Not step out, he mentally amended. Drop out. The woman had put an entire ocean and the US legal system between her and her past existence in Europe, where she’d toured. She’d solicited a court order to help her change her identity and had reemerged a completely different person.
He found this both intriguing and confusing. What had been so bad about touring with a world-class, critically acclaimed orchestra—which she’d headlined as Shania Gonzalez—that had caused her to completely reinvent herself?
He’d been fascinated by her before he’d ever met her in person. But now… He was thoroughly intrigued. And entranced. Making him worry again that perhaps letting Jane have her way this evening wasn’t such a good idea. His usual steel resolve when it came to maintaining some distance between himself and humans was slipping fast with this woman.
Not helping his plight, from the other side of the elevator Jane said to Shana, “I hope you don’t find us too forward. We’ve both been anxious to meet you. Ever since Yvette mentioned the two of you were friends.”
Drake slid a glance toward Shana. Surprise flitted across her face before she said, “That’s very flattering. Thank you.” She was quiet a moment as they exited the elevator and strolled down the marbled hallway to his office. They entered the spacious room as she added, “I’m curious to know how you came up with the concept for the club.”
Her gaze lifted to Drake. For a split second, he wished he possessed Jane’s gift. He’d give anything to know what made this woman tick. He could see quite clearly from the inquisitive spark in her eyes that she was as fascinated by him as he was by her.
That realization made him charge ahead when he knew he should tread lightly.
Taking her by the hand—which she allowed—he guided her over to the sofa and sat, subtly coaxing her to join him. A low fire burned in the hearth across from them. Jane poured the champagne and handed out full glasses. Then she sat on the other side of Shana and reached for the iPad on the end table. She scrolled through a few camera angles before settling on one. The first curtain was about to rise on a body mural and the three male models were placing themselves accordingly, skipping the foreplay and getting right to it.
Or perhaps, given the fact they all had erections, they’d already familiarized themselves with one another and were primed for the intimate body connections. All of them wore condoms in preparation for the completion of their mural.
Two of the men faced each other, with a modest gap between them. They were painted from head to toe in a mahogany color with high- and lowlight streaks that produced the grain on the pseudo-wooden sides of the bookshelf they were creating. Another man, painted from the hips down in the same fashion as the others—for the obvious purpose of blending in with his wood-painted partner—but covered just above the hips and upward in a nearly translucent green color against his pale skin, comprised the glass shelf. He pressed his backside to one model and bent over. The standing model gripped his partner by the waist and thrust his cock into him. Both men groaned in pleasure as Shana gasped.
Drake bit back a grin. “I failed to mention that all pairings aren’t necessarily boy-girl.”
“Um, yes. I can s-see that.” Her cheeks flamed and the rosy color complemented her skin tone. Her amber eyes were wide with shock, but she continued to watch the onscreen action as though captivated. Her mouth gaped slightly though, confirming her surprise.
With his arms plastered to his sides, the man serving as the glass shelf took the other cock in his mouth, drawing it in deep and sucking hard, if the grunt of ecstasy from his partner were any indication.
Drake leaned in close to Shana and whispered in her ear. “The concept for the club wasn’t actually mine,” he said, answering the question he suspected she’d forgotten she’d even posed minutes before. “Not entirely, that is. I intended to open an upscale, exclusive nightclub, but given my love of art, it wasn’t difficult for Finn to talk me into adding the gallery and the Sunday brunch where we auction off photos and commissioned paintings of the work from the Friday and Saturday night shows.”
The model whose cock was being enthusiastically serviced—until he placed the potted plant he’d been holding on the flat back of his glass-shelf-painted lover—seemed to hold his breath as the velvet curtain began to rise.
“They hold this position for two minutes,” Jane chimed in, her voice delicate and refined, but laced with a hint of arousal. “No moving allowed.”
Shana drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “That must be torture.” Her eyes were glued to the screen. “In such an erotic way…”