Out of Control (Untamed #2) (8 page)

The apartment was pitched into darkness, and I froze.

Too dark. It was too dark. No light came in from the streets, no moonlight shone through the windows. The world around me was just black.

Like a cold, dark cellar.

My heart started hammering, and I drew in a deep breath. Deep breaths were supposed to help you calm down, right? But after a couple of them I was pretty sure that advice was a crock of shit too because I wasn’t feeling calm AT ALL. In fact, my heart was trying to pound its way out of my chest as waves of panic flooded me, threatening to drown me.

Hands. I could feel his hands.

I swung my arm around behind me, knocking the wine bottle to the floor with a crash.

No one was here. No one was here.

My pulse took flight. I struggled to breathe as my lungs screamed for air. With every quick, strained breath, it felt like no oxygen entered my body and I became more lightheaded.

No one here, no one here, no one here.

Of course no one was here. I was alone in my apartment in Paris. At least I thought I was. And I needed to get outside where I could breathe, before I started screaming.

Holding my hands out in front of me, I stumbled out of the kitchen, feeling for the wall, hurrying toward the door. I wasn’t being careful—I didn’t have
time
to be careful. I needed out.

He whispered something in my ear.

Goosebumps prickled my skin. I whipped around but couldn’t see anything.

I took a step, tripped, and started falling, my arms flailing out in front of me. I landed hard and something crashed to the floor next to me.

It was him. He was here.

The screams came out with a will of their own as I squeezed my eyes shut and kicked at nothing. I clawed my way toward the exit in the pitch black, scrabbled for the doorknob, flung the door open and rushed into the equally dark hallway.

And crashed right into him.

Oh, god. His arms came around me, holding me still, trapping me in the dark.

With him.

I thrashed around, kicking, trying to break free, but he held me tight. My screams turned to sobs as I realized I couldn’t get away.

Again.

But I wasn’t going to stop fighting.

“Reagan, it’s me! Calm down. You’re okay,” Dare said. “Ow! Fuck that hurt.”

Dare?! Not—

“REAGAN!” he yelled, gently shaking my shoulders. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

I inhaled…and smelled art—oil paint, charcoal, and graphite. It really was Dare.

I was in his arms. Safe.

“Look,” he said. There was a little click and his face was lit up. “It’s me. You’re okay.”

I stared at him for a long, silent moment, my eyes open wide, my wild pulse slowing down as my vision filled with him.

Finally, I could breathe again. I looked around the hallway—his door was open and I could see faint amber light flickering off the walls. Candles. He’d lit candles.

I was okay. It had all just been my imagination. Thank god.

My hands started shaking, and the rest of my body followed suit.

“Hey.” Dare lifted my chin, his brow crinkling in concern. “Jesus. That really freaked you out. You okay?”

I nodded, glancing back at my apartment door and the darkness inside. I did NOT want to go back in there by myself. I’d spend the entire night outside on the street until the power came back on if I had to, but I was not going back in there. Not until there was light.

As if reading my mind, Dare said, “Come on,” and gently pulled me into his apartment.

Candles flickered from the center of the coffee table and the kitchen counter. Dare guided me over to the couch, sat me down, then went into the kitchen. He came back a moment later with a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. Without saying a word, he poured and handed me one. I downed it immediately.

The burn made my eyes water and I could feel warmth spreading out through my system as if the heat of the alcohol was already flowing in my veins. Dare held up the bottle in a silent offer of more, but I shook my head.

One was enough. For once. Plus, I could already feel its calming effects. If I was back in my apartment, I’d be reaching for my pills. I glanced up at Dare, wondering if he knew that. If he knew just how much I wanted them right now. How badly I needed them.

He was staring at me intensely, the answer to my question etched in the furrow of his brow.

“So…?” he said. “The dark still bothers you.”

“Something like that.” I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I was not going to tell him about it. I wasn’t going to tell anyone. Ever again. The two people I’d told—my parents—had failed me.

No. Not just failed. They’d
betrayed
me. In the worst possible way.

“Do you want to talk—”

“No.”
Please, no.

I couldn’t even think about it. No need to awaken seven-year-old demons right now.

A muscle in Dare’s jaw popped. “Reagan, obviously there’s something—”

“It’s none of your concern,” I said, my cheeks flushing. Why was he pushing this? Why was he pretending to care? He didn’t want me. “You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

“Reagan.”

“Let’s just not tonight, okay?”

He poured himself another shot, drank it and put his glass down on the table before he answered. “Fine.”

I sighed. A strained silence stretched between us. Finally, I broke it because I couldn’t stand it anymore. “How’s your family? Where are they now?”

Dare leaned back in his chair and looked at me from across the table. “California. We moved there from New York three years ago to get as far away as possible.”

Whoa. Punch to the gut.

“From me?” I said, my voice quiet. Had he really hated me that much?

“From my dad,” he said. “Not everything is about you, Princess.”

I looked at him hard. “But
that
was. You were getting far away from me, too.”

He worked his jaw, clenching and releasing it a couple of times before he nodded.

“How’s your mom?” I said.

“Same. She’s…mom.”

“What about Dax and Dalia?”

At the mention of their names he lit up. A small smile touched his lips as his gaze fell to his hands. His face filled with warmth that I hadn’t seen in a really long time.

God, I’d missed it so much, and I hadn’t even realized it until I saw it again. But that kind of light only came with belonging. He clearly felt it with his brother and sister, which just accentuated the cold, dead hole in my life where that feeling should have been.

I belonged nowhere, with no one. I’d broken from my family—where I’d never belonged in the first place—and was now on my own, more alone than I’d ever been. I had Sabine, of course, cheering me on from New York, but other than that? Archer. We’d talked a couple of times since I’d gotten here, but he just kept trying to convince me to come back, to go to law school and live the life I didn’t want. He didn’t understand.

But Dare? He had everything I wanted.

He WAS everything I wanted.

And I was everything he didn’t want. God, I was so fucked.

“They’re good,” he said, bringing my attention back to him. “Dax got a football scholarship to UCLA and Dalia’s working in L.A. and studying acting.”

“Acting? That’s great.” I could definitely see Dalia on stage or screen, that kind of role seemed like the exact right fit for her. It had been so long since I’d let myself think about the twins—it felt bittersweet to hear about them now. “I’m so happy to hear things are going well for them.”

Dare opened his mouth, then shut it again as if he was trying to decide whether to say something. After a couple of false starts, he finally said, “They’re coming to visit.”

“Really?” I couldn’t keep the smile from my face or the happiness from flooding my heart. I knew I shouldn’t be so excited about it because who knew how they felt about me after all this time, but I couldn’t help it. “When?”

“In a little less than three weeks.”

“That’s just so…wow.” I stared at him, chewing on my bottom lip. “I’d really like to see them when they come. If that’s okay. I mean, I’m sure you guys have plans. Are you taking them places? Traveling?”

“No.” He shook his head, and another breathtaking smile lifted the corners of his lips. “I…uhh…actually have a show coming up.”

My mouth hung open and I just gaped at him for a full three seconds of stunned silence.

“A show? At a gallery here in Paris?” I let go of my knees, put my feet on the floor and leaned forward. “Are you kidding me?” I wanted to throw myself into his arms, but instead stayed firmly put. “That’s AMAZING. Why didn’t you tell me? Where is it? Which gallery? Are they good? Have you checked them out? When is the opening?”

“Whoa!” Dare’s broad chest vibrated with deep laughter, the sound of it warming my insides. “Slow down, Reagan.”

His eyes locked onto mine and we just stared at each other for a moment, so many unspoken words and feelings still hanging between us.

Too much.

My heart ached, but I couldn’t look away. I was simultaneously thrilled for him and despondent for me. Where he had everything falling into place, I had everything falling apart.

We were separated by so much more than three years and a few feet. Even though I was living in his world now, we were not in the same place at the same time.

And it killed me. Especially since there was nothing I could do about the distance.

The ball was in Dare's court now, but he wasn’t even interested in playing the game.

nine

G
alerie Yves Robert faced the street, its full wall of windows towering above me as I paused outside to catch my breath. It had been a long walk to get here, and for once I was wishing the cab drivers weren’t on strike—I’d be tempted to splurge on a ride home. After my heart calmed, I pulled open the door and walked inside the empty space.

Dare had assured me he knew what he was doing and had refused my offers to check the place out for him. He’d said it was a reputable gallery, and from what Sabine had told me when I talked to her earlier, he was right. In fact, it was more than reputable; it was one of the finest galleries in Paris. And the fact that Dare had gotten a show here was remarkable—they were known for their exclusivity. Sabine had gushed when I’d told her.

“Wilde…he has done very well for himself.” I could hear her beaming even over the phone and practically saw her nodding her dark head. “I am wishing he was showing at La Période Bleue, of course, that you had scooped him up before Yves. But,” she’d said, “I showed his work first. Next time I am in Paris, I will be sure to mention this to Yves.”

Sabine hadn’t been exaggerating about this gallery, either. It was exquisitely laid out. I explored the room, slowly taking in the paintings on the walls, trying to decide whether I would have seen any promise in the artist they were currently exhibiting. The work was good. Very mainstream. The paintings had a strong style, but they didn’t fully grab me. Didn’t squeeze my heart and refuse to let go like great art always did.

Of course, not all art appealed to all people. But as a future gallery owner, I would need to be able to pick out the art that would stand out and please the masses. Realizing that I probably would not have chosen this artist for a solo show made me question myself.

Was I really cut out for this? Would I find success? I so desperately wanted answers that I snapped a few pictures so I could discuss them with Sabine and find out whether she saw the same promise in the artist that this gallery had.

All the while, I couldn’t help but think that Dare’s work was so much better and more compelling. It had been even before I knew he was the artist of all those nudes back in his Brooklyn studio.

There was something about his pieces that kept me rooted in place, made me want to look and look, and then look some more until the art and I became one. I noticed something different every time—the shape of a shadow, the way he created a feeling of calm, the fact that I could almost hear, taste, smell, and touch the moment he’d captured. His work surpassed the visual and delved into dimensions very few artists ever reached.

I imagined these walls covered with Dare’s work and got goosebumps at the thought. His paintings were going to shine in the bright white space, and I couldn’t wait to witness his success. I only wished I could be a part of it. If only a tiny one.

Voices murmured behind the wall where I stood, and a moment later a door opened and swung toward me, blocking me from sight.

“But what about all of my landscapes?” Dare was saying as I stepped closer to the wall. Shit. I wasn’t supposed to be here. He was going to be pissed if he saw me. My eyes stayed on the art, but my ears were fully focused on his words. “Those sell really well out on the street, I’m sure they’ll—”

“Galerie Yves Robert is not the street, Dare. The owners are most interested in your unique nudes and want more of those for the show.”

“I showed you all I have right now.” Dare’s voice was a low growl. “I haven’t been happy with any of my models lately. The last few I tried to work with just weren’t right. And by the time I find the one I want, it’ll be too late to have any more pieces ready. Finding the right subject is a process, Jacques.” He clenched his fists, the muscles of his arms tightening.