Fear of Falling

“Flashlight batteries corrode if left too long unused.” He looked around at the shadows cast by the candle across the stone walls. “Besides, the candlelight adds a certain atmosphere, don’t you think?”

“Damn your atmosphere. Just get me out of here.”

“In a moment.” He turned to look into her eyes. They were black in the dim light, the pupils enlarged. She’d stopped shaking, her body warm against his. All his better judgment told him to move away and lead her to the door, but then, when had he ever let judgment rule his decisions? He was a man used to indulging his passion and right now he wanted to know if Natalie felt the heat simmering between them.

Slowly, half prepared for her to slap him away, he bent toward her, and covered her lips with his own.

She stiffened, and he held still, not pressing his advantage, waiting for her to decide how far this would go. Then her breath, like a whisper, escaped in the slightest sigh, and she relaxed against him, her eyes closed, her lips parted.

He pulled her closer still, the pressure of his lips on hers increasing. Her mouth was soft and sensuous; the velvet feel of it sent desire surging through him.

Her lips parted farther and he plunged his tongue between them, tasting a faint sweetness. She gripped his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin, and he shut his eyes, surrendering to the hot wanting that engulfed him. Every nerve was alive to the feel of her, the sweep of her tongue across his teeth, the points of her breasts pressed against his chest, the tiny moans of pleasure escaping from her throat.

Light flashed behind his closed eyes, and he opened them to see that power had been restored. Once more the electric torches flickered in their sconces.

Natalie pulled away. He resisted the urge to hold her and reluctantly released her. She pressed back against the wall, one hand to her lips, confusion warring with accusation in her eyes. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said, her voice breathy.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” He had expected her to, up until the moment her mouth opened to him, and he felt her body melt into his. He had the sense that Natalie was a woman who was used to denying herself, and that her brief surrender to him both horrified and fascinated her.

She looked away. “I wasn’t myself. I was upset. I—”

“Shhh.” He brushed her hair back from her forehead. She trembled at his touch, but didn’t push him away. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

“Of course I do.” She straightened and fixed him with a stern look. “I work for you. What just happened between us—”

“It was a kiss. You don’t have to be afraid to say it.”

Her cheeks were a deep pink, and he sensed her struggle to continue to meet his gaze. “It was highly unprofessional behavior,” she said.

He shrugged. “Sometimes it’s okay to do something simply because it feels right.” Kissing Natalie had felt more right than anything he’d done in a long while.

She shook her head. “I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t?” He grinned. “Then I’ll do my best to teach you.”

Her expression hardened and she marched past him, out the door. Her high heels sounded a sharp retort as she hurried up the stairs.

He followed at a slower pace, still on edge from that amazing kiss. Something was definitely going on between the two of them and though he’d never admit it out loud, this sudden and intense connection had left him every bit as unsettled as she was.

NATALIE STOPPED in the hallway outside the suite of offices and tried to regain her composure. Her lips still burned with the feel of Sartain’s mouth on hers and the memory of the fierce desire he’d raised in her left her shaking.

Was it the man himself or only the situation in which they’d found themselves that had affected her this way? She’d been shocked at her first sight of the dungeon—as he’d no doubt intended. Then she’d recognized the black humor of the moment—the juvenile fun of scaring oneself that made haunted houses and horror movies so popular.

She’d wondered about the connection between Sartain’s appreciation for the dungeon and his rumored sexual proclivities, and had been bold enough to ask him about it. His answer had stirred her more than she cared to admit. All his talk of the freedom to be gained by surrender spoke to her own longing to rebel against the restrictions she’d operated under all her life. Self-control and mastery over her own body had kept her safe when she was performing on the high trapeze, but how often had it held her back from the pure joy of her art?

Then the lights had flickered and the familiar terror had overtaken her. Vertigo made her head swim, as if she was falling, and a scream tore from her throat before she could bite it back. Part of her mind knew she was in no danger but that part held no sway over the fear that had been a fixture in her life since her accident.

She’d welcomed Sartain’s arms around her, so solid and comforting. His strength and calmness wrapped around her like a blanket. Then on the heels of her retreating panic came fierce desire, the need to revel in everything that made her feel so alive.

For a moment, in Sartain’s arms, she had glimpsed the ecstasy of abandon, every bit as exhilarating as her first leap into space from the trapeze tower.

And then the lights had flickered on, reminding her of the danger of falling, and she’d drawn back, shocked at her behavior, and at Sartain’s.

She tried to remain angry with him, to convince herself he’d taken advantage of her when she was in a vulnerable position. But the memory of the pull between them, of the powerful attraction that was almost outside of their control, dulled her rage. Sartain was a man with a known appetite for women, and she was a woman who hadn’t been with a man in a very long time. That alone was probably a powerful enough combination to create sparks.

“Natalie, I’ve been looking for you.”

Doug’s appearance at the end of the hallway startled her. She straightened her shoulders and pasted a smile on her face. “Hello, Doug. Sartain was just showing me the castle.”

Doug glanced past her, his expression gloomy. “He showed you the dungeon?”

She laughed, though the sound was forced and brittle even to her own ears. “He enjoys playing the eccentric, doesn’t he?”

Doug moved closer, frown lines etched deep on his forehead. “Are you all right? He didn’t try anything, did he?”

She shook her head, avoiding meeting Doug’s gaze. “Of course not.” Sartain hadn’t had to try very hard. She’d welcomed the kiss, welcomed the chance to explore the feelings he kindled in her. Never mind that doing so was wrong. She’d spent so many years always doing what was right, and what had that gotten her? Not love or happiness or any of the things she really wanted in life.

Doug gave her a fatherly pat on the shoulder. “If he does, you tell me. I’ll make sure he behaves. I’ve already warned him you’re not one of his models. You deserve his respect.”

And why is that? she thought silently, but refrained from saying as much. For as long as she could remember, Doug had tended to be overprotective of her, to the consternation of Gigi. “You’re my agent,” Natalie’s mother would say. “Why would you concern yourself with my little girl?”

Why indeed? Natalie had often wondered. In the end, she’d decided that Doug, who had never married, and who had no children of his own, saw her as someone on whom he could spend any stray paternal feelings.

However, she was certainly old enough now not to need his misplaced protection. “I can handle Sartain,” she said firmly. “I’m sure he won’t give me any problems.”

Whatever feelings she had for her boss, they were no doubt fueled by the novelty of her situation, a reaction to the unaccustomed freedom of living on her own for the first time ever. She’d soon get her feelings under control and behave in a more professional manner.

As for Sartain, she was sure he would soon find some model or other woman upon which to focus his attention. Someone who viewed his darker passions with more than curiosity.

AFTER LEAVING the dungeon, Sartain went to the orangery on the second floor. He hadn’t even known what this was until he’d spotted it on the plans for the castle. The architect had explained to him that the most ostentatious castles had these indoor solariums where tropical plants and even orange trees flourished year-round. At hideous expense, of course. It was one more way for the lord of the manor to show off his wealth.

Privately, Sartain had thought it a foolish conceit, but since he was working on establishing himself as a true eccentric, he’d ordered the architect to include every detail of a proper castle, including the orangery.

Doug found him bouncing a tennis ball off the brick floor and catching it. The mindless rhythm of the activity often stimulated his creativity. “I came to talk to you about the donation for the Young Artists’ Endowment Fund benefit,” Doug said without preamble.

Sartain caught the ball and held it, then greeted his agent. Doug Tanner had been with him since he was a penniless art student. He was a pain in the ass sometimes, but he’d been a first-rate agent, and those were rare enough in this business for Sartain to put up with Doug’s occasionally overbearing manner.

“I told them I’d donate something. No problem.”

“They don’t want one of your own works. They want something from your collection.”

He scowled. “What do you mean they don’t want something from my own works?”

“It’s the marketing angle for this year’s auction. Giving the public a glimpse into the artists’ own personal collections or something like that.” Doug folded him arms across his chest. “Besides, your stuff is a little too…edgy for them. After all, this is a Young Artists’ Endowment.”

“And my paintings are every adolescent male’s fantasies.” He began bouncing the ball again. “Fine. What should we send them?”

“You decide. Whatever it is, it will be worth a lot of money to them. You’ve built up quite a collection.”