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Chapter Two

Sonnet

Was there a dress code?

Oh, shit, I should have asked that question, at the very least, before agreeing to go to a lifestyle club.

What was I thinking in not asking that? Where was my head at?

Gone, that’s where. With Harper staring at me with her beautifully intense gaze and sensual lips curled up into the barest hint of a smile. A striking woman, she’d captivated my artist’s soul from the moment I laid eyes on her.

Listening to her describe what she was after for the club, shapes entwined, flowing together until their lines blended and blurred into an image of unabashed bliss.

I’d felt my face heat up as she’d spoken about the emotion she longed to see the artwork convey.

My inner artist wanted to give her everything she sought and then some, but the images in my portfolio had been born of wet dreams and hope.

I had little in the way of experiences to draw from and certainly nothing that delved deeply into a lifestyle I’d long admired.

Call me a bit of a scared cat, but seeing for myself had seemed like an impossible mission to tackle alone.

Perhaps if I’d had a friend to cast a guiding light and show me the way, but art had been my dearest friend since childhood, and few people had ever been able to lure me away from it for long enough to get to know me, let alone for friendships to form.

Now here I was, standing barefoot on the carpeted floor of my bedroom, staring into a closet that contained mostly paint-splattered clothes, trying to remember where I’d shoved the few clubbing outfits I did own.

Yet they hardly felt appropriate.

Sundress, sundress, spaghetti strap top, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever bought a skirt to go with…

Shit, shit, shit!

What the hell did one wear to a lifestyle club if you were going to observe and not participate?

Oh, shit!

Goddess, please tell me no one would expect me to participate. I’d die of embarrassment and probably lose out on the job I was desperate to land if they saw how awkward and uncertain I got when faced with casual intimacy.

Sometimes I wished I could just be okay with showing off in a room full of strangers, but the reason there was little in the back of the closet where I’d shoved the pretty little outfits I’d picked up was because I’d stopped wasting my money on them when I knew I’d rarely put them on.

The lights, the music, and the drinks that left me a little tipsy and feeling, for just a moment, like I could conquer my fears and just cut loose, were all the things I enjoyed immensely.

From a distance.

I.e., the back of the room, where the wall could hold me up and the shadows could conceal me from those who might try to draw me out onto the dance floor.

Which in some ways was a shame, since I loved dancing. Especially in my studio, where I could shimmy along while singing at the top of my lungs to whatever music I had on.

I was just about to grab a maroon top with spaghetti straps and a pair of black yoga pants when my eyes landed on a purple and black baby doll dress with ribbons for shoulder straps and ribbon laces running up the front and in several places along the back and sides.

Lavender and lilac lace peeked from beneath royal ribbon in little hideaway spots, while tiny black ribbon bows adorned the hem.

Sweet and absolutely adorable, it still had the price tag on it, but that was an easy fix.

Thin lavender lace knee socks with bows that tied to keep them up were draped over the hanger, just as cute as the outfit, yet I’d forgotten about both.

Now to hope I had shoes to go with it, or at least something close enough that they wouldn’t throw off the look I was going for.

I could hardly show up barefoot with paint-splattered toes, thanks to some drips of gray and blue acrylic I hadn’t been able to scrub all the way off them.

I’d been too worried about getting the paint out of my bangs after the enthusiastic painting session I’d had this afternoon.

Fall of the Pirate Queen, as I had taken to calling my latest creation, had started out as a somber piece, depicting a stormy sky with lightning arcing everywhere and a ship sailing off in the distance, while a figure lay bobbing in the choppy surf, one arm raised, as if desperately pleading with those on board the ship to come back for her.

Only after my visit to Menotté and meeting Harper, my thoughts about the piece begin to change.

No longer did I seek to depict the fall of a once glorious hellion of the high seas, but her choice to leave all that behind her.

For love.

In my head, she wasn’t cast adrift. She’d leapt over the railing of her own ship and into the waves to join the mermaid who’d been following them for days, beseeching the queen to join her.

And no, I had not followed the traditional mythology of the cruel and bewitching mermaid luring the queen to her demise, but rather, a passionate lover longing to float with the queen in her embrace forever.

Painting that part had forced me to push past the voice in my head whispering there are no forevers, but I was proud of myself for doing it and bringing to life their watery reunion.

And if their embrace was a bit lewd and a little tawdry, the naked mermaid and the pirate queen’s dress slipped from her shoulders to billow around her waist, well too bad.

That was the image I saw, and that was the image I created, even if it might not have hung anywhere but in my living room.

My alarm beeped the first of a trio of warnings, letting me know there were fifteen minutes left before I needed to walk out the door if I was going to get there on time.

With how easy it was to get wrapped up in my art, just thinking about it, alarm bombing myself was the only way I had of keeping myself moving.

Kneeling in my towel, I rummaged around on the shoe rack until I came up with the one pair of black pumps I owned.

They might not have been lacy, but they had sparkly dragonfly straps that might complement the outfit if no one looked too hard.

Dressing quickly so I wouldn’t change my mind about what to wear tonight, I was halfway through the living room before it dawned on me that I’d forgotten to comb my hair.

Makeup I wasn’t even going to bother with, but I did rush back into the bathroom to combat the snarls.

Most days, I just tied a bandana over my head to keep the paint out of my hair and called it good. Tonight, I don’t know, there was a part of me that wanted to put my best foot forward, and not just for the sake of the job.

Back to the door I hurried, nearly getting it unlocked before my trusty mirror reminded me of the other thing I was about to forget.

Shit on a fuckin’ shingle, I couldn’t go anywhere with the giant tote bag full of sketchpads, ink, paper, and paint pens I carried around.

Dammit.

I was gonna get a workout in just trying to leave my apartment.

At least I knew where my purple backpack was; it was just a mini one, but it was covered in black and lavender dragonflies that would help tie the outfit together.

I hoped. Keys, wallet, phone, the smallest sketchpad I owned, and a handful of drawing pencils were all I had time to gather before my alarm beeped again.

“ I’m going, I’m going!” I muttered as I silenced it, locked up my apartment, and hurried down to my car.

The VW bug was from a bygone era, completely restored, and painted to look like a bumblebee, complete with stripes on the body and antennae on the hood.

The headlights made perfect eye shapes, and I’d done the detailing around them myself to complete the bumblebee effect.

It was as much a work of art as the rest of my creations, even if it had taken me three long years to get her back into pristine condition after I’d found her at an auction.

That no one else had been interested had played in my favor.

As always, starting her was the best feeling in the world.

While I was the only one who knew that it was my hard work and effort that had gone into making her a rolling work of art, there was still a sense of satisfaction every time I sat on one of those soft, black seats and buckled in.

GPS engaged, I returned to Menotté, parked where I was directed, and hurried in before I gave my brain a chance to second-guess my appearance or my right to apply for the job in the first place.

Three minutes to spare.

Phew.

Thank you, Goddess.

My name was even on a list when I got to the desk, along with a special message for them to alert Harper upon my arrival.

As I waited, I cast curious glances around, taking note of a whole lot of leather.

Skirts, dresses, pants, vests, holy wowy wow, there were even several men and women in leather kilts.

None of them, not a single one, held a candle to Harper when she appeared in a maroon and black leather dress that clung to her curves and accentuated her regal, commanding presence.

Even her boots were leather, the heels on them adding to the height distance between us.

The moment she spotted me, the stern look on her face split into a smile, and I’d have sworn her eyes lit up, though I knew it was just a trick of the light she strode under.

I felt my cheeks go warm as she raked her eyes over me, but when I started to duck my head, she hummed a little sound of approval, her smile morphing into a full-on grin.

“That outfit suits you perfectly,” she declared. “It’s positively adorable and as unique as the drawings you shared with us.”

My heart soared at hearing that, while the nagging worry I’d felt on the drive over melted away completely.

“Let’s get to our seats before the show begins, though for me, it’s already started. I may have a difficult time peeling my eyes off you to pay attention to what’s going on below and around us.”