bad for him.

Across the room, Jay’s face sported a mix of anger and panic. He strained like a dog on an invisible tether, ordered to stay while another made off with his favorite toy. Quickening her steps, she zipped to Henry’s side and projected a bright smile to calm Jay. “They should weed out the pathetic jerks before they open the doors. I had to send that idiot packing.”

“You see, Jay? Alice handled the situation on her own, quite capably. Had you interfered, bloodshed might have resulted. In this instance, Alice’s method was much more effective.” Henry stroked her back and kissed her temple. “Jay deserves a token for his restraint, though, don’t you think, Alice?”

She pressed herself to Jay’s side, unsurprised when his arm replaced Henry’s, curling proprietarily around her back and squeezing her closer still. Her kiss grazed his cheek.

“I’m fine,” she murmured. “I’ll show you how fine when we get home, if Henry thinks you deserve it.”

She took care not to show how she’d startled herself, calling it home. The apartment was theirs, not hers, and yet…home. Henry’s bed redefined home. Hopefully Henry thought she meant the building and not anything more. Because Jay had said a month ago that he wanted her to move in. Impulse and panic might’ve prompted him to say it, but it still sounded awfully nice.

Henry, though, hadn’t commented. He’d already conceded to nightly dinners. Who knew what he’d say if she presented herself as a woman picking out closet space every time she entered his bedroom.

12

The metal oval left the door unmarked but for four initials and the street number. A man stood beside it in something like a military at-ease, feet spread and hands clasped behind his back. He watched them approach.

Henry stopped about a foot from the man, with Jay and herself just behind, flanking him. “Good evening, Marcus. Plus two tonight.”

The man nodded and touched a cord running up his shirt. He spoke into a headset. “Number 17 and two guests.”

The door buzzed, and Marcus pulled it open. “Have a good evening, sir.” Neither she nor Jay rated a greeting, apparently.

Henry led them down a short hallway into a larger space. A counter like a hotel’s concierge desk arced outward in a crescent formed by a curving set of stairs wrapping above and behind it.

The redhead behind the counter seemed more hair than head. The weight piled atop her head in ringlets had to be headache-inducing. Freckles dotted her face and arms. Her jewel-green corset emphasized the spill of her breasts, though her nipples weren’t showing. A woman calm, collected and halfway to undressed.

Comfort descended. Henry would never have put her in anything to be mocked, but her anxiety had lingered on the ride over.

“Hello, Tara.” Henry’s greeting held a hint of familiar friendliness.