The space was a bit different than she expected. Instead of being awash in brilliant white, the walls were a blood red, and the flooring dark. It had a gothic feel to it, and the music in the background added to that feeling. A bar to the left of the entrance showcased a variety of liquors and beers; the wait staff served champagne and petite hors d’oeuvres.
Declan reached for two glasses of champagne from a tray and offered one to Charlie. She watched him as his gaze scanned the room.
“Ahh, there is Owen.” Declan waved over a hulk of a man wearing a dark suit.
As he approached, Declan introduced him to Charlie. “Owen, this is Ms. Flynn.”
Charlie smiled, and he charmingly took her hand and brought it to his lips before decidedly looking her up and down in an overt manner.
“It’s nice to make your acquaintance.” Charlie smiled.
“Pearse, she’s lovely. Is she your new …”
Declan cut Owen off before he could finish. “Not yet. She works at Pearse as a researcher. We are doing some research for one of the manuscripts we are acquiring.”
Charlie looked to Owen, who appeared satisfied with the answer.
“Well, I have something I would like to discuss with you. Ms. Flynn, do you mind if I steal him away for a moment?”
Charlie shook her head and began to move toward the exhibit area.
Declan gripped her elbow and whispered in her ear, “I won’t be long. I am just going to catch up with Owen. I will find you in a few minutes.”
Charlie began to explore the space. Someone handed her a program, the cover of which simply read, Captive. She traced the raised red lettering and thought back to earlier this evening when she had been reading the manuscript. Thoughts of Declan restraining her danced through her mind. Shaking her head to free the errant thoughts Charlotte ducked into an alcove that was the display area for an artist’s black and white photography.
It became clear in an instant that this was a showing of work dedicated to the theme of BDSM. Charlie scanned the space, and she noticed paintings, sculpture, digital art, and photography displaying extraordinarily intimate and sometimes painful looking moments.
In the alcove, a photo drew her attention. Intrigued, Charlie moved forward to get a better look. The black and white photo portrayed a nude woman kneeling on a hardwood floor. Her arms were raised above her head, and her wrists bound by a silk ribbon. The ribbon linked to a chain that seemed to rise vertically right out of the photograph. Her arms were full of tension, as though she were tugging downward, trying to fight her captive state.
Her back arched so you could see the outline of her rib cage and her smooth stomach. Her only adornments were a diamond belly ring that captured the light from the camera’s flash and a beautiful choker fitting tightly about her long neck. Her thighs were spread apart. Her breasts were ample and her nipples taut. A thick scarf covered her eyes, and she could not see that her captor held a lit candle above her right breast, a drip of hot wax frozen in time, suspended in the air.
Lost in the space between reality and the fantasy in the photograph made Charlie lightheaded. She stepped backward from it when she collided with someone. A strong hand slid against her waist to stop her in her retreat. She knew in a moment it was Declan. She felt his hot breath against her ear. “Ms. Flynn, you like the idea of this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Charlie remarked, surprised. “I do. It brings to mind the manuscript you assigned me to read this weekend.”
The silence between them grew as she stood frozen, Declan’s hand still in place on her waist. And just when she thought she might melt into a puddle of desire on the floor in front of him, Declan spun her around to face him and continued. “You’re right. It does evoke the candle play in the manuscript. It is a rather interesting interpretation. But you would have made a much more suitable subject.”
Did he just say what I think he said? Charlie couldn’t decide if he was complimenting her or being completely inappropriate.
“See her arms.” Declan gestured toward the photo. “She is struggling, which indicates weakness. The contrast between desire and shame is intriguing to some, but I much prefer the confidence found in total submission. There is great strength in complete surrender.”
Deciding it was a compliment, Charlie responded, “Thank you for the kind words, Mr. Pearse, but I am far from being the model type.”
Declan took a step back from her slowly and with maddening deliberation looked Charlie up and down. The tension between Charlie and Declan crackled as the seemingly innocuous compliment morphed into something much more inappropriate.
“Am I interrupting anything?” Owen’s intrusion was at once well timed and ill timed.
“No, not at all.” Charlie gathered her composure. “If you’ll excuse me, I am off to run and find the ladies’ room.”
“Don’t be too long, Ms. Flynn, we haven’t finished our discussion,” Declan reminded her.
She escaped down the long, dimly lit hallway to the calm quiet of the women’s washroom. It was alight with the warm glow of candles and smelled of sandalwood. It offered her a soothing sanctuary from the tension of her conversation with Declan. As she looked in the mirror at her reflection, she smoothed the skirt of her dress. Her hand traveled slowly to her hemline and trailed up her inner thigh. Charlie glanced at herself in the mirror again and then closed her eyes, conjuring up the vision of Declan and lit candles and naked flesh.
She stopped, suddenly realizing she didn’t want to give him the slightest satisfaction. Even though it was a fantasy, she felt like she was surrendering to her desires, and it wasn’t what she wanted. It was too soon.
Charlie returned from her ladies’ room excursion to find Declan still in deep conversation with Owen.
“Ms. Flynn, I’m glad you’ve returned. I was afraid I would have to send out a search party.” His smirk edged up the corners of his beautiful mouth.
“Actually, Mr. Pearse, I think I am going to leave if you don’t mind. It is rather late, and I have a manuscript to finish reading.”
“I’d like you to stay.”
“Why? I have seen what we came here to see, and I took some notes. I think we’re done.”
“But, Ms. Flynn, the night is just beginning. The house I purchased is going through closing soon, and I would like to find a piece of art for a particular room. I thought perhaps I could get your opinion on a few pieces so I would have a feminine perspective.”
“Mr. Pearse,” Charlie paused, trying to rein in her thoughts. “Who do you think you are?”
“Ms. Flynn, I know exactly who I am. Do you?”
Frustrated, Charlie responded, “Hmm. Maybe a better question is who the hell do you think I am exactly?”
“Charlotte, are you attracted to me?”
“What? Where did that come from?” His words knocked her off center, and she struggled to regain her balance. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Declan licked his lips briefly before inhaling slowly. His eyes darkened, and Charlie knew she had betrayed her feelings.
“I’m a research assistant for Pearse Publishing. If I may remind you, my job description does not include being your damned interior designer.” Charlie’s voice pulled as taut as a wire.
Declan appeared perfectly at ease and even amused at the direction the evening had taken.
Charlie continued. “I did some research on you, Mr. Pearse. Everyone knows you for your stellar work reputation, and you never mix business with pleasure. I don’t see how breaking with that image would make sense for you. A piece of artwork is something intimate, something personal, something you would want somebody special to help you with, not an employee.”