Boston Avant-Garde 6: Chiaroscuro
Read Boston Avant-Garde 6: Chiaroscuro Online
Authors: Kaitlin Maitland
Tags: #Multicultural, #Contemporary, #Menage
Loose Id Titles by Kaitlin Maitland
Boston Avant-Garde 6:
CHIAROSCURO
Kaitlin Maitland
www.loose-id.com
Boston Avant-Garde 6: Chiaroscuro
Copyright © December 2013 by Kaitlin Maitland
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.
eISBN 9781623005498
Editor: Kierstin Cherry
Cover Artist: April Martinez
Published in the United States of America
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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Author’s Note
Every book involves equal parts fact and imagination, but I’d like to take a moment to say thanks to my friends in the local Wiccan community for their advice and invaluable help with terminology and tradition. Also, for anyone interested in learning more about the Narragansett Nation, they have a history filled with tragedy and perseverance. You can find more information online at
http://www.narragansett-tribe.org/
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Chapter One
Mattie English took a few steps back to get a better view of the painting she was trying to display. For the millionth time, she lamented the blessing and the curse of the gallery’s location in historic Salem, Massachusetts. The building had tons of character, but the narrow streets made it tough to take advantage of any light coming in through the first-floor windows.
Twirling a lock of loose hair around one finger, she gazed out the window at the sidewalk. It was the last week of October, and the tourist traffic was picking up. By the time Halloween night rolled around, the Salem streets would be a madhouse. As annoying as it might be to locals, they couldn’t ignore the needed economic boost. Mattie and her three gallery partners depended on sales from the month of October to get them through the winter.
The bell above the front door gave an insistent ring, and Mattie snapped out of her ruminations. Pasting a welcoming smile on her face, she smoothed invisible wrinkles from her long skirt. If she were lucky, the potential customers wouldn’t notice the lingering odor of turpentine she wore like perfume or the indigo paint spattering her sandals. Even better, if they did notice, they’d simply chalk it up to atmosphere.
“Good morning. Welcome to Derby Street Gallery.” Mattie injected every ounce of sparkle she could muster.
“Ms. English, it’s a pleasure as always.”
Mattie fought to keep her smile from melting into a glowering frown. It wouldn’t do her any favors to be rude to Tobias Meecham. In the last year the man had managed to wheedle his way to the top of the local artists’ food chain. Not to mention he was the self-proclaimed guru of the Wiccan community.
“Mr. Meecham.” Mattie forced herself to be warm. “What can I do for you this morning?”
“If I might introduce Daniel Hyde.” Mr. Meecham gestured to his companion.
Mr. Hyde peered at her as though she were the item on display before pointedly turning to speak to Meecham. “You weren’t exaggerating the startling contrast of dark hair and blue-gray eyes.”
Meecham smiled as though he were responsible for her genetics. “I had hoped to show off some of your artwork to Mr. Hyde, Matilda. I’m surprised to see you here instead of in your booth on Artists’ Row.”
Using her full name earned the pompous ass another black mark. Between the two of them, she couldn’t decide who was weirder. What was Meecham doing here anyway? And who the hell was Mr. Hyde, and why would he be interested in her work? He was middle-aged with a shaved head and an intense expression in his dark eyes. He wore a custom-tailored business suit and didn’t look like the type who bought his own art. His gaze hadn’t strayed to any of the paintings hanging on the wall or the sculptures displayed on the shelves. In fact, the only thing Mr. Hyde seemed inclined to stare at was Mattie. His unsettling gaze raked every inch of her body from head to toe, lingering on her breasts and hips as though he were examining a potential purchase. Her best friend, Selena, would have given him a saucy look and demanded to know if he approved. Mattie wasn’t that bold.
“Wednesdays are my morning to open the gallery,” Mattie explained. “We all take turns during the tourist season.” This referred to the fact that Salem’s Artists’ Row was only open from May to November.
Mr. Meecham’s mouth split into a smile that wasn’t at all reassuring. “Matilda is a member of our Circle, although lately she’s been rather inactive in the community.”
Okay, now the conversation was heading into a decidedly personal zone. One of the things that had drawn Mattie to Wiccan beliefs in the first place was the individualism. There were as many ways to practice Wicca as there were Wiccans. If she didn’t want to attend Circle meetings, that was her business. It wasn’t like she was the only one. There were half a dozen locals who had started drifting away once Meecham had taken over.
“I’m more interested in her art than her religious affiliations.” There was something in Mr. Hyde’s tone that made her skin crawl. “I’m searching for a few special pieces to complete my Beacon Hill home. Perhaps you’d like to join me for dinner tonight to discuss your work? Meecham seems to think your…style would suit my tastes perfectly.” His expression told her what his words didn’t. Mr. Hyde was interested in more than her art.
Mattie nibbled her lip. As creepy as this guy seemed to be, he didn’t strike her as dangerous. Besides, it would be foolish to refuse. His oily personality might not appeal to her, but she wasn’t in a financial position to turn down the chance at a big sale.
Would a sugar daddy be all that bad?
Mattie’s heart gave an unpleasant lurch. She was chronically unlucky in love. About the time she thought she’d found the greatest guy, he always turned out to be flaky, unfaithful, or in the case of her most recent relationship, emotionally unavailable.
Damn you, Lars Aasen.
“I’d be happy to meet in order to discuss art, Mr. Hyde.” Mattie offered a winsome smile. “Would you like to swing by my display at Artists’ Row this afternoon? We could catch an early supper at the Lobster Shanty.”
On the outdoor patio with hordes of people to chaperone.
The barest hint of distaste colored his features, but then he smiled, and the expression was gone. “That would be perfect. I’ll plan on seeing you later today.”
The front bell rang again, signaling another customer, and Mattie was glad of the distraction. “If you’ll both excuse me? I’ll see you later on, Mr. Hyde. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise,” he murmured.
A shot of aversion left a sour taste in her mouth. She had a few hours to do some digging on Mr. Daniel Hyde before she had to decide if the money was worth braving the creep factor. Fortunately for Mattie, Selena was in a committed relationship with two guys who knew just about every shady character in the Boston area. If Daniel Hyde were keeping any skeletons in his closet, Malachi and Demon would unearth the details.
* * * *
Lars Aasen rolled onto his back and flung his forearm across his eyes. “This can’t happen again.”
Owen snorted, the caustic noise sounding doubly so in his husky baritone. The man never raised his voice. He didn’t have to. The don’t-fuck-with-me attitude kept all comers at bay, even when working upstairs as a bouncer for one of Boston’s most illicit nightclubs. If a customer got pushy, Owen turned on the cutting sarcasm and sent them on their way.
“You’ve said that the last half a dozen times you’ve shown up in my bed,” Owen pointed out. “This is my room, remember?”
Lars hid his eyes to keep from staring at Owen’s form lounging beside him, back propped against the headboard. The bedroom suite with its kitchenette and attached bath was a perk given to Owen because of his job at Club Triptych. Normally managers traded off shifts and rooms on a seventy-two-hour rotating basis. Not so Owen. He stayed full time at the club. Whether it was his loyalty to his employer or simply a desire to remain detached from the regular world outside, Lars didn’t know.
“Would you look at me?” Owen flung Lars’s arm away from his face. “This self-hatred bullshit is starting to get annoying.”
They’d fucked not fifteen minutes ago, but Lars’s cock stirred when he turned his head to gaze at the lover he’d never intended to take.
Owen’s body looked as if it had been carved from dark wood. He was crisscrossed with scars that proved he wasn’t about to back down from anything. His broad shoulders were tightly muscled, his arms a study in subdued power. His sitting position tightened his abs until they looked as unforgiving as his habitually stoic expression. Like his smooth, copper-toned skin, his facial features bespoke his Native American heritage. Add in the set of three interlocking blue circles tattooed on each side of his collarbone, and he was an awe-inspiring sight. He had a high forehead, elegant black brows, a straight, aquiline nose, and cheekbones that belonged on a museum statue.
And the prickliest personality ever spawned.
“If you’re done eye-fucking me”—Owen arched one eyebrow, managing to make it the most acerbic gesture ever—“you can either get out of my room, or roll over and let me put my cock in your tight little ass.”
Lars knew he should get out of the bed, get dressed, and leave the club. He just couldn’t make himself do it. Being with Owen wasn’t the right choice, but when they were together, it was possible to shut out everything else.
“Fine, I’ll make the choice for you,” Owen said.
Before Lars could react, his lover had flipped him onto his stomach. Owen straddled Lars’s legs. Owen’s erect cock brushed the base of Lars’s buttocks. The teasing touch made him groan.
