AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It had been a week since the painting of Claire had been hung over the fireplace in their bedroom. Ari paced the hall, dressed in a tux. He tugged at the bow tie. He fucking hated formal events. He stared down at the invitation in his hand. It had been in the stack of unopened mail just like Kane had said it would be. He ran his fingertip absently over the raised black lettering on crisp off-white Crane card stock. He turned the invitation over to see the indentation on the back. Engraved. Kane always used the best stationery—especially when it came to Saskia's art shows.
It wasn't just about the kink with those two. It was about art: the unbridled passion and obsession of it. Kane had taken her on as hisprotégéand molded and mentored her and had seen to it that her art found an audience. It was a hungry audience, as dark and sexually twisted as Kane and Saskia.
Ari wondered if it was too soon to take Claire out in public. There wasn't even a hint of defiance in her. They were a perfectly matched pair of complementary opposites, joined together by fate. He'd started to believe this so strongly that it had finally caused the lingering self-recrimination to go silent. After all, if this thing between them, however twisted, was meant to be, why fight it? Why beat himself up over taking this woman who was obviously so deeply alone and needed everything he could give her.
Still, the easy way between them, the routine, the orders, the obedience, the pleasure, was that enough to take her off the property? Could he take that risk with her now? Or ever? Realistically he knew it would be cruel to never take her anywhere, to keep her locked up in this prison. And besides, he wanted to show her off.
The moment Kane had left the painting with him, Ari had shut himself in his office and ordered a dress for Claire online. He'd made a note of all her sizes when he'd first brought her to his home and undressed her.
While he was at it, he'd gone ahead and bought other things for her: shoes, winter boots, jackets, coats—both formal and casual, jeans, shirts, sweaters, casual dresses. He'd had everything shipped rush delivery.
At this moment, if she was following his orders, she was putting it the evening gown on right now. As if on cue, she stepped out into the hallway.
“You look beautiful,” he said, trying not to gape at her like some lovesick fool. Correction. Ari fuckinglovedformal events.
Claire wore a floor-length teal evening gown that brought out the brilliant green of her eyes. It was off-the-shoulder with a plunging neckline and a high slit up one side that would reveal plenty of thigh and allow him easy access. The only jewelry she wore was the gold collar around her throat.
“Master, are you really taking me out?” She looked hopeful, but wary, as if this were some prank and at the last moment, Ari would rip it away.
“We're going to Kane's estate.” He could see the pulse leap in her throat when he revealed their location. Nervous? Afraid? “We're attending his pet's art show in his private gallery.”
Even though Ari had commissioned the painting, he was in the market for more. He'd seen some of Saskia's work, and was eager to purchase a piece to add to his collection. Her paintings always went fast when she had a collection ready to sell.
“Come with me.” Ari led her down the hallway toward another wing of the house he generally kept locked. He pressed his thumb against the biometric keypad, and the door slid open. “It's okay,” he said at the wary expression on Claire's face.
In the time she'd been with him, she'd never asked about the locked wing. Maybe she'd never noticed it or ventured that far through the estate. Or maybe she'd been afraid to know what he kept behind such security.
She gasped as she took in the walls and walls and rooms and rooms of paintings he'd collected over the years. He needed her to know the way he felt about art before taking her to a show. He hoped she would appreciate it as much as he did.
He watched as she slowly moved through his collection, her mouth frozen on a gasp. Multiple times she reached out as if she would touch a piece, but each time she jerked her hand back before he could say anything to stop her.
“Is this real?” Claire asked, pointing at the Monet.
“It's real. I have one of the few pieces in private collector hands. I also own a Van Gogh.”
She seemed impressed. She moved on to a section of contemporary art and stopped in front of a Quill nude.
“This looks like the painting you had made of me,” she said finally.
“It's the same artist. I bought that one from another collector, but I wanted one ofmypet.”
She blushed.
He would never get tired of seeing her blush. It was such an innocent gesture in the middle of all their debauchery.
“We should go. It's a long drive. We'll be late.”
Claire feltgiddy with more excitement than nerves when they arrived at Kane's estate. She wasn't surprised Ari's interest in art went beyond his friends' paintings, but she had been surprised by the massive amount of art he'd acquired. And its quality. It was an enviable collection. Some of the pieces he had were coveted by museums around the world.
She'd played dumb with Ari when she'd seen the nude, but she'd known. Quill's work had grown a great deal since the piece in Ari's private art gallery—though she wasn't sure the man was capable of making bad art.
Kane had signed the painting of Claire with a Q in the lower right-hand corner, which was odd, because he'd normally signed his work with his full name—or a closer scrawled semblance of it anyway. He had to know he couldn't get away with selling this work to the public now. Joseph Quill was dead. Or at least the news had said he was. A plane crash over the Atlantic.
His work had sold for high prices before his far-too-young-and-tragic death had sent them into the stratosphere. Had he faked his death? Well obviously, since he was alive and well now. It was possible Kane could just be an obsessive fan of Quill, mimicking his style, but if he was, he was better than the original artist. And that seemed unlikely.
Claire wondered if Kane could be charged with fraud? After all, his death had caused his paintings to go into very high demand overnight. Suddenly everyone in the art world had been nostalgic for Quill nudes. She still couldn't believe he'd painted her while she'd been oblivious to his true identity—at least she had been until she'd seen the finished product.
And now she found herself nervous over the prospect of seeing him again because not only had Quill painted her, but he'dtouchedher. When Claire had studied Quill's work, she'd developed a bit of a crush on him in the way one might have a crush on a long dead classic literary figure. She'd never seen so much as a picture of him but somehow she felt that a man who painted like that had to be hot.
