Authors: Lisette Ashton
Silently, she chastised herself for using that term. It had connotations that made her uncomfortable. Deciding that her reflection was the best she could make it, Robyn slipped from the bathroom and retrieved a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from her suitcase. They were simple, unflattering clothes; she had already decided that an understated style would be best for dealing with someone like Yale Walters. The less attractive he found her, the better it would be for both of them. Determinedly, Robyn decided she would give him no sexual encouragement whatsoever.
* * *
‘These are phenomenal,’ Robyn whispered. ‘That one is breathtaking, and that one is …’ she left the end of the sentence unspoken, contenting herself with an elated sigh.
Yale preened beneath the praise. ‘Naturally I’m showing you some of my better pieces,’ he began demurely. ‘I had wanted to make a good impression on you but if you really think they’re that good …’
‘I do,’ Robyn told him eagerly. ‘I really do.’
‘I’ve got some more in the van. I’ll bring them in for you.’ He was out of his chair and rushing towards the door before she could utter a word to stop him.
Not that Robyn would have tried to stop him.
She was enthralled by the images and the intense detail of each painting. The subjects were erotic and sexual, but he had made every picture far more than just a nude. The images of his models possessed a realism that she couldn’t quite define. It was more than just an expression on a face, or a particular emphasis in a stance. It was as though, with the deft skill of his brush, he had captured a moment from life.
The first canvas he had shown depicted a woman with a whip. She was wielding the length of black leather over a couple: one male and the other female. With either a brush or a palette knife – Robyn couldn’t decide which he had used – the artist had captured their naked bodies to perfection. More than that, he had caught the terror of the submissives’ expressions and the wicked smile of the woman brandishing the whip. As Robyn studied the picture more closely, she could see the rash of stinging marks that peppered the blonde victim’s backside. Each red welt seemed to pulse painfully as she gazed at the painted image.
She turned her attention back to the largest canvas he had brought. It was a simple piece, framed this time, with a brass plaque at its base revealing its title:
Fulfilment
.
The word seemed fitting, Robyn thought.
In this image a young woman was being taken by two men. The painter had caught her face as she smiled back at him. This angle also allowed him to capture the source of her pleasure with every brushstroke. While one cock slid into the velvety depths of her sex, the second cock filled her anus. Rather than finding her gaze drawn to the act of penetration, Robyn was transfixed by the woman’s eyes. Yale had recreated them with such finesse that Robyn found herself lost in the sparkling azure depths. The model’s features were so realistic that Robyn felt sure he must know the woman to be able to study her so intimately.
Before she could give any further thought to that idea, Yale burst into the kitchen carrying a framed canvas under each arm. Behind him, Robyn saw a dark-haired young woman struggling beneath the weight of three more canvases. She felt her spirits sink when she saw Amelia, certain this meant the prospect of having Yale as a lover was no longer an option.
Not that she would have been able to have him, she reminded herself sullenly. Not with Harold restricting her to a life of monotonous monogamy. But the fantasy of potentially surrendering to Yale had been nice while it lasted.
‘Robyn, Amelia. Amelia, Robyn. Art critic, model. Model, art critic.’ Yale tossed the cursory introduction between the two women before going on to show his treasures to Robyn. ‘This is
Woman in Control
. It’s the first in a series of four,’ he explained quickly. ‘You’ve already seen number three, and here’s number two.’
Robyn studied the paintings, unable to hide her admiration. ‘Wow,’ she whispered. Her reeling mind couldn’t think of anything more to say. She thought, if Yale had been expecting her to make incisive criticism and clever observations, he was going to be severely disappointed. ‘Wow.’
‘This is one of my favourites,’ Amelia mumbled, uncovering a framed canvas.
Robyn drew a breath of surprise.
‘I told you not to bring that one, Amelia,’ Yale growled.
Robyn could hear the dangerous tone in his voice but she ignored that for the moment. Her attention was fixed on the painting Amelia held. The picture showed two women, naked and embracing. They caressed each other as though they were on the brink of exploring further. The passion and the sexual arousal in their eyes were as clear as the wording on the bottom of the frame.
‘
Forbidden Love
,’ Robyn whispered.
She glanced from the painting to the woman holding it and almost shrieked with excitement. ‘That’s you, isn’t it? That’s you.’ She pointed at the dark-haired model in the portrait.
There was an expression of adoration shared by the two models in the painting. Robyn didn’t know why the love between the two women was described as forbidden but she sensed it was a darkly erotic taboo that the pair were breaking. She supposed the title of the picture meant something to the artists and the models. And she guessed the title would be a good starting point for a discussion of the picture’s content when she reviewed it for
Art
.
Appreciatively, she sucked an incredulous breath.
Amelia nodded, a triumphant smile splitting her lips. ‘That’s me,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Yale managed to catch me quite well, don’t you think?’
‘He caught you better than quite well,’ Robyn corrected. ‘The likeness is uncanny.’
‘I told you not to bring that painting in here,’ Yale muttered. The frown creased his brow. ‘I thought you’d already learnt that I don’t like to be disobeyed.’
Robyn wasn’t listening to the foreboding in his tone. ‘My God, Yale. You really are a genius,’ she whispered. ‘You couldn’t have caught that face better if you’d used Kodak.’
He smiled tersely at her compliment and then turned his glowering frown on Amelia. ‘Take it back to the van. We’ll talk later.’
This time Robyn heard the threat in his voice. She glanced at Amelia, wondering how the feisty young woman would respond. She could see the sparkle of defiance in her eyes and for a moment she thought there would be a scene.
But Amelia did not seem to think confrontation would suit her purposes. She placed the paintings unceremoniously on a chair and turned away. The set of her shoulders was defiant as she strode out of the room and Robyn sensed that there would be fireworks between her and Yale before the day was over. She shrugged the thought away and it was easy to forget the sudden build-up of tension as she studied the rest of Yale’s work.
‘You haven’t drunk your coffee,’ he remarked.
She glanced at the untouched mug and smiled. Sipping gratefully at the strong black liquid, she studied him over the rim.
‘Why haven’t I seen any of this work before?’
‘That’s something else I need to talk to you about,’ he said. ‘I think you can help me with the definitive exhibition.’
‘The definitive exhibition?’ Robyn looked at him uncertainly. She didn’t know what he meant, but she was sufficiently intrigued to want to hear more. She swallowed the remainder of her drink, and urged him to continue.
* * *
Furious, Amelia stormed out of the house. Her feet crunched the gravel driveway with each angry stomp. She cursed Yale’s name as she marched away from Holbert Manor, looking desperately for someone she could hurt. There was an impossible rage building inside her and Amelia needed to release it. She noticed Christian sitting outside the motor home and smoking a cigarette. He glanced innocently in her direction and raised his hand in a small wave of acknowledgement.
‘Bastard,’ she muttered, bearing down on him. She snatched the cigarette from his fingers and took a long, satisfying draw.
Christian said nothing.
‘Which of us did you prefer?’ Amelia asked him. ‘Did you prefer me or did you prefer
her
?’
She made it sound less like a question and more like a demand. There was no need to explain whom she meant when she said
her
. Christian clearly knew that there was no one else deserving of that particular pronoun.
‘Which of us did you like best?’
‘You,’ Christian replied without hesitating. ‘You know it was you. It was always you.’
She glared at him. He had replied without thinking and she knew he had only done that because he was scared. A sneer of contempt curled her upper lip.
Behind her, the manor house stood majestic and resolute. Its purple stone was the same timeworn colour as the heather that surrounded them. A myriad of windows, each one leaded with a lattice-work pattern, stared impassively down at her. Set against a bleak grey sky the building looked regal, imposing and magnificent.
Amelia ignored it.
Instead, she watched Christian while she smoked his cigarette. In turn, he studied her. She thought he looked like a mouse regarding a predatory cat. The image brought a warmth between her legs but it did nothing to lessen her fury.
‘You’d say the same thing to
her
if she was here asking the question.’
He shook his head, trying to deny the accusation.
‘If she asked you which of us you preferred, I bet you’d say
her
.’
‘No. That’s not true.’
Amelia could see the real truth sparkling in his brown eyes. She cursed loudly and took a step closer. Clearly unnerved, Christian stood up as though ready to defend himself. Because she wore heels they were nearly the same height, Christian the taller by only two inches, but he still shivered as she glared up at him.
‘Yale said she was a bitch,’ Amelia said carefully. ‘Would you have agreed with that verdict?’
Christian stammered but he didn’t manage to reply.
She growled impatiently. ‘Yale thought that we were opposites,’ she went on. ‘She was the bitch, and I was the virtuous goody-two-shoes. Do you think that’s a fair way of describing us?’
His lower lip trembled and he shook his head. His gaze flitted nervously over her shoulder, as though he was looking for salvation from the manor house.
There was no help to be found there, Amelia realised happily. Yale was busy trying to impress his new friend the art critic. As long as that was happening his entourage would remain forgotten. That situation suited her plans perfectly.
‘Yale’s told me not to mention …’ He paused, trying to shape the words carefully despite his growing nervousness. ‘Not to mention
her
,’ he finished.
‘And do you do everything that Yale tells you to do?’
‘I try.’ Quickly he added, ‘I thought we all try to do whatever Yale tells us to do, don’t we?’
She wanted to hit him. She wanted to strike him to the floor and pummel him with her fists. Holding on to the remainder of her self-control with a tenuous grip, she gave a villainous smile.
‘Yale’s told you to obey me, hasn’t he?’
Christian nodded unhappily.
‘Then take your trousers off,’ Amelia demanded. ‘Take your trousers off in the next ten seconds, or I’ll tell him you’ve been disobeying me.’
Christian stared at her. Slack-jawed fear shone on his face. ‘But we’re out in the …’
‘I know where we are,’ Amelia assured him. She took a last draw on the cigarette, dropped it to the floor and stamped on the end with the tip of her high-heeled shoe. ‘Ten … nine … eight … seven …’
He stared at her in disbelief, then sprang into action, unfastening his belt and pushing his jeans down his legs as quickly as he could. The action was accompanied by Amelia’s slow countdown but, aside from that, the Highlands around them were tranquil and silent. He kicked off his boots and tugged the jeans from his ankles as her countdown reached the number two.
‘Quite obedient,’ Amelia allowed. There was sly praise in her tone. She could feel her arousal mounting as she revelled in his servility. ‘Is Bernice still sleeping?’
He nodded.
She wasn’t surprised. The woman had spent most of the night sobbing and Amelia guessed she had a lot of sleep to catch up on. ‘Then we’d better stay out here, so we don’t disturb her.’
Panic flared in Christian’s expression but he remained where he was. His rigid cock poked out from the tails of his plaid shirt. She could see the purple-ended dome pulsing softly. She reached forward and caressed the warm and throbbing flesh. The thought of exploiting his desire inflamed her arousal.
‘Why were you pretending to be reluctant, when you’re obviously so desperate to have me?’
He turned away. His cheeks coloured dark red.
Amelia ran her fingers down his length and roughly stroked his balls. Her fingers caught in the wiry forest of dark pubes that covered his sac. She savoured the gratuitous pleasure of pulling a handful of hairs from their follicles.
Christian winced, but remained standing where she had told him.
‘You and I seldom get the chance to play, do we?’ she murmured.
He drew a nervous breath and shook his head. His cock twitched eagerly in her hand as she squeezed his balls. She could see from the tortured grimace on his face that he thought his cock was acting like a traitor.
‘We so seldom get to play,’ Amelia murmured. ‘Perhaps we ought to do something that would rectify that?’
Not waiting for his reply, she led him by his cock to the back of the motor home. The door was ajar and from inside she could hear the gentle whisper of Bernice’s sleeping breath.
The sound reminded her how isolated they were. There was so little background noise that she could hear someone breathing inside a motor home. It was not a phenomenon she had ever encountered in an urban situation.
Amelia took a moment to enjoy the remoteness of their surroundings.
Feeling Christian’s cock pulse in her hand, she remembered that there were things for her to do before Yale returned and stopped her tormenting his models. She needed to satisfy her desire to punish Christian.