Release (14 page)

He looked at her
and kissed the tip of her nose.  “That’s me.  Bossy, stalker,
possessive guy.  And you only have yourself to blame,” he teased. 

He released his
grip on her hair and massaged her scalp.  “I love your hair down.  It
gives me something to hold onto,” he whispered.

Then he stepped
back, and looked at her scandalously clad body with a lecherous smile, reached
into his pants pocket, and took out her panties.  He buried his nose into
them.

I’ll show myself
out.”  He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth and sucked.

She
gasped.  This man was like nothing she had ever experienced.  She was
already addicted.

He released her
nipple, and whispered, “Delicious,” then tweaked her nose, and turned around
and let himself out the door.

Then he said
through the door, “Lock up.”

The next
morning, she awoke feeling completely rested, and she knew who she had to thank
for it.  If she was going to get even more from him tonight, she knew his
words would prove true.  She would be a rejuvenated woman ready to take on
the week.

She took a
moment to languish in bed, and happily recalled the moments from the night
before.  She felt punchy, and excited at this new...relationship? 
She wasn’t sure what she would call it, but whatever it was, she was thrilled
she was in the middle of it.

She hugged
herself as she thought of Jeremy.  There was no doubt he did it for
her.  He was gorgeous, beyond sexy.  He just oozed sensuality, and
whenever he was within the same vicinity as her, she could actually feel the
energy shift in the room.  The air crackled.

But that wasn’t
all that made her giddy, although that would’ve been enough.  He just made
her feel...cherished, wanted, desired, passionate.  He made her want
things she hadn’t had in so long.  She knew she needed to be wise, and
guard her heart, but she still allowed herself to bask in the glow of this new
and exciting experience...remembering his attention, his touch. 

And God, the way
he talked to her, the words he used.  She had never had a man speak so
explicitly to her about how he felt, and what he wanted to do to her.  It
was so...
hot
. 

She smiled,
hugged herself one last time, then jumped out of bed and went for her morning
run.

…

It was
approaching 7:30am, and Ryann had finally finished packing her overnight
bag.  She needed to leave in the next couple of minutes to make sure she
got to the Institute by eight, so she did one last check to make sure she had
everything she needed.

Thankfully, she
wouldn’t be getting her hands dirty at the Institute today, and would only have
a day of orientation making her familiar with the building, the schedule and
the faculty. 

She had decided
on wearing one of her favorite dresses, mainly because she could dress it up or
keep it casual, a raspberry colored cotton and sleeveless dress, that had some
lycra in it, causing the fabric to hug her curves.  The top half was a
wrap design with a deep V neck.  She coupled the dress with a multicolored
scarf, flat stylish sandals, and put her hair up in a stylish, but messy
topknot. 

For her evening
with Jeremy, she planned on changing out of her flats for a pair of strappy
gold hued high heeled sandals, and a long gold necklace.  She was bringing
one of her funky wraps in case it got chilly, and would wear her hair down,
since she now knew how much Jeremy liked it that way.

But she was most
excited about what was under the dress.

Black lace bra,
and matching thong.  Because her wax appointment was scheduled that day at
noon, she wanted to pick out some lingerie that would accentuate all of her
primping and preening.  The thong had a see through patch of black mesh
right over where her newly waxed skin would be, and she knew he’d be able to
see all of her before he even took off her panties.  With only a hint of
lace covering her, the mystery would still be there.  And she knew she had
one mission that evening. 

She wanted to
make him lose control.

She smiled,
grabbed her bag, and was out the door.

…..

The Manhattan
Institute for Art and Design was located on the Lower East Side of
Manhattan.  When Ryann arrived, she took a moment to appreciate the Greek
Revival architecture, and the Brownstone facade.  Its history only added
to its appeal, and boasted double columns flanking the elaborate entrance of
this 1850’s four story building.

The Institute’s
style was in keeping with other well-known buildings in the neighborhood, and
at times, people confused it with the famous art school, Cooper Union. 
Similar to Cooper Union, the Institute was founded so that most students who
studied there were accepted on a scholarship basis, and not required to pay
tuition.  This was one of the things Ryann loved most about its
philosophy.  Although she had already known this about the Institute when
she had applied, it was only through her recent searches done on line where she
discovered this was in keeping with the first Jeremy Quinn’s vision, and when
the family set up the JQ Foundation, the McCallister family didn’t deter from
this mission.

After admiring
the building, Ryann reported to the main administrative office to sign some
papers, and was waiting to meet her mentor, Paul Schneider.  She continued
filling out paperwork until she heard someone enter the main office door, and
looked up.

She immediately
smiled.  This, she presumed, was Paul Schneider.  In his mid-fifties,
he had a little ‘absent minded professor’ look about him, mixed together with
an artist’s flare.  He was dressed in jeans and leather slip on shoes, with
a light-weight mesh looking sweater on over a t-shirt.  He had a full head
of salt and pepper hair, an open friendly smile, and a flamboyant way...and she
knew she was going to get along with him famously.

He walked over
and introduced himself, putting out his hand.  “You must be Ryann,” he
said with a huge smile.  “Great to meet ya.  How’s your mornin’ been
goin’?” he asked with a thick New York accent. 

She shook his
hand and returned the smile.  “It’s nice to meet you too, Mr.
Schneider.  So far -”

He put up his
hand and interrupted.  “Oh, wait a minute, honey.  We’re gonna to
have to put a stop to that kind of formality right at the start!  Call me
Paul,
please. 
I can’t bare to be called ‘Mr.’...it makes me feel
ancient.
”

She giggled, and
backtracked.  “Paul, it is then.  And so far, things have been
great.  I’m just finishing up some paperwork, then I’m all yours.”

He clapped his
hands, “Wonderful.  Once you’re done, we’ll take a tour of the building.”

“Great! 
I’m almost done, just one more paper to go,” and with that she signed the last
paper, and bounded up for a tour of her new workplace.

Paul took her
hand, and led her through the main lobby just inside the entrance.  It was
enormous, with a white marble floor, and gorgeous turn of the century
chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the massive area. 

He released her
hand, and spun as if a curator in a museum, and began his spiel. 

“The lobby
actually doubles as a space for showings when we have them, along with the
adjoining parlor back there.  That’s where that door leads,” he said
pointing to the back of the lobby.  There were huge ornate wooden double
doors, reaching from floor to ceiling.  When opened, she imagined, it
would make the lobby look even more enormous, and perfect as a makeshift art
gallery.

“There’s a
kitchen attached to the back of the parlor for caterers to use, and also a
space where we as a staff can have luncheons, although each floor has its own
kitchenette.   We’re actually going to be having our first art showing
of the academic year next Friday, so you’ll see the place in its full regalia,”
he said, his eyes twinkling.  “It’s quite a splendid thing seein’ this
place all dolled up, let me tell ya.  One of the art dealers who we work
with, his name’s Armand DiCarlo, is representing a private collector who’ll be
loaning us one of Mackenzie Renault’s pieces.”

The French
artist, Mackenzie Renault, was made famous at the beginning of the 20th
century, a full decade after he had passed away.  His medium was oil, and
was abstract in style.  He was often known for having very moody
paintings, that many interpreted as darkly erotic.

“We have a huge
fundraiser gala at the beginning of every summer for the Institute, and all the
proceeds go toward the scholarship fund.  So this gala will be the main
money maker for this year, even though we also have student showings throughout
the year, as well.  In fact, at the gala, the sculpting students will be
auctioning off some of their pieces in Quinn Hall after the showing of the
painting.”

He continued
talking as he led her to the other double doors off to the left of the
lobby.  “Armand will be here today and tomorrow, getting to know the space
and planning, so I’m sure you’ll see him around.  And,
my,
is he a
dish.”  Paul wiggled his eyebrows and bit his finger while making a ‘mmm’
sound, “but I would watch myself around him, dear.  He definitely likes
the ladies.”

Ryann giggled,
and said, “Thanks for the warning.”

When they
arrived to the double doors, Paul opened them and allowed her to walk in to
take a look.  The placard on the wall next to the doors said
Quinn
Hall. 
It seemed Jeremy was everywhere, and in a strange way, it was
very comforting.

The hall had
auditorium seating, and could probably fit 300 people.

“This is where
we have lectures, various presentations, and where the auction will be,” then
he directed her back out, and said, “and then right here at the front of the
lobby there are some restrooms.  You’ve already seen the security desk,
and the Admin offices off to the right of the lobby and behind those is the
boardroom where the trustees have their meetings.”

She assumed that
was where Jeremy’s meeting would be later that afternoon.  The thought
made her stomach flutter.

Paul’s attention
was drawn to behind her shoulder, and he whispered, “Hold onto your seat,
honey.  The ride’s about to get bumpy.”

Ryann turned
around and saw a woman approaching them.  She had a look about her that
immediately put Ryann’s back up.  Tall, willowy, probably late 20s, early
30s.  She had jet black hair, cut in a chic bob, the front a little longer
than the back, piercing blue eyes, and very sharp features.  She was
definitely beautiful, but it was a cold beauty.  She looked...bitter.

“Well, is this
your new little protege, Paul?”  The woman looked her over with a smile on
her face that didn’t reach her eyes.

“How’s it goin’,
MG?”

She looked away
from Ryann, and glared at him.  “Fuck you, Paul.”

He tsked, “Now,
MG, you know Pete’s enough man for me.  I couldn’t possibly take on
another one.”

She continued to
glare at him.  “You think you’re so cute, don’t you Paul.  Always
mentoring the newbies, trying to turn them against those of us who can’t stand
you.”

He looked up as
if in thought, then looked back at her.  “Nope.  Just you.” 
Then he smiled.  “Did you need something, or did you just come over to
wish us a good morning?”

During the
entire exchange, Ryann’s eyebrows had shot up into her hairline.  She had
dealt with bitchy girls for years in the classroom, and it appeared ‘MG’ was
just one who had grown up.

“What’s your
name?” she asked Ryann, without a smile to be seen anywhere.

“Ryann
Thornton.”  She put out her hand.  This woman might be a bitch, but
Riley Fiona Campbell Russo had taught her to be a lady, no matter what.

The woman looked
at her hand, then shook it briefly.  Her hand was silky soft, and she
barely squeezed back.

“Jennifer
Edwards.”

Ryann
nodded.  She wasn’t about to say it was nice to meet her.  Because it
wasn’t.

“Well,” she said
with an overly sweet smile, “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”  Then she
turned to Paul.  “And you’ve heard the news?”

“No, but I’m
sure you’re going to tell me.  You love being in the know too much to keep
your mouth shut,” he said dryly.

“Jeremy
McCallister is the new VC on the Board of the Trustees.”  She turned to
Ryann, with a gloating tone.  “I’m sure you’ve heard of the
McCallisters.  Founders of the Institute and the JQ Foundation. 
Jeremy’s mother is Tabitha Lowe.  They’re old family friends of mine,” she
said with a smug smile.

Well, that was
an interesting nugget of information, Ryann thought.

“I’m looking
forward to seeing him.  It’s been too long,” she purred.  “I’ll be
seeing him later, I’m sure, since he’ll be here for the trustee meeting.”

“I’m sure you
can’t
wait
,” Paul said.  “Well, MG, we’ve got places to go and
people to see, and that doesn’t include you, so if you’ll excuse us...”

“Gladly,” she
said sarcastically, gave him one last look, and walked away.

Ryann’s mind was
spinning.  How well did she know Jeremy?  It was obvious that there
was an interest there, on her part at least, but there was a desperation
attached to it.  She mentally shook herself.  She would ask him
later, and she began to steel herself for the potential of all of them running
into each other at the same time.

“I would love to
hear your analysis,” Paul said with a smile.

“Umm.  She
was interesting.”

Paul let out a
huge belly laugh.  “That she is.  You’ve heard of Stephan Chadwick
Edwards?  The sculptor?”  Ryann nodded.  “That,” he said with a
dramatic pause, “is his daughter.  We all thought that the only reason she
was hired as an instructor in the first place was because of who her father
was.  But as much as I hate to admit it, she’s excellent at her job. 
She’d be great if she didn’t have to open her mouth,” he smirked.  “She’s
a whiz with the sculpting students due to her father’s tutelage, but she’s the
ultimate bitch.  Don’t believe a word from her mouth without first asking
what her motivation is.  Most of the time, it’s to prove to her father
that she’s important.”

Ayanna popped
into her head.  But at least she wasn’t like
that
woman.

Ryann thought
for a moment, and asked, “MG?”

Paul
chuckled.  “You worked with teenagers.  Give it a sec...it’ll come to
you.”

Having taught
many of them, the light bulb finally went off.  “Mean Girl?”

Paul smiled and
winked.  “You’re going to fit in just fine here, Ryann.”

…..