SeduceMe (3 page)

Cheeks still flaming, Shana turned back to Toliver. “Well.
This is awkward.”

He gave her a casual smile. “I’ll admit Ms. Samson leaves
jaws on the floor, but she’s nothing compared to what happens backstage.
Please, come with me.” He lightly cupped her elbow with his large hand and
guided her deeper into the crowded club. “It’s true Mr. Halston doesn’t invite
guests behind the scenes. He must think you can handle it.”

Which begged the question of what sort of research he’d done
on
her
. Not to mention Toliver’s comment made her mind reel as to what
went on backstage that was so hush-hush—and risqué.

She tried not to obsess over the latter thought—and what her
reaction to it might be. Instead, she wondered how a man like Drake Halston had
heard of her and what he’d gleaned from whatever snooping he’d done. Granted,
Shana had been in the public eye her entire life, but she’d fallen out of
mainstream media attention long ago. In fact, she’d changed her name and had
disassociated herself from the celebrity presence she’d cultivated in her
youth. Today, her audience was strictly Internet-based, a result of her having
launched an e-zine when she was just nineteen.

The business venture had been slow to take off, but once
she’d found her niche, there’d been a snowball effect. Through her e-zine, she
reached out to other struggling young women not sure what path to take around
the pivotal point of their lives when they graduated high school and faced a
multitude of decisions to make about their futures. Attend college, marry their
high school sweetheart and have babies, backpack through Europe, stay in mom
and dad’s house or strike out on their own…the choices were limitless and
daunting. Shana had been overwhelmed herself.

The explosion of interest in, and embracement of, her online
concept had resulted in her creating a web community dedicated solely to the
pressures and issues her particular demographic and gender faced. Five years of
helping others was extremely rewarding.

She’d discovered all of her idiosyncrasies and insecurities
helped her relate to women seeking guidance under the comfort of an anonymous
username. She’d been able to home in on the most important topics and employ
freelance experts in those fields. Her network of consultants and professional
counselors provided the education and assistance her members were in dire need
of and that fulfilled Shana on most levels.

She’d like to say the forum she’d created was a fantastic
way to work through some of her own personal issues, but even a legion of
shrinks hadn’t been able to solve her self-image problems. She took solace in
knowing she offered support to the young women who were brave enough to search
for a resolution to what ailed them.

“Mr. Halston doesn’t allow photographs in the club, other
than when the murals are shot for Sunday’s auction,” Toliver advised her,
breaking into her thoughts. “If you have a camera with you, please keep it in
your purse.”

So much for getting a leg up. But good ole Vic wouldn’t have
let the head of security deter her when she was
this close
to getting
the scoop on her man of mystery. If there was a way to convince Drake Halston
to give her an exclusive with a photo, Shana would jump on it.

Well…in theory.

She let out a frustrated sigh. This was the reason she’d
never followed her dream of being an investigative reporter. The reason—aside
from wanting to stay true to her Internet following—she’d turned down the
offers to headline her own talk show on network and pay-for TV. In her mind,
she was calm and collected. Sophisticated and savvy. In reality, however…

Ugh
.

In reality
, she was about as smooth as sandpaper. Too
timid to get in anyone’s face. Too apprehensive to probe deep enough to get the
answers she really wanted.

Even if the chance presented itself to capture that Pulitzer
Prize-winning photo that confirmed Bruce Wayne was Batman, she’d have neither
the nerve nor the heart to exploit the opportunity. Especially when it came to
Drake Halston. Like the fictional character she paralleled him with, he clearly
chose to keep his life private, except amongst close friends.

Every fiber of Shana’s being respected that decision. She’d
made the same one the day she’d signed papers that had legally changed her name
and helped her to put her classical music days behind her as she tried to
figure out who she truly was—who she truly wanted to be in the adult phase of
her life.

So of course she’d follow all of Drake’s rules, even if it
killed her chances of a photo op. She wasn’t one to divulge secrets meant to be
kept. But if she could at least get a few revealing tidbits, she’d love to
feature his club on her site as a sexy addition.

As she and Toliver worked their way through the crowd, she
wondered if Yvette had known she’d be extended this particular offer of a
backstage tour. Since she’d already caught Drake’s attention, according to
Yvette, she wondered if that was why her friend had dragged her to Prada the other
day and to the hair dresser this afternoon.

While she liked the new chic style of her plump curls, Shana
felt packed into a too-sexy-for-her-body dress. She didn’t have Yvette’s
straight lines—she had voluptuous curves that put both J. Lo’s to shame. Unlike
Yvette, she didn’t have to purposely sway her hips. They did that all of their
own accord.
Like
Yvette, she noticed she turned heads as she walked with
Toliver, but Shana suspected it was only because the men in the club were
thinking she should have forgone the super-sexy silver dress and stuck with a
curve-forgiving black frock.

Feeling self-conscious, however, was nothing new to her. So
she did what she’d done her whole life. She ignored the stares and focused
instead on the litany of questions forming in her head she’d like to ask her
gracious host this evening.

When they reached the perimeter of the club, Shana noted the
mini-stages cut into the paneled walls. They were covered with crimson-colored
velvet drapes that looked elegant beneath the enormous, sparkling chandeliers
hanging overhead. The décor was upscale and posh, though the dance floor was
packed like a weekend rave.

Yvette had warned her of the artwork that would be on
display shortly. She had no delusions about naked bodies being used as blank
canvases or how all the dots—er, body parts—were connected for the naughty
murals, but a soft gasp escaped her lips anyway as she entered the backstage
area. A woman covered from head to toe in turquoise paint stood in front of a
tall fan, one foot propped on an overturned milk crate as another woman
wielding a paintbrush whisked the coated bristles over the model’s bare pussy
lips.

The model shivered. “Oh God,” she whispered. Her nipples
were large turquoise beads and her eyelids fluttered, revealing her arousal.
“That tickles. But in
such
a good way.”

“You wouldn’t be the first woman to come during this part of
the process,” the artist told her as the brush stroked back and forth over the
exposed flesh.

“I came when I saw the sketch for the mural and fantasized
about the two men and the two women I’d be starring in it with tonight.”

Much to her shock, Shana’s own nipples puckered tight and a
tremor shimmied down her spine as an erotic visual popped into her mind.
Two
men and
three
women?

Holy
—

She shook her head and squared her shoulders.

Be a professional. Be an adult. And for the love of God,
don’t be so jealous!

But she was jealous. The woman in turquoise had stripped
down to nothing in front of another woman and had let her paint her from head
to toe. She wasn’t squirming nervously or in embarrassment as the artist leaned
in for an up-close-and-personal view of her labia while she continued her work.
No, if anything, the model was clearly turned-on…and anticipating her
multi-partner mural, if the quick rise and fall of her ample chest were any
indication.

Shana found the woman’s courage and excitement arousing. Her
own breathing picked up a few notches.

As they passed a male model also getting his final touch up,
it wasn’t just her breathing that accelerated. Her sexual tension mounted. The
model was well-built and fully erect. Funny, but before she’d seen him, she’d
understood—in theory—that all of the painted models were joined together to
create their body scenes, but she hadn’t given real thought as to
how
they got that way. And something told her it wasn’t as impersonal and
mechanical as “insert Tab A into Slot B”.

Yvette had mentioned these people typically got it on after
the show, but Shana hadn’t really believed her. Or somehow her subconscious
mind hadn’t allowed her to fully reconcile what Yvette meant.

But she got it now!

Good Lord. How naïve could one person be?

Though, admittedly, she’d never had exposure to sexy
situations like this. She was still a virgin, sad to say. A source of internal
contention, but she wasn’t the type of woman men hit on. At least, not
seriously. Every bit of flattery and the “va-va-voom” comments she’d been the
recipient of had sounded lecherous and felt false to her, particularly when she
was younger and on tour. As if the words uttered and the lascivious looks given
her were bait to trap her and turn the tables on her, so the macho man could
make fun of the fact she’d fallen for a line she was supposed to know was tired
and bogus.

Meanwhile, all the pencil-thin French and Swedish girls in
the international orchestra, in which she’d earned the prestigious first-chair
position, had been swept off their tiny feet by suave men bearing extravagant
gifts and eloquent professions of unwavering devotion.

No matter where she went, Shana always stood out. And no
matter the compliments she received or how critically acclaimed her talent, she
always felt like the fat girl at ballerina camp because of the delicate waifs
she’d been surrounded by most of her life.

A sentiment that prickled the backs of her eyes even years
later and forced her to concentrate on fighting back unexpected tears. Luckily,
she was able to hold herself in check, especially when Toliver interrupted her
painful thoughts.

“Ah, there’s Mr. Halston,” he said as he inclined his head
toward a man dressed all in black. Black shirt opened at the neck. Black suit
perfectly tailored. Black leather boots that made his designer ensemble sexy
and trendy. And black-as-night hair to top it all off.

Good Lord
. Bruce Wayne and Batman didn’t hold a
candle to this man! He made the term “tall, dark and handsome” pack as much
punch as “short, portly and homely”, for it simply didn’t do him justice. Her
breath caught somewhere in her throat as she stared at the very unexpected
vision before her.

Yes, Drake Halston was tall. But not like any other
ordinary, tall man. His six-foot-three- or four-inch stature gave him a
commanding presence, made all the more intimidating by his broad shoulders and
muscular frame.

Yes, he was dark. His obsidian-colored hair was recklessly
stylish and his deep-blue eyes could be mistaken as black in dim lighting. But
he also exuded power and wealth and confidence. There was a dark edge to him
that instantly excited her and created a tickle of desire along her clit.

Yes, the man was handsome. He had chiseled cheeks and a
strong, clean-shaven jawline. His lips were perfectly shaped and not too thin,
not too thick. They looked soft and inviting. She couldn’t help but imagine how
they’d feel grazing her bare skin, brushing over her nipples, sweeping along
her pussy lips. But, beyond those enticing features, it was the devilish air
about him that made him breathtakingly gorgeous.

She’d never seen anything quite like him—not even when she’d
toured Italy on numerous occasions. The Italian men had been handsome and
aggressive. They’d fawned over her, but again, their words had never rung true
in her ears or in her heart.

Drake had the same air of assertion and arrogance, yet there
was something else about him—something completely indefinable—that made her
anxious to meet him, not eager to shy away from him, as was usually the case
when she met powerful men.

As he walked toward her, his stride long and graceful, she
felt as though a sleek panther were preying upon her. Dangerous, yes. Disarming
to be sure. Yet Shana was less alarmed and more aroused than was good for her.
In fact, she was damn glad Toliver still had her by the elbow or she just might
sway on the low heels of her strappy silver sandals and topple over as she went
weak in the knees.

She still wasn’t breathing properly when Drake reached her.

Extending a large hand covered in smooth-looking skin and
complemented by long, blunt-tipped fingers, he said, “It’s a pleasure to meet
you, Miss White.”

Oh sweet Jesus
. He wasn’t Italian. He was British.
Just as her fantasy man had been most of her life.

“Um, okay,” she mumbled in a faint voice as she tentatively
placed her hand in his.

The flesh against hers was cool, a refreshing contrast to
the heat that suddenly flooded her body at the mere sight of Drake Halston. His
grip was firm, but in a reassuring way rather than an overbearing one. It was
territorial, as if his intent was to pull her toward him and out of Toliver’s
grasp. An odd thought, but it lodged in her brain anyway. And thrilled her so
much, the tickle along her clit turned into a dull throb deep in her pussy,
distracting her until she realized she was standing there like a complete fool,
her mouth slightly gaping.

Say something!

Clearing her throat, she told him, “It’s nice to meet you
too. And Shana’s fine.” She’d meant for her tone to be businesslike, yet it
came out sounding ridiculously breathy. Dreamy, even.