Tangled Truth(28)

“They want to know if they can include this in the show.”

Slowly, she pulled the mounted photo into view and waited with obvious anxiety for Drew’s reaction.

His first reaction was that he had to have a copy for himself. The photo was not among the proofs he had reviewed for the book, and he could see why. Eva’s face was recognizable in profile, each delicate feature etched in sharp contrast against the black backdrop. She was quite obviously naked, or at least topless. Her back was completely bare. With her arms pulled back by the elaborate dragonfly tie, and her head and torso turned just slightly, the rounded edge of one breast was visible.

He had used, for the highly decorative tie, a wide red ribbon that matched the color of the silk robe swathing Eva’s hips; the bow at her wrists flowed into the fabric, making it look almost as though the robe itself were rising up in ribbons to bind her. Her hair was pulled back in a long braid that Sheila had cleverly worked to echo the pattern of the dragonfly binding. They had shot this series near the end, with promotional material or possibly even the cover in mind. The rope work was beautiful, the simple color scheme of the photo visually arresting.

But it was the look on Eva’s face that took Drew’s breath away. She had settled into the binding fully, spacing out to something like a trance state, and in the picture he could read every detail of bliss on her face as clearly as if he were still standing there admiring his handiwork. She looked as though a soul-deep contentment had overtaken her. One sleek strand of hair had slipped free of the braid, and it described a curve from her temple to her shoulder. The one element out of place might have marred the whole shot, but instead that single imperfect note somehow enhanced the beauty of the rest.

“It’s a masterpiece,” Drew said at last. “It would be a crime not to show it.”

“I know.” Eva had pulled the picture to the front of the stack, and she stood contemplating it with a closed expression. “I think it’s the best thing they’ve ever done. But.”

“But,” he agreed.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to be outed, Drew. I don’t even know if I want to label myself that way, much less hear it from other people.”

He couldn’t argue with her on that score. A few of their mutual friends knew Eva was standing in for Sheila as a model for the book, but nobody knew which shots were which. Nobody knew how far Eva had gone with it.

But anybody who knew the lifestyle, who knew Eva, would know at a glance that her participation in this photo had not been a mere favor to a friend. She had come alive within the binding, and the photograph glowed with her willing and joyful submission to that restraint. If it was part of the New Year’s Eve show, she would indeed be outed. Not only within the BDSM and art communities, but to anybody else who happened to attend what would likely be a fairly large gathering.

“You have six days to decide, I guess.”

Eva nodded and threw him a brief smile, but Drew’s heart sank as he contemplated the possible outcome of her decision. She knew he couldn’t do without the ropes, and from the sound of things, she might not be as ready as he’d hoped to embrace that side of her nature. He worried that this would not just be a decision about a photograph, but a decision about him.

* * * * *

“No, the food will all need to be set up along the very back wall, by the bar. Besides, cold as it is, stuff’s going to congeal if it’s sitting in this front room.”

Drew leaned on the reception counter, watching Eva as she ran briskly through the final arrangements for that evening’s festivities at the gallery. It was chilly indeed in the nearly empty space. But when the crowd arrived, he knew, the temperature would rise pretty quickly to something much more temperate.

Not wanting to distract her, he stifled a sigh along with the urge to play with the long curl of hair that had drifted over her shoulder. Still, Eva seemed to catch his impatience. She finished her phone call in short order and slid her cell into the tiny red satin pouch that served as her purse for the evening.

“I’m sorry I have to be dealing with all this last-minute stuff. The storm threw things off. You really don’t have to hang around, you can go do something more entertaining for a bit if you’d rather. I know this must be boring, and it’s another thirty minutes at least before people start to show up.” She had pulled her phone out to check the time but slid it firmly back into the bag as if reminding herself to leave it there. That was a concession to him, Drew knew; normally at show time minus half an hour, she’d have the cell glued to her ear and her omnipresent clipboard tacked to her hand as she multitasked her way through the final preparations.