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Athena never overlooked the special touches. She’d obtained a handful of old paint brushes, and written the name of each “statue” along the wooden handles. She put them brush side up in a thick arrangement of colorful zinnias, set in an old tin can with artful smears of paint in the creased metal.
As the artists gathered around, the sun had fully set, the torch light darkening the hue of the flowers. Skye noted an artist who hadn’t been there earlier. He was tall and lean, with a strikingly interesting Adrien Brody kind of face, straight slash cheekbones, mouth a firm line, and black fine brows, teased by a fall of thick dark hair short on his nape. He had no visible body art and wore dark jeans with a short-sleeved, wine-colored Henley shirt.
The male who accompanied him possessed a wide-shouldered, brawny build capable of knocking down anything that got in his way. Long, thick blond hair was tied back, and he wore a belted kilt with a snug fitting black T-shirt over his impressive chest and arms.
She knew the leaner male was the artist, not just because she’d done a quick skim of the program for tonight, but because he radiated the quality she’d noted in all of the artists. Their ability to see the world around them through a filter that translated the input to subject matter made them seem slightly out of kilter with the world, yet it was balanced by the kinship that became obvious when they were standing together.
The long-haired male slid a hand over the artist’s shoulder, fingers finding skin under his short sleeve. The artist gave him a distracted half smile, but the bond between the two men was obvious. The artist gripped the male’s T-shirt over his chest and gave it a rough tug before he brushed a kiss over his smiling mouth.
It was an indication of who held the top role, but the energy between them also hinted at an erotic history where who heldthe reins might be a fluid thing. Especially between two men who were both clearly Dominants.
Then a woman joined them, answering the question of who fulfilled their need for a submissive. Up until this moment, Skye would have said Abby was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. This woman was ethereal. Timeless. Like models in black and white still photographs taken decades ago, their names lost but their beauty impossible to forget once it was seen.
She moved between the men like a dryad in the company of the trees who held her soul. Her hand rested on the larger man’s chest as she reached up to the artist’s face to stroke an errant lock of dark hair back from his forehead. The brace of her hand on the blond’s chest helped her with the reach.
She was talking, gesturing toward Athena, as if catching the artist up on what he might have missed. Like an assistant of sorts.
As he listened, the look in his eyes, in both men’s body language, said this woman was theirs, at every conceivable level of possession. She glowed like treasure in the grip of that love and ownership.
The long-haired male clasped the woman’s hand and said something that had her smiling. The two of them melted back into the gardens, her pressed close to his side, his hand at the small of her back.
As the tall, lean man moved closer to the group of artists, his gaze slid over to Skye. She was far enough away to escape notice, and she wasn’t moving, standing in front of a bank of azaleas. However, he studied her with that artist’s intensity, which amused her, though as an afterthought. She was caught by his gaze, his eyes vibrant and oddly still.
Holding that gaze was more difficult than expected. His expression shifted to one of casual courtesy, and he gave her a polite nod.
As she recalled more details from the program, she remembered why he’d stood out. He’d submitted a portrait for his bio rather than a photograph, and he was one of the biggest names here tonight. Evan Miller.
When he’d joined the other artists, she’d noticed they’d adjusted to give him a wider berth. Beyond the professional respect, she thought that was a good idea generally. Though he lacked his companion’s brawn, there was an air about him that seemed equally daunting.
But as he approached the flower arrangement where Athena stood, that intensity altered to genuine warmth. He greeted her but didn’t dally, plucking out a brush.
Skye had made a point of knowing where Tiger’s was in the arrangement, so she knew that was the one he’d chosen. Confirming it, Athena’s gaze lighted on Skye as she spoke to Evan. She gestured toward her, then shifted her attention to the next artist approaching the bouquet.
As he closed the distance between him and Skye, Evan held the brush in elegant fingers. Ones she imagined brought artistry to whatever medium he chose, as well as pleasure to the man and woman he called his own.
She’d been around plenty of Masters she held in high esteem. As a Domme herself, she appreciated the many shapes and styles that dominance could take. This male’s brand of it had the subtlety of flowing water, one of the most powerful forces in nature. There was something…electric about what vibrated from his skin. Like she was standing close to live power lines when he arrived in front of her.
He'd seemed to make an effort to tone down that energy when he’d approached Athena, and she suspected he did so now as well. Evan lifted the brush. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me about my canvas?”
“Yes.” She chose to use the Southern female voice when she typed her audio response. “He’s deaf. It was recent, so he speaks just fine. He’s not yet anticipating a lot of the things he can’t hear, though, and his balance may give him some trouble.”
She gave Evan further information on Tiger’s other issues. The relative endurance of his knees and back, both impacted by a life of working on vehicles. She appreciated that Evan listened carefully, the way a good Dom did.
“What’s the name of your giant?” she concluded. “The one masquerading as a human?”
“Niall.” Humor touched Evan’s gray eyes. “He’ll be so disappointed his disguise isn’t working.”
He’d shown an interested flicker when she used the voice app, but that was all. None of the tension many people exhibited at first, unsure if they were going to be able to properly communicate with her, and finding it too late to cut and run.
“And the insanely beautiful woman?”
“Alanna.” His gaze sharpened. “Why is this relevant?”
“Are they your family?”
“Yes. But you’re not answering my question.”
Oh yeah, Dom with a capital D. But so was she. “I am, in fact,” she said, just as cool. “I wanted to understand how you felt about them. I don’t know if you’re monogamous with them or not, and that’s not my business. But Tiger is straight. While he has no problem with the intimacies required for painting his body, hewillget riled if he believes a man is touching him with sexual intent.”
