Fear of Falling

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.”

“Thanks to you.” Doug was a renowned collector in his own right and he’d often advised Sartain on purchases.

Doug stepped around an arrangement of palm trees and stood beside Sartain. “I passed Natalie in the hall just now. She looked upset.”

“I don’t know what about.”

Doug glanced at him. “I thought maybe you’d said something to her. I was hoping you wouldn’t run her off the first day.”

“She’s not going to leave. She’s too tough for that.”

“How do you know?”

“She actually had me apologizing for an outburst this morning.” He held the ball and glared at Doug. “I never apologize.”

“Then I’m impressed. She might civilize you yet.”

“I’m more interested in making her a little less civilized. Less uptight, anyway.” He tossed the ball across the room. It landed at the base of a lime tree and sent a rain of leaves to the floor. “How did you happen to pick her for the job? There must be hundreds of business-school graduates you could have hired.”

“Her mother is an old family friend. I did it to help her, and also because I knew after years of dealing with Gigi, she’d know how to cope with you.”

“You make it sound like I’m a dog who needs to be trained.”

Doug smirked. “Your words, not mine.” His expression sobered. “You’re going to behave yourself with her, aren’t you, John? She’s not one of your models or actresses.”

“What, is she a virgin?” He laughed at Doug’s stern expression. “Natalie is an interesting person. If we’re going to be working together, I intend to get to know her better. How much better is entirely up to her.”

“She’s led a sheltered life,” Doug said. “She grew up with the performing company. She’s traveled all over the world, but she hasn’t really seen or done anything outside of the show.”

“All the more reason for me to share my reality with her. It could be a very eye-opening experience.” For both of them.

NATALIE PUSHED OPEN the door to the offices and found Laura waiting on the other side. “I’m glad you’re back,” Laura said. “I’ve been waiting to apologize for my behavior toward you earlier.” She stared at the floor, and shifted from foot to foot. “I guess I’m not very good at hiding my feelings. I was disappointed that I didn’t get your job, but now, after the way you handled Sartain this morning, I see why Doug hired you.”

The secretary’s new-found humbleness caught Natalie off guard, but she managed to nod. “Apology accepted.” She cleared her throat, composing her next words carefully. “It could be, too, that neither Doug nor Sartain wanted to give up a good assistant. I have almost no secretarial skills. The things they hired me for—writing catalog copy and press releases, negotiating with printers and shippers, and doing damage control with the press—will free you to focus more on managing Sartain’s schedule, taking care of supply orders and things like that. Can you show me what you’re working on this morning?”

“Sure.” Laura raised her head, smiling now. “The Young Artists’ Endowment Fund has asked for a donation for their charity auction.” She led the way to her desk and pulled up a file on the computer. “We’re sending a painting, so I have to find out which painting, then arrange for shipping and follow up to make sure we receive the proper paperwork for tax purposes.”

“Does Sartain often donate to charities?”

“Sometimes. He has a few causes he supports.” She glanced at Natalie. “He’s really a very generous man. What you saw before—that outburst—that’s just because his art is so important to him.”

Did she detect a note of adoration in Laura’s voice? Maybe her earlier ice princess routine was merely a cover for a serious crush on their employer. But was Sartain really generous? Not as self-centered as she’d thought?

“How was your tour of the castle?” Laura asked.

“It was all right.” Natalie was careful to keep her expression neutral. “It’s an impressive place.”

“Did he show you the dungeon?”

She started. Had someone seen them going in there, and perhaps wondered why they’d lingered so long? But Laura’s expression showed only mild curiosity.

“I take it it’s a regular stop on the tour.” Natalie made a face. “We were there when the lights went out.”

“There was a huge crash of thunder and they went out. Fortunately, the computers are on battery backup, so we didn’t lose anything.”

“Are there frequent power outages here?”

Laura shrugged. “Sometimes. When it storms. The electric co-op usually gets things up and running again quickly.”

“That’s good to know.” Natalie suppressed a shudder. She’d have to be sure to have a flashlight and candles within easy reach in her room. And maybe she’d refill the tranquilizers the doctor had prescribed. She didn’t like to take them, but sometimes that was the only way to keep the panic at bay.

“It’s almost lunchtime,” Laura said. “Would you like to eat together?”

Natalie checked her watch and was surprised to see it was a quarter to twelve. “I didn’t even think about lunch. I don’t guess you go out to eat much here, do you?”

Laura shook her head. “We don’t have to. The castle has a cook. And we have a covered patio with a gorgeous view.” She led the way to the combination break room/kitchen. “The cook keeps salad and sandwich fixings in here. And if you want anything special, you can call in an order to the kitchen and someone will deliver it here at lunchtime.”

“The perks of being wealthy,” Natalie said.

“The perks of working for someone who’s wealthy.” Laura opened the refrigerator and studied the contents. “How does salad sound? There’s chicken caesar today.”

“That sounds great,” Natalie said. She followed Laura out to a sheltered patio. The rain had stopped, and the clouds had parted to reveal a breathtaking view of a sun-washed valley framed by snow-capped peaks. “It looks like a postcard,” Natalie said.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Laura pulled two chairs up to a wrought-iron table and gestured for Natalie to sit. “I’ve seen deer and elk in the valley. And in the fall the aspens are spectacular.”

“Do you live here at the castle, too?” Natalie asked as Laura split the salad between two plates.

Laura shook her head. “Not in the castle like you. I’m in what I guess was meant to be a gardener’s cottage, at the back of the property. It’s tiny, but private.”

“How long have you worked for Sartain?” Natalie asked.

“Five months. I heard through another artist that Sartain was looking for office help and I applied for the job before it was even advertised.”

“Does he often have temper tantrums like the one I witnessed this morning?”

Laura giggled. “Temper tantrums? That’s a good way to describe them, I guess.”

“Talented, wealthy men and two-year-olds often have about the same level of self-control, I’ve noticed.” An acclaimed Chinese acrobat had spent one season with the Cirque du Paris. Having been pampered and catered to in his homeland, he continually chafed under the company’s strict rules. No one had been sorry to see him depart at the end of that year’s tour.

“I’d say he loses his temper over something about once a week,” Laura said. “Usually I shrug it off. I know he doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s only because he’s so passionate about his work.”

There was that adoring note again. Natalie picked at her salad. “That doesn’t give him the right to take his frustrations out on you,” she said.

“I guess not.” Laura’s eyes met Natalie’s. “Thank you for standing up for me this morning. He’s never apologized to anyone before.”

“Part of my job is to see that he acts like an adult about these things.” She frowned. “I’m supposed to bring some discipline into his life.”

“Then I’m really glad I didn’t get your job. The artists I’ve met don’t believe in discipline.”

“Do you know many artists?”

Laura shrugged. “A few. None as famous as Sartain. It’s a real privilege to get to work with him, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.”

“Of course, our little office probably seems pretty tame to you. Doug told me you worked with the Cirque du Paris. I saw a show once. It was incredible. What did you do there?”

“I was a high-trapeze performer. Not a star, but last season I worked with another woman and two men on one of the highlight pieces.” Her picture had been featured on one of the posters. Gigi had been torn between maternal pride and professional jealousy. In her younger years, Gigi’s face and figure had appeared regularly in advertisements for the show, but that had been seasons ago.

She pulled herself from her reverie, aware that Laura had been talking to her. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked what you thought of Sartain.”

“He’s a very talented artist. I see why his work sells so well.”

“I meant what did you think of him as a man. Some women think he’s very sexy.”

“He’s very good-looking. I also think he knows it and uses that to his advantage.” More than looks, Sartain had an animal sensuality that was undeniably attractive.

“He and I used to be lovers, you know. When I first came here.”

“Oh?” Natalie shifted in her chair, an uncomfortable tightness in her chest. “Used to be?”

“We split up when he wanted me to do some things I wasn’t comfortable with.” Laura leaned forward, her voice low. “He’s into some very kinky stuff.”

“So I gathered from his paintings.” Heat washed over Natalie as she remembered their discussion in the dungeon. What did it say about her that she was more fascinated than appalled by his kinkier interests?

“He can be very charming,” Laura said. “When he came on to me, I was so flattered. That was before I realized he treats all women that way. None of us really mean anything to him.” Her voice was heavy with regret.

“I’m surprised you continued working for him if he treated you badly,” Natalie said.

“Oh, but he didn’t treat me badly. Not really. He was just being…Sartain.” Laura spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “And it’s still something, getting to see him every day, you know?”

No, she didn’t know. Why would a woman like Laura—beautiful and obviously accomplished—cling to a man who had rejected her? “I’m sure there are other men who would treat you much better,” she said.

“Oh, I’m sure. And don’t think I’m still mooning over him like some silly schoolgirl.” Laura waved away the notion and attacked her salad once more. “I just think it’s important to have a role in supporting a great artist. It’s very gratifying, knowing I’m helping the world to know and appreciate his work.”

Was this woman for real? Natalie studied her coworker, but Laura’s expression seemed sincere enough. Maybe she was some kind of art groupie, like the young women who followed rock groups. “I’d say Sartain is very lucky to have someone so loyal on his staff,” she said.

“The work really is interesting,” Laura said. “You’ll see. Just don’t make the mistake I did and get involved with him personally.”

“Oh, of course not.” Natalie busied herself folding her napkin and sweeping up crumbs from the table. “I’m certainly not interested in Sartain as anything more than an employer,” she said. Liar.

But having an interest and acting on it were two different things. She knew too well the danger of abandoning oneself to desire.

4

BY FOCUSING on work, Natalie was able to put thoughts of her disturbing encounter with Sartain in the dungeon out of her mind. It helped that the artist himself stayed away from her. He spent long hours in his studio, finishing one commission and beginning another. Natalie was left to settle into her office and sort through the surprisingly complex workings of Sartain Enterprises.

In addition to privately commissioned work for collectors, Sartain had a lucrative sideline producing CD covers for various rock musicians. He also had his own line of T-shirts, calendars, playing cards and other items that were featured on a Web site and in a semi-annual catalog. A separate catalog was produced quarterly to showcase his fine art paintings and prints, which were handled exclusively by a gallery in Denver.

Friday, at the end of her first week on the job, Natalie was reviewing copy for the upcoming fine-art catalog when Laura hurried into her office. “He wants to see you,” she said.

“What?” Natalie looked up from the copy, momentarily dazed. “Who wants to see me?”

“Sartain. He wants you in his studio right away.”

She frowned, tempted to make him wait until she’d finished the task at hand. Then again, he was her boss. That entitled him to a more prompt response to his summons. She pushed back her chair. “Then I’d better go see what he wants.”

She hurried along the corridor and up the stairs to Sartain’s studio. Had he suddenly come up with an idea for a new project, or did he have something more personal to say to her?

She stopped outside the door to the studio and knocked.

“Come in!”

She pushed open the door and came face to face with a naked woman.

Not completely naked, she realized, when she’d somewhat recovered from the shock. The well-endowed blonde was draped in a diaphanous swath of coral silk which highlighted, rather than hid, her full breasts and the triangle of pale curls over her mons. She was reclining on the fainting couch, arms extended over her head, eyes fixed on Sartain with a look of raw wanting.

Natalie quickly looked away, a hot flush of embarrassment engulfing her. “Come in, Natalie,” Sartain said. “Monique, you can take a break now. Go downstairs and ask Laura to fix you some coffee.”

“Okay.” Monique pulled on a thick, floor-length robe and shoved her feet into a pair of red satin mules. She glanced at Natalie as she shuffled past, her expression bland.

“Come see my newest work.” Sartain beckoned Natalie to the easel.

The painting was still in its early stages, but the subject matter was clear: Monique was reclining on the couch as Natalie had seen, but Sartain had painted in two men with her, one black, one white. The black man’s head was bent over one of Monique’s breasts while the white man caressed her thigh.

The scene summoned a throbbing between Natalie’s own thighs. Once she had been part of a performance at the Cirque du Paris called “Menage.” She had been the centerpiece, the moving partner passed between two men who remain fixed on opposite trapeze towers. The costumes, lighting and music had all been designed with overtly sexual overtones, and the message had been of a woman both pleasured by and at the mercy of the two men.

As a performer, Natalie had reveled in the demands and the attention the piece had brought her. As a woman, she’d found herself aroused by the idea of not one, but two lovers wanting to please her. Of course, the feelings had never gone further than the privacy of her own room. One of her partners was gay, the other happily married.

But here was her private fantasy in rich color and bold lines on canvas.

“When someone stares like that and doesn’t say anything, I can’t decide if they hate the work or if they’re stunned by my genius.” Sartain’s words broke through her reverie.

“Oh, it’s…it’s beautiful.” She studied the painting more closely, searching for something specific to comment on, something about his technique or choice of colors, or anything other than the subject matter. Her gaze fixed on the white male again, and recognition shot through her. “That’s you!” she said, pointing to the figure.

He laughed. “A particular conceit of mine. And I save the cost of a model, using myself.” He pointed a paintbrush at the figure of the black man. “That’s me, too. My darker side, as it were.”

She glanced back at him, sure he expected her to laugh at his joke, but unable to see the mirth of the situation. Remembering the look on Monique’s face, she wondered if the two of them were lovers. It wouldn’t be surprising, considering his reputation.

She tried to ignore the tightness in her chest that made it hard to breathe. His personal life was none of her concern, so she shouldn’t waste her time speculating about it. “Laura said you wanted to see me,” she said.

“Yes.” He turned away and began cleaning the paintbrush. “I’ll be attending the Young Artists’ Endowment Fund auction Saturday night and I want you to accompany me.”

She blinked. “Me? Why?”

The sharp tang of turpentine stung her nose as he wiped the brush clean on a rag. He turned to face her again. “Because I don’t want to go alone. Because it will give us a chance to know each other better.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to socialize.”

“Why not? Do you find me repulsive?”

“No, of course not.” She flushed. “I mean, you’re my employer. I think we should keep things between us on a professional level.”

“Ah. That again. So was that a professional kiss we shared in the dungeon?”

Damn her inability to keep from blushing around him! “A gentleman wouldn’t bring that up again.”

“Whatever led you to believe I’m a gentleman?” His tone was teasing. Before she could think of an answer, his expression sobered. “In any case, this is not a social invitation. I want you to come to the auction with me so that you’ll have the opportunity to meet some of the major players in the local art world. You’ll need to know them if you want to do a good job as my business manager.”

She couldn’t say no now, could she? First, he’d unsettled her by reminding her of the physical attraction between them, then he’d pleaded business concerns to force her to accompany him.

“The dinner’s at seven, with the auction afterward. Dress is formal,” he continued, not waiting for her answer. “Did you bring something suitable with you?”

“Yes.” She crossed her arms over her chest, resigned now to doing this. “I’ll look forward to meeting some of your colleagues.”

“I don’t think of them as colleagues. I think of them as competition.” He turned back to the painting. “This is for the cover of an erotic novel,” he said. “A new venture for me. It could lead to a lucrative sideline.” He picked up a brush and added a bit of shading to the side of the female figure’s breast. “When you go back downstairs, send Monique up here again. I want to finish roughing this in while the light is still good.”

So she was dismissed. His sudden strictly professional attitude had her more off guard than his flirtatious persona. Was that his intention—to keep her constantly unsteady, vulnerable to giving up whatever it was he wanted from her?

Or was this another way to make her think about what she wanted from him? Like the woman in the painting and the role she’d played in “Menage,” would she dictate the terms of their relationship, or surrender to what she really wanted?

SARTAIN DABBED at the painting, but his thoughts were on Natalie. Her insistence on keeping things strictly business between them was prudent and wise—but he wasn’t a man accustomed to either quality in himself or in most of those with whom he associated.

It was why Doug had hired her, of course, to act as a brake on Sartain’s freewheeling approach to life. He doubted his agent had counted on how much Natalie’s cool and lovely exterior would fire Sartain’s passions. There was something within her that called to him, so that when he was with her he felt both more settled and more stirred up. The idea both intrigued and alarmed him. Superficial physical relationships were one thing, but he’d known within seconds of meeting her that Natalie would demand much more.