Out of Control (Untamed #2) (13 page)

I choked out a sob, and Dare stilled my hands. He reached out from behind me to gently untie the belt and set me free. Air rushed into my lungs and I could breathe again. Dare spun me around, took hold of my hands. He stared at them quaking in his larger ones for a few beats, then looked up at my face.

Seeing my expression, his eyes widened. “Shit. What’s wrong? Did I do this?”

I shook my head and swallowed. Taking a deep breath, I found my center. “Not everything is about you, Princess,” I said, and he almost smiled.

“What happened?”

I wrapped my arms around my body and shrugged. “Just a really bad day at work.”

As I told him about Lucien, Dare’s shoulders stiffened and his eyes got dangerously dark—I could feel the anger vibrating through him, rolling off him in intensely vicious waves.

“I’m picking you up from work tomorrow,” he said, his jaw tight. “I’ll have a talk with the asshole.”

“You don’t have to do that.” I shook my head. “It’s fine.”

“It’s NOT fine. That guy needs to be put in his place.”

“I don’t want to cause problems,” I told him. I had no idea what Dare’s intentions with Lucien were, and I couldn’t be responsible for Dare getting blacklisted from the Parisian art scene.

“You’re not the one causing the problems. He is.” He studied my face. “Do you want to take today off? If you’re not up for this right now, it’s fine.”

“Honestly, I’d rather work. And you need to work. I’m okay.” I slipped the robe off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor, only belatedly thinking about the fact that I’d be standing naked right next to him when I did.

Dare looked down at my body, his gaze heating. The feel of his eyes on my skin had the power to erase all that had happened, and I forgot about everything but him. I could feel the warmth from his body as if it were caressing my bare skin, peaking my nipples and making me pulse in my most private places.

My voice was breathless when I said, “How do you want me?”

His eyes flicked up to mine, and the hunger I saw there matched my own. He swayed toward me, like he was lulled by my nearness, but then he shook himself, ran his hands through his hair, and took a step back.

“Let’s do a new pose tonight. Something comfortable. Something…free.” He backed away to his easel, slipped behind it, safe in his world of shapes and shadows, color and light.

I lay down on the futon, on my back, my hair spread out around my head, one arm resting on my abdomen, the other hanging off the edge of the mattress. I watched him work, listening to the rhythm of his strokes, dreaming it was his hands on my body instead of his brushes on canvas.

fourteen

I
spent the next morning checking out artists that Marie had recommended to me. One of them, a guy named Jean-Pierre, had serious potential. He worked mostly in watercolors and specialized in landscapes. While I didn’t usually find that subject particularly fascinating, his paintings really caught my eye.

I wasn’t even sure what it was—a combination of the loose style and palette perhaps. Or maybe it was his use of shadow and light. I couldn’t narrow it down to only one thing that spoke to me.

Art, like love, was one of those undefinable things in life. Sometimes it was just about the feeling it gave you, and YOU alone. The kind of feeling that made your heart beat to a different tune, and the entire world look just a tiny bit brighter. His art was like that, and I was pretty certain I’d be setting up a show for him, too.

When I returned to the gallery after lunch, I was giddy with excitement over my new find, feeling like I was in the right place, and that things were finally syncing. I confirmed some details with Marie over the phone, then spent a good hour filling out paperwork for her show.

The gallery was eerily quiet, and I suddenly became aware of him behind me, lurking.

“Lucien, I’m busy right now,” I said, my voice tight. “Please leave.”

His hands slid onto my shoulders, sending a shudder down my spine. I shrugged him off, and turned to look at him.

And that’s when I noticed the office door was closed.

My eyes flew to his, goosebumps prickling over my skin, my heart starting to pound. Something about this felt very wrong. Cold fear flooded my veins as I forced myself to breathe and stay in control.

I tried to keep calm as I said, “I’m working. I’ve got to get this done.”

“Ah, but you work too hard,
chérie
,” he said, his voice like oil—slippery smooth and leaving a slimy residue. “I can help you relax.” He stepped closer.

“No.” I quickly stood, placing my chair between us. “I don’t need to relax.” I glanced at the clock on the desk. Shit. It was already two-thirty. Dare would be here any minute. “I need to finish this so I can go home.”

“What are you doing every night that you do not have time for your good friend Lucien?”

“I’m modeling for an artist,” I said, slowly inching toward the door.

Lucien’s eyes lit up, and he raked his gaze down the length of me, undressing me with unabashed boldness.

He stepped toward me again. “How about you model for me sometime,
chérie
?”

“You’re not an artist.” You’re just a perv.

“But of course I am,” he said, reaching out to touch me, “and you would be my perfect muse. Nude, yes?”

I darted for the door, but he got there first, his hands grabbing my arms, pulling me against his body. Oh, god. Revulsion shook me as I felt his erection against my stomach and I pushed against him as hard as I could.

“Let go of me!” I screamed, panic filling my chest. The tighter he held me, the more I struggled. I stomped on his foot and he cursed, releasing me just as the tones rang out in the gallery.

I yanked the door open as Lucien’s hand cracked across my cheek sending me crashing into the doorframe, tumbling out onto the gallery floor. Stars sparked behind my eyes as the shock of the blow stunned me. The sound of fists meeting flesh and Lucien moaning on the floor brought me back.

Someone was hovering over me.

“Are you okay?” Dare’s brow was crinkled in concern, his eyes flashing. “What did he do to you? Do I need to call the police?”

I shook my head. “I’m okay. He just…” I started shaking then, thinking about what Lucien had been about to do, what he might have done if Dare hadn’t come in just then. My breathing went from zero to full-out hyperventilation in about 2.6 seconds. Darkness threatened at the edges of my vision as pins and needles spread through my fingers and toes.

Dare wrapped his arms around me and held on tight. “Put your head down,” he said. “Breathe into your hands—I don’t have a bag.” He rubbed my back, and I could feel his calm seeping into my body from his warm hands. “You’re safe, Ree. I’ve got you.”

By the time we got back to our apartments, I could breathe again.

It was over. I was fine.

I’d called Sabine and she’d fired Lucien on the spot, ensuring me she would make certain he could never work in another gallery again. I don’t know what Dare had said or done to him behind the closed office door while I was on the phone with Sabine, but Lucien left in a hurry without even looking at me. It was such a relief to know I wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore.

I went to my place to take a shower, then headed over to Dare’s apartment. He glanced up in surprise when I entered his studio. The moment his gaze fell on my face, worry flashed in his eyes. A bruise had formed on my cheek where Lucien had hit me. Dare got up to get a closer look, gently prodding it with his fingers. All I wanted to do was close my eyes and sink my heated cheek into his palm, but I held back.

I had no idea where we stood. He’d saved me today and I couldn’t contain the immense gratitude I felt. It didn’t fit neatly into a box, a
thank
you
, or an embrace. It overflowed and filled the studio, seeping into everything I saw and touched.

It colored my world.

“Do you want some ice for that?” he asked. Then he looked down at my robe. “What are you doing? We’re not working tonight. I want you to take a break. It’s—”

“I want to, Dare.” I owed him so much—everything. Not only had he helped me today, but he was the reason I wasn’t reaching for my pills right now. Most importantly, he had been the inspiration for my break for freedom from my family. I never would have followed the art if I hadn’t met him. He’d saved my life in more ways than one.

I wanted to do better, be better, because of him.

So, yeah. I wanted to be here.

“Go get set up,” I said as I walked over to the futon to take off my robe. Dare stayed glued to the floor, looking unconvinced. “Dare,” I said. “There is no other place I’d be rather be right now. Please.”

He hesitated a moment more, then walked back over to his easel as I got settled on the futon. I lay on my back again and watched him, wondering how I could ever repay all that he’d given me. This—being here for him to paint—was the least I could do. And I hadn’t been kidding when I’d said this was where I wanted to be.

I only wanted to be here.

With Dare.

The wine cellar. Complete darkness. I’m shivering from the cold. So, so dark. Why does it have to be so dark in here? Why did he turn off the lights when he came in?

He whispers and I jump. I can’t see him. But I feel him.

Hands. There are hands everywhere. I can’t stop them from touching me, from ripping at me and tearing me apart.

I try to scream, but there’s a heavy weight on my chest.

No. No, no, no…

Please no!

Can’t breathe, can’t yell for help. Can’t—

I woke with a jolt, sat up gulping in air like I’d been holding my breath. Shit. Was he still here? I couldn’t feel his hands anymore, but that didn’t mean he was gone.

Someone stirred next to me and I scrambled out of bed, falling to the floor with a
thud
.

Dare sat straight up, looked down at me and jumped out of bed.

Dare?

Oh, god. I thought—it had seemed like—
damn it,
I was all mixed up. It had been a dream. Just a fucking dream. Thank god for that.

The room was dark, curtains drawn, but I could see light filtering in around them from the streetlamps.

Where was I?

Wait, if Dare was here then…I was in Dare’s bed.

Holy fucking shit. How did I end up in Dare’s bed?

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he knelt down beside me. “Nightmare?”

I looked at him, the remains of the dream fading away. “What am I doing here?”

“You fell asleep while we were working,” he said. “It was really late, so I carried you in here.” He shrugged. “I didn’t think you wanted to be alone.”

“I don’t.” I slowly got to my feet and he stood with me. My throat felt thick with emotion. “Thank you. Again.”

We stood there staring at each other, the intensity reaching an all-time high. I felt this incredible pull toward him—a kind of magnetic attraction. And it seemed as if he did, too.

But I could still feel his hesitation, and I didn’t know what to do about it. In all honesty, I was exhausted from trying to figure it out.