Release (2 page)

An hour after
Ryann had called AAA, the car service dropped her off outside the warehouse in
SoHo that housed The M Gallery.  She entered through the doors and walked
into the wide open space with white walls and stained concrete floors. The
columns that separated the area were made of Italian marble, and elegant
lighting illuminated the huge room. 

She was giddy
with excitement.  The M Gallery was known for presenting post-war and
contemporary art, and Ryann felt in her element since that was her focused area
of study.

She walked over
to the coat check and checked her trench coat and umbrella, and then
immediately looked around for the restroom. Nothing like meeting the beautiful
people, and looking like a drowned rat, she thought dryly.  She made a
beeline to the back corner, and walked into the ladies’ room.

The bathroom was
great.  A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, while exposed brick on
the walls contributed to the eclectic appearance.  The white marble sinks
were works of art all on their own, and were accessorized with high end
fixtures.  Whoever owned the gallery had impeccable taste. 

She took one
look at her face, and winced.  Digging through her purse, she found her
compact and lip gloss, and started repairing the damage.  Her naturally
wavy auburn hair was still secured in its loose topknot, and was artfully
sexy.  And she had a nice flush to her cheeks, but she absolutely needed
to powder her nose, to hide the sprinkling of freckles that stood out. 
Re-applying gloss to her full lips, she glanced at her light hazel eyes to see
if any of the mascara on her already long dark eyelashes was running. 

Nope. 
Still good.

She straightened
her cream colored pencil skirt, and smoothed down the sleeveless fitted
burgundy top that fit her curvy but petite figure perfectly.  Then she
spun her foot on its toe, and checked out her shoes.  Brian Atwood taupe
suede peep toe pumps, with a gold textured design overlay.  Fortunately,
they had survived the rain thanks to her umbrella...which was good, since she
practically had to take out an insurance policy when she bought them.

She
sighed.  Shoes were definitely her vice.

She looked at
herself in the mirror, wistfully thought of Hot Limo Man once more, and let go
of a deep breath.

After one last
glance at herself, she opened the door to head back into the main part of the
gallery.  Time to look at the art...and she couldn’t wait.

It was about
10:30pm, but there were still a good 40-50 people there, and the champagne was
still flowing.  She swooped a glass from a passing waiter, and took a
sip.  Now that she knew she would be taking a car home, she was going to
enjoy the evening, and relax a little with a drink.  She started looking
for a waiter with food, knowing that if she didn’t eat something along with the
alcohol, the champagne would go straight to her head.

Raising the
glass to her lips, she paused, feeling a tingle start down at her toes, snaking
its way up her body to settle right between her legs. 

Mmm.  She
had had the same response when Hot Limo Man had looked at her.  She looked
at her champagne glass.  If this stuff made her feel this way every time
she drank it, she would have to ask one of the waiters what brand of champagne
it was. 

Then, still
smiling, she glanced up, and the tingle intensified, causing her nipples to
stand at attention, and a warm wetness to dampen in her thong.  The rate
of her breathing began to accelerate. 

Because Ryann
had just discovered the reason for her tingle, and holy shit, it wasn’t the
champagne.

There, across
the room, staring at her, was Hot Limo Man.  She could.  Not. 
Believe it. 

And boy, was he
tall!  He was easily three inches over six feet, making him nearly a foot
taller than she was.  He was standing in the midst of a group of people,
one hand holding a drink, while the other was in his pocket. 

And he was
looking right at her.

That lazy half
smile on his lips, the heated stare that seemed to go right through her. 
His expression was one of recognition and interest, his eyes blatantly
traveling the length of her body, then back up to her eyes.  He downed the
rest of his drink, and placed the empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter,
then, still meeting her eye, began walking toward her.

She immediately
became flustered.  She had no idea what her facial expression was at the
moment, but she had no doubt it was probably one of surprise and nerves, and
beet red in color.

From the
distance between them, she couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, but there was
no doubt that they were darkened with intent. 

She swallowed,
and let her eyes skitter away.  When she glanced back up, he was being
detained by a middle aged woman.  He looked up at Ryann for a moment, then
looked back at the woman who had stepped in his path and continued talking,
smiling politely.

In the split
second she had made eye contact with him, she had noted a myriad of
details.  He was scary good looking.  Dressed impeccably in a slim
fitting charcoal gray suit, he had on a crisp light blue button down shirt
under it, the top two buttons undone. 

And that
smile.  Lethal.

Knowing she only
had a moment or two of reprieve, she nervously looked down, and licked her
lips…then took a huge gulp of champagne.  

It’d been a long
time since someone had checked her out.  Ever since Brent had passed away,
she’d been so focused on her career and school, that she’d killed her sexual
urges.  It had only been in the last several months that she started to
really miss it.  The arousal, the build of excitement.  She had
finally invested in a vibrator to help her get her mojo back.  Though it
certainly helped in that department, there was always guilt after using
it.  She would come, but then would miss Brent with such an acute
sharpness, that she always hesitated before using her battery operated boyfriend
again.

Quite frankly,
it sucked.  She missed sex.  She was still working through the
confusing feelings of guilt and grief. 

And at that
moment, she realized it had been
forever
since she had been turned on
just from a man’s stare.  She couldn’t remember a time when she had ever
been so quickly aroused. 

She was
embarrassed to realize she wasn’t sure what to do with it.  If Ayanna had
been with her, she would totally be laughing at her right now.  Then she
would tell her to get her ass over there and introduce herself, exclaiming it
was about time for her to get back into the game.  ‘Game’ being the
operative word.  

Actually, now
that she thought about it, Ayanna would probably tell her to be coy.  Play
hard to get.  Walk around the room a little, add a little more sway to her
hips, and make eye contact with him a few more times to see what kind of move
he’d make.  If there was anything Ayanna knew how to do, it was how to
hook a man.  Yup, for Ayanna, the dating ritual was an art form.  For
her, it was complete misery.

Ryann hated the
thought of dating again.  She didn’t play the game well at all.  She
was a straight shooter, always had been, and found it difficult to flirt. 
She was a girly girl through and through when it came to clothes, makeup, and
shoes.  But when it came to flirting, it exhausted her trying to
anticipate the guy’s next move.  With Brent, it had been so easy.  It
had been a love built on a growing friendship and mutual respect for one
another.  It was always comfortable.  Not that he didn’t turn her
on.  Of course he did.  It was just…easy.

At that moment,
a waiter who looked to be in his late teens passed by, and she stopped him
briefly to snag the last piece of bruschetta from his tray. 

“Hi,” she smiled
as she stopped him with her hand.  “Can I grab that last piece of
bruschetta please?”  Then the waiter looked at her, and she
exclaimed,  “Robbie?!”

“Mrs. T?! 
Holy shit!  Ooh, sorry.”  He looked around to make sure no other
guests heard his outburst.  “What are you doing here?” he asked
incredulously.

“I could ask the
same of you!  You’re working here tonight?”  Robbie had been one of
her best students at the Academy until he graduated a year ago.  He was one
of the more well-adjusted students at the school for privileged youth, mainly
because his parents were grounded in reality...unlike most of the other
parents.  His next comment proved her recollection correct.

“Yeah.”  He
chuckled then said, “My dad says, and I quote, ‘the youth of today has an
overdeveloped sense of entitlement, especially those who come from homes like
yours.’”  He smirked.  “He wants me to work from the bottom up like
the rest of the world,” he said with an eye roll.

Ryann laughed,
remembering Robbie’s father as a distinguished, but jovial man with a bit of
prankster thrown in.  “Well, he may have a point there.  Although
don’t knock what you’re doing tonight.  People in the service industry
work their butts off, and it’s an honorable profession.  You’ll appreciate
your dad more when you’re older and realize he’s right,” she said with a
twinkle in her eye.

“So, you’re here
to see the art pieces, huh?”

“Yeah. 
Tabitha Lowe is one of my favorite artists.  Her stuff is amazing, don’t
you think?”

“She
is
amazing.  Naturally, because she’s my aunt,” he said proudly.

“What?!” Ryann
nearly choked.  “Are you kidding me?  How did I not know that?!”

“Guess it never
came up.  Yeah, she’s my mom’s older sister.  You wanna meet her?”

“I would
love
to. I can’t believe this!  I don’t want to get you in trouble
though.  Do you have a break coming up?”

“It’s no
problem.  Let me just get the next tray of food, and then I’ll walk you
over to her.  I’ve mentioned you to her, actually.”  Then his cheeks
flushed, as if he was sorry he said anything.

“Really?”

“Well,
yeah.  You know whenever the family got together and they asked about
school, and stuff.”  He cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed. 
“I would tell them your class was my favorite.”

“That’s a sweet
thing to say, Robbie.  Thanks for that.  Your year’s been good?”

“Yeah, I’ve
finished my first year at Yale and now I’m working this summer for my sister’s
catering company.  She’s the caterer doing the show tonight.”

“Nice! 
Keeping it all in the family, I see.  Are your parents here, then?  I
would love to say hi to them.”

Robbie looked
around and then pointed out where Mr. and Mrs. Callahan were standing.

“Awesome. 
I’m gonna go say hi right now.”

“Ok.  I’ll
go get my next tray of food, and find you.”

“Got it. 
Thanks, Robbie.” 

As he walked
away, she ate the bruschetta quickly, and brushed her hands on the
napkin.  She glanced back in the direction where Hot Limo Man had stood
moments earlier, but he was no longer there. 

Shit. 
Where had he gone?  Knowing that he was here at the same event was an
amazing coincidence.  She was nervous and giddy at the prospect of him
being in the same room with her, as well as the potential of him seeking her
out. 

She shook her
head.  She was acting like a 13 year old, and she needed to get it
together.  She was seriously out of practice, and to be honest, she wasn’t
even sure if she was ready to jump back into the dating pool anyway.  But
God, did it feel great to have a good looking guy look at her that way. 

She
sighed.  Well, she was there to meet one of the greatest artistic talents
in all of Manhattan, so it was time to get to it, she supposed. 

She turned
around to where Robbie’s parents had been standing...

And bumped right
into Hot Limo Man.

She turned so
abruptly, they nearly collided.  Just as she was about to spill her drink,
he steadied her hand with his.

“I got you,” he
said quietly. 

Green.  His
eyes were green.  The perfect color to go with his delicious scent, a warm
musky fragrance, like the woods and spice.

She blinked a
few times, cleared her throat, and let her eyes dance away from his, then back
to his gaze.  “Excuse me.  I didn’t realize anyone was standing so
close.” 

“Not a
problem.  I would happily collide with you any time,” he said huskily.

She laughed
nervously.

He looked
amused.  “It looks like we meet again.”

“Yes.  What
a coincidence.”

“It is
indeed.” 

Ryann cleared
her throat again, and smiled.  “Thank you again for offering me a ride
before.  Who knew we were going to the same place?”

“Had I known I
would have insisted you accept my offer.”

She swallowed,
and nodded.  She had no idea what to say, so she cleared her throat and
went with “Well, thanks for saving me from the dry cleaning bill.”  She
held up her champagne, then started to turn away.  She could hear Ayanna
screaming,
what the hell is wrong with you?! 
She was such a
friggin’ coward.

“You don’t see
guests fraternizing with the wait staff very often.”

She turned
back.  That got her attention.  What was that supposed to mean? 
“No?  I suppose not.  But since waiters and waitresses selflessly
give of themselves to serve others, I think they deserve to be treated with
respect, and not like they’re part of the wallpaper.  I was just making
polite conversation.”

“Well, I
wouldn’t say that all of their giving is selfless.  They
are
getting paid.”

Even though he
had a point, she thought it was a conceited comment.  She was strangely
disappointed.  Maybe he was just another rich guy, with a pretty
face.  He did arrive in a limo, after all.

“I’m just saying
it’s a worthy profession.  I think highly of people who choose hospitality
for their careers.  Serving others is very noble.”

“I agree,” he
murmured with an amused look.

Surprised by his
agreement, she paused.  She couldn’t figure this guy out.

“Well,
then.”  Ryann cleared her throat.  Again.  What should she do
now?  “If you’ll excuse me, I was on my way to meet up with someone.”

He stopped her
with his hand on her elbow, and expertly steered her toward one of the
paintings.  “You’re not here with anyone.”

Caught off guard
by his comment, and his grasp on her arm, she stumbled slightly and looked up
at him.  Even with her five foot, four inch frame and her three inch heels,
she felt tiny.  He was so tall.  He continued to lead her toward a
piece where no one was standing at the moment, as she tried to extricate
herself from his gentle but firm hold on her arm. 

She blinked, and
looked at his hand at her elbow.  Geez.  Arrogant much?  
How did he know she wasn’t meeting someone?   She sensed that air of
entitlement Robbie’s father spoke of so aptly.  It was obvious Hot Limo
Man was used to the finer things in life.  It also looked like he expected
to get what he wanted.  Perhaps Mr. Tall, Dark, and Conceited should have
a talk with Mr. Michael Callahan, Sr.?

As if reading
her mind, he said, “Obviously, I know you didn’t come with anyone.”  Once
they stopped, he looked right into her eyes, and she noticed his gaze moving
down to her lips, then back up to her eyes again. “You’re here alone,” he said
with a knowing look in his eyes.

She looked away,
and began to feel that throbbing between her legs again.  Her mind was
racing, not to mention her pulse.  She was starting to get pissed. 
“Maybe I was meeting someone
here,
” she said between gritted teeth with
an overly sweet smile.

He smiled as if
he knew some deep, dark secret.  “You haven’t had much of a chance to see
the paintings.  I’ll walk you around.”

“Although I
appreciate it, Mr. -?”

“Jeremy.”

“Mr. Jeremy, I…”

“No.  My
first name is Jeremy.”

“Oh.”  This
guy had her brain turning to mush.  “Well, Jeremy... thank you for
offering to escort me around, but I really do need to…”

“What do you
think of this painting here?”

She tried to get
her bearings.  The man was so good looking, he twisted her insides into
knots, and made her so nervous.

And he was still
holding her arm.

She took a deep
breath, and began to study the painting.  She was immediately drawn to the
scene, sucked into the canvas.  Tabitha’s medium was oil, and most of her
paintings depicted landscapes seen throughout New York City.  But one of
the abilities she was known for was how she was able to bring a nostalgia to
the scenes.  Sometimes she would paint people in the scenes, but often
times they were only silhouettes.  However, even the silhouettes expressed
a feeling that contributed to the mood of the piece’s milieu, as in the piece
they were appreciating right now. 

It was entitled
Release
,
showing a wooded section of Central Park at twilight.  In the painting it
was raining, much as it was that very night.  But what made it feel…
sensual, even erotic, in some ways, was the lone woman standing off to the side
on the paved pathway.  Her face was to the sky, her arms stretched out low
by her hips, with the rain pouring down onto her face.  Around her, steam
was rising up off of the asphalt.  The woman looked utterly alone. 
And she was struggling to release an eternity of weight she had been carrying
in life. 

“It’s
private.  Personal.”

Jeremy looked
down at her, while his fingers played at the tender spot on the inside of her
elbow.   He still hadn’t let her go.  Momentarily pulled back to
reality, the nerve endings under his fingers began to tingle, shooting straight
to her breasts, ended lazily around her very erect nipples.  She could
feel her eyes starting to glaze over.

He stroked one
last time, then let go.  Realizing that the spell he was weaving was
causing her muscles to go lax, she quickly gripped her champagne glass a little
tighter, which had just begun to slip from her hand.

“Hmm.  I
didn’t mean to pry, I just thought you might want to give your opinion on the
piece.”  He sounded disappointed.

Huh? 
Oh.  “No.  I wasn’t talking about
me
.  That
was
my
observation.  In the painting, the woman is having a private and personal
moment.  There’s a loneliness there, as if she’s trying to gather her
strength to move on.  She’s reaching for it.”

“Ah.  I misunderstood.” 
He continued to burn his gaze into her.  “I actually see it as a moment of
bravery on her part.  She’s finally overcome…something… and surrenders to
the freedom of this blissful moment, regardless of how many others may be
watching her in the park.  It’s aptly named.”

She looked back
at the painting, and sure enough, there were other silhouettes on the pathway
in the forefront and the background.  But the woman paid them no
mind.  Neither had Ryann; she hadn’t even noticed them.  She was too
focused on the woman. 

She felt a flush
begin to heat her face.  She didn’t know why, but for some reason she felt
as if she had been caught in a vulnerable moment.  You didn’t need a
psychology degree to know that she had just projected her own life’s journey
onto the woman on the canvas.  Since Brent’s death, but most recently in
the last couple of months, she had wished that she could move past her own
loneliness and guilt to fully live again. 

The fact that
Jeremy saw bravery in the woman, gave her a strange sense of hope.  If
only she could be brave enough to get to her own moment of release. 

“But it also
makes me think of chocolate.”  He continued to look at her, with an
innocent look on his face, as if gauging her reaction, waiting for her response.

Thankful for the
lightening of the mood, she raised her eyebrow up at him.  “Chocolate?”

“Mmm.”

He shifted more
toward her, his right hand now circling her back.  How had the mood gone
from lighthearted to sensual in a split second?  She swallowed.  With
his other hand, still holding his drink, he directed her gaze back to the
painting.  He leaned in closer to her ear, and his voice took on a husky
quality.  He casually settled his hand at the small of her back. 
Meanwhile the air sizzled around her.  She could feel her body
warming.  Like… melting chocolate.

“Look at her
face.  Her mind is drifting back to recall a powerful memory.  A
moment of release, like savoring a decadent piece of chocolate truffle after
days of dieting.” 

She laughed
shakily.  God.  For some reason, her mind flashed to images of slow,
grinding sex. 

This man was
good.

“Or maybe,” he
continued with his voice dropping lower, leaning in a little closer so only she
could hear him, “she’s thinking of a lover.  Pouring warm chocolate onto
every inch of her body.  Every luscious curve.  He lavishly drizzles
it on her, and she lies there, bound to the bed, her body trying to bow up to
meet the slow drip of that dark, warm sweetness.  Then he slowly slides
his tongue over each part of her, taking special care to lap up every...
last... drop.”