Seductive Shadows (20 page)

The man in the back leaned against his seat, his face shielded by my body. “The Doctor.”

My pulse spiked.

“From the—”

“Yes,” he said, “that’s the one.”

“But I thought—”

“You thought correctly, Charlie,” he confirmed. “No one from the mansion is ever supposed to contact you outside the confines of the gate. I’m making an exception.”

The Doctor was better-looking without his mask. His eyes were covered by glasses with thick black frames. His features were hard and pointed, and the skin around his lids was as smooth as his cheeks.

“Is everything all right?” I asked.

“Something has arisen…something extremely significant. I need to know, Charlie: do you trust me enough to speak privately, outside of our place of employment?”

Did
I trust him? Did I even
know
him well enough to? I’d shared so many details of my life with him—almost as much as I’d shared with Dallas—and I’d even discussed Dallas with him, as well as Cameron and Professor Freeman. I’d offered him my body and he hadn’t taken it. I’d even given him my new address, and he’d never taken advantage of that in any way.

“I trust you.”

I glanced back once more. Cameron’s feet hadn’t moved, but his eyes continued to bounce between the window and me. I couldn’t imagine what he was thinking, if he assumed I knew the person I was speaking to or thought I was simply giving directions. I hoped it was the latter.

“What do you need from me?” I asked.

“I can’t discuss it now, but I’ll be visiting you again soon. I don’t want you to be alarmed when I do.”

I nodded. “I’ll be ready.”

“Charlie?”

I turned my head to the Doctor again. “Yes?”

“You can’t mention this to anyone. Ever.”

“I won’t.”

“You understand that speaking about our encounter wouldn’t put only you in danger, but the people in your life as well.” He paused. “I’m referring to Dallas and Cameron, of course.”

I held the lip of the glass with my shaky fingers. “I won’t say anything. I promise.”

The Doctor’s soothing voice had been a source of comfort, and my pulse had returned to normal while he spoke, but it began to race again. No one other than the driver knew the Doctor was here with me. Either this wasn’t a driver employed by the mansion, or he was one the Doctor trusted implicitly. But what could be so important that he was willing to breach not only the mansion’s rules, but also his anonymity by revealing his true identity to me?

And if he was able to find me, did that mean my clients might be able to as well?

“If you’re worried that others will contact you—the staff or your clients—don’t give it a second thought. It won’t happen; I assure you of that.”

This wasn’t the first time the Doctor had answered an unspoken question. It was as though he could read my mind. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he said. The window slid upward, and the limo pulled away from the curb. As it drove away, I noticed that the license plate was a temporary one. The mansion’s limos used real plates and changed them on a regular basis. It did little to put me at ease.

I turned my back to the street and shuffled toward Cameron. He met me halfway. “You look anxious,” he said.

He didn’t ask who’d been in the limo, or what they had wanted. I had no idea what I would have told him if he had. Nothing felt good about the lie I’d have to create. My lives had crossed now, and they probably would again if I continued to spend time with him. And so far, I had been able to restrain Dallas’s curiosity when it came to my new job by changing the subject whenever he asked. But I wouldn’t be able to for much longer.

“No, I’m fine,” I said.

I waited for a follow up question. None came.

***

The lighting in my apartment wasn’t anything like what Cameron’s studio had. The two windows I had faced other buildings and the overhead let off a golden mist. I didn’t have anything on my walls besides antique white paint; nothing cluttered my countertops. Unlike his phenomenal view and inspirational pieces, there was nothing here for Cameron to get lost in.

Nothing…except me.

As I moved around my one-room, I felt his eyes on my body. And when he sat, I was very aware of his presence on my bed. Not just the way his butt pressed against my comforter, but the way his feet rested on the floor, his hands on the mattress. His smell, a faint spicy cologne and the scent of rain, was mingling with my air.

My fingers fumbled with the paintings as I held them all and spread them out along the wall.
Day of the Dead
was first. After I set it down, I glanced up to read his expression, the way his lips moved as he studied it.
Kerrianna
was next. His features hardened; his foot began to tap against the wood floor. The two that followed were pieces I’d created while Lilly was alive.  In one I called
The
Black Crow,
I’d painted a woman from the back, with a black crow tattooed down the length of her spine. Her head was shaved; her shoulder blades protruded as though it had been months since she’d eaten. In the other, called
The Doors
, a wall of doors covered the entire canvas. They were all different sizes; the character in the wood varied, as did the hardware. Each door was painted either black or red, and a staircase rose in front of them.

“These are nothing like I had imagined,” he said.

I glanced between him and the pieces. I couldn’t read his meaning, and I was too afraid of his answer to ask.

 “So with my portrait included, you have five pieces for the exhibit?”

“You don’t mind if I use the one of you?”

 He shook his head.

“Then no, actually…I have seven.”

“Where are the other two?”

I was hesitant to reveal them, to him or anyone else. They were new, created in the last few weeks and inspired by the mansion. They were a look into my recent life, more personal than anything I had ever painted before. They were
me
. And they were tucked beneath my bed, where I’d stashed them this morning knowing he’d be coming to view my pieces.

He still hadn’t asked any questions about the limo or why I had moved into a new place, or where I had lived before this. I really liked that about him, the way he let me disclose things at my own pace. I felt as though I’d been dressed in lingerie since our first session together, and he hadn’t even loosened one of my bra straps. Dallas expected more, and had demanded more. But his demands had scared me away. Cameron’s lack of demands tested me; it kept me guessing what he wanted, and wondering if he truly desired me.

I kneeled on the floor, not far from his feet, and dragged the canvases from beneath the bed. I removed the plastic wrap and placed one on top of the other, setting them between us as I took a seat by the pillows. He turned to face me.

“This is one of my newer pieces.” The mask made Cee’s eyes darker than normal; they pierced through mine. She stared into Cameron as well. The painting was of her face only, with her black nails pressed into her chin. Her black glossy lips were plump and slightly parted. Black lace spread from her hair down the length of her nose.

I focused on Cameron, dissecting his reaction. His breathing sped up as he examined it; some part of his body was in constant motion.

“You’re—”

“And this is the other,” I said, interrupting him, pulling the second canvas out from beneath the first.

In this piece, Cee lay on top of the bed in my wing, the sheets bunched underneath her. She was lying on her side with her legs curled close to her stomach in a fetal position. She was naked. Every curve glared at me from the grain; every imperfection and scar was exposed. Cee was—
I
was—completely vulnerable. And in the moment I’d captured, I was spent; saliva had dried all over my skin. I smelled of a client. But more significant than any of this, I’d painted myself with my face pressed into the blanket and my hair splayed around me. Unless they knew my marks, no one would ever know it was me on that bed.

This painting captured it all. I began every evening as Cee, dressed in a costume that was richer than anything I owned. It heated my skin, made me feel powerful. Powerful like Victoria. Because of the tingling in my clit and the mask over my eyes, my view of the client was always distorted. I wanted an orgasm, and I knew he would give me one. But as soon as he left my wing, I became Charlie again. Thoughts started to swirl; reality burned every pore that he had filled with his spit. Soreness throbbed between my legs. Lilly, Emma, Cameron, Dallas, school, the exhibit, bills—all of it slammed into me.  I was consumed every time by a loneliness far darker than my mask or my lingerie.

I was lost in thought as I re-examined the canvas that bore my likeness…and my darkness. I felt Cameron’s fingertips on my chin, gently pushing it up toward him. He moved the paintings to the side of the bed, closing the gap between us. When his hand stopped guiding my face, I expected to find his lips on mine. Nothing but air touched me.

“Thank you for sharing these with me,” he said.

His free hand moved to my neck, and he slowly pulled down the collar of my shirt until my shoulder poked out of the hole. His finger rubbed the two hidden freckles that were side-by-side, an inch past my bra strap. I followed his eyes to the painting, viewing their twins, dabbed in brown madder in the same spot on Cee.

His stare moved back to me. “I knew these looked familiar.”

His breath licked my face. There was no smell to it, but the feel was everything, like the sharp blast of cold air that heralded a storm. It was like fine linen waiting for my paint. Our tongues would be our brushes, meeting in empty space; our saliva would mimic the colors. Goose bumps covered my skin as he continued massaging my shoulder with his thumb. Tingles spread, and I bit my lip.

There was too much lying in front of me. I had to take it.

I slowly leaned toward him so I could taste his mouth, stopping a few inches before we met. My hand moved across the bed and landed just below his neck; my palm concealed his scars. I met his eyes as they searched within me, reading my desires. I crept a bit closer. But just before I reached him, his fingers dropped from my face, then my shoulder, and he got up from the bed. I didn’t feel instant rejection like I had with the Doctor and Dallas; this time, I felt challenged—by the way his posture had shifted, his fingers had tightened into me, his mouth had appeared hungry. I knew he was aroused, but he obviously wasn’t ready to give me what I wanted. It made me want him even more. My flesh ached for his touch. The wetness from my pussy spread to my thighs as I rubbed my legs together.

He moved to the other side of the room, taking
The
Lace Mask
and
Naked
with him. He stood in front of the wall where the other paintings sat and began changing their order. “It feels like there’s a sequence to these pieces,” he said.

He placed the
Day of the Dead
all the way to the left.
Lace Mask
followed, then
Naked
, and finally
Kerrianna
. Losing Emma hadn’t initiated the pain in my life, but the accident had certainly sharpened it.
The
Lace Mask
didn’t hide that pain; it channeled it, and gave me brief moments of escape and release. And when I was alone on the bed and
Naked
, the searing pain seeped through the wounds I had slashed across
Kerrianna’s
skin.

He was right. There was a definite sequence.

“These don’t fit.” He placed
The Doors
on a different wall, along with
Black Crow
and the portrait that I’d done of him. “They’ll work for the exhibit, but there’s a story here. A revelation.”

The truth was deafening.

“A dark revelation,” he said. “But something is missing.” He moved all the way to the left again, pausing in front of the
Day of the Dead
. Then he slowly took a step sideways, traveling through my story until he reached the end. “It’s this piece…something needs to come after her.” He was pointing at
Kerrianna
.

I wasn’t sure what he meant.

“Such as?”

“Wounds heal, Charlie.” He didn’t smile. “So what happens to her after they do?”

Sandy had dressed me in a black strapless Chantilly lace romper. The sections that spread across my breasts and below my navel were backed with satin, leaving only my stomach and hips to be seen. Ballerina slippers made of the same colored material covered my toes and the bottoms of my feet, the ties crossing around my ankles several times and looping into a bow in the front. My lids had been decorated with a sparkly pink shadow; so had my fingers and toes. There was even a pink crystal decal that had been glued a few inches in from my bikini line. And my hair had been chalked with bold hues of pink, purple and blue dusting the ends of each curl. I looked like a human baby doll, or a Japanese anime: entirely too perfect, too provocative, and too well-endowed for her age. But I liked the costume, and Jay had asked that I play a more vulnerable role for the evening. I didn’t know if he’d requested this ensemble because he wanted to be a daddy figure, or if he had more nefarious fantasies in mind: dreams of domination, breaking, and deeply punishing me in the most sexual manner until a surrender was made. I never surrendered, though…but my screams and moans made him and my other clients believe that I was doing just that.

What these men never knew was that sex healed me.

Pleasing a man was simple; I listened and gave them what they thought they wanted. When I took them in my mouth, humming a tune of seduction, playing a ballad with my groans while their eyes rolled into the back of their skulls—that was power. While they pumped thrust after aching thrust, I devised my new direction. I reveled in the growing financial freedom. The sex was a definite release for me—a release from the past I felt I was stuck in—but I felt something of a release after each credit card payment I made, too.