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She’d like to say the forum she’d created was a fantastic way to work through some of her own personal issues, but even a legion of shrinks hadn’t been able to solve her self-image problems. She took solace in knowing she offered support to the young women who were brave enough to search for a resolution to what ailed them.
“Mr. Halston doesn’t allow photographs in the club, other than when the murals are shot for Sunday’s auction,” Toliver advised her, breaking into her thoughts. “If you have a camera with you, please keep it in your purse.”
So much for getting a leg up. But good ole Vic wouldn’t have let the head of security deter her when she was this close to getting the scoop on her man of mystery. If there was a way to convince Drake Halston to give her an exclusive with a photo, Shana would jump on it.
Well…in theory.
She let out a frustrated sigh. This was the reason she’d never followed her dream of being an investigative reporter. The reason—aside from wanting to stay true to her Internet following—she’d turned down the offers to headline her own talk show on network and pay-for TV. In her mind, she was calm and collected. Sophisticated and savvy. In reality, however…
Ugh.
In reality, she was about as smooth as sandpaper. Too timid to get in anyone’s face. Too apprehensive to probe
deep enough to get the answers she really wanted.
Even if the chance presented itself to capture that Pulitzer Prize-winning photo that confirmed Bruce Wayne was Batman, she’d have neither the nerve nor the heart to exploit the opportunity. Especially when it came to Drake Halston. Like the fictional character she paralleled him with, he clearly chose to keep his life private, except amongst close friends.
Every fiber of Shana’s being respected that decision. She’d made the same one the day she’d signed papers that had legally changed her name and helped her to put her classical music days behind her as she tried to figure out who she truly was—who she truly wanted to be in the adult phase of her life.
So of course she’d follow all of Drake’s rules, even if it killed her chances of a photo op. She wasn’t one to divulge secrets meant to be kept. But if she could at least get a few revealing tidbits, she’d love to feature his club on her site as a sexy addition.
As she and Toliver worked their way through the crowd, she wondered if Yvette had known she’d be extended this particular offer of a backstage tour. Since she’d already caught Drake’s attention, according to Yvette, she wondered if that was why her friend had dragged her to Prada the other day and to the hair dresser this afternoon.
While she liked the new chic style of her plump curls, Shana felt packed into a too-sexy-for-her-body dress. She didn’t have Yvette’s straight lines—she had voluptuous curves that put both J. Lo’s to shame. Unlike Yvette, she didn’t have to purposely sway her hips. They did that all of their own accord. Like Yvette, she noticed she turned heads as she walked with Toliver, but Shana suspected it was only because the men in the club were thinking she should have forgone the super-sexy silver dress and stuck with a curve-forgiving black frock.
Feeling self-conscious, however, was nothing new to her. So she did what she’d done her whole life. She ignored the stares and focused instead on the litany of questions forming in her head she’d like to ask her gracious host this evening.
When they reached the perimeter of the club, Shana noted the mini-stages cut into the paneled walls. They were covered with crimson-colored velvet drapes that looked elegant beneath the enormous, sparkling chandeliers hanging overhead. The décor was upscale and posh, though the dance floor was packed like a weekend rave.
Yvette had warned her of the artwork that would be on display shortly. She had no delusions about naked bodies being used as blank canvases or how all the dots—er, body parts—were connected for the naughty murals, but a soft gasp escaped her lips anyway as she entered the backstage area. A woman covered from head to toe in turquoise paint stood in front of a tall fan, one foot propped on an overturned milk crate as another woman wielding a paintbrush whisked the coated bristles over the model’s bare pussy lips.
The model shivered. “Oh God,” she whispered. Her nipples were large turquoise beads and her eyelids fluttered, revealing her arousal. “That tickles. But in such a good way.”
“You wouldn’t be the first woman to come during this part of the process,” the artist told her as the brush stroked back and forth over the exposed flesh.
“I came when I saw the sketch for the mural and fantasized about the two men and the two women I’d be starring in it with tonight.”
Much to her shock, Shana’s own nipples puckered tight and a tremor shimmied down her spine as an erotic visual popped into her mind. Two men and three women?
Holy—
She shook her head and squared her shoulders.
Be a professional. Be an adult. And for the love of God, don’t be so jealous!
But she was jealous. The woman in turquoise had stripped down to nothing in front of another woman and had let her paint her from head to toe. She wasn’t squirming nervously or in embarrassment as the artist leaned in for an up-close-and-personal view of her labia while she continued her work. No, if anything, the model was clearly turned-on…and anticipating her multi-partner mural, if the quick rise and fall of her ample chest were any indication.
Shana found the woman’s courage and excitement arousing. Her own breathing picked up a few notches.
As they passed a male model also getting his final touch up, it wasn’t just her breathing that accelerated. Her sexual tension mounted. The model was well-built and fully erect. Funny, but before she’d seen him, she’d understood—in theory—that all of the painted models were joined together to create their body scenes, but she hadn’t given real thought as to how they got that way. And something told her it wasn’t as impersonal and mechanical as “insert Tab A into Slot B”.
Yvette had mentioned these people typically got it on after the show, but Shana hadn’t really believed her. Or somehow her subconscious mind hadn’t allowed her to fully reconcile what Yvette meant.
But she got it now!
Good Lord. How naïve could one person be?
Though, admittedly, she’d never had exposure to sexy situations like this. She was still a virgin, sad to say. A source of internal contention, but she wasn’t the type of woman men hit on. At least, not seriously. Every bit of flattery and the “va-va-voom” comments she’d been the recipient of had sounded lecherous and felt false to her, particularly when she was younger and on tour. As if the words uttered and the lascivious looks given her were bait to trap her and turn the tables on her, so the macho man could make fun of the fact she’d fallen for a line she was supposed to know was tired and bogus.
