PeakExperience

Peak Experience

Rachel Kenley

Lena Crane wants one night with a
sexy stranger to help her remember the woman she used to be and forget the
serious possibility of losing her company. Something to get her creative and
sexual juices going. In the arms of a young artist, she does just that.

Unfortunately, Daniel turns out to
be anything but a stranger. Daniel Royer met Lena when he was fifteen and she
was twenty-eight. When art became his career, he wanted to share his first
gallery opening with the woman who introduced him to the field. He didn’t
expect the intense night they shared, but now that he’s gotten her into his
bed, Daniel wants Lena in his life.

Lena isn’t interested in getting involved
with a younger man, especially during a professional crisis. But a potentially
lucrative client loves Daniel’s work and Lena must collaborate with him if she
wants to save her company. And when their hot fling becomes more, she finds
herself fighting for something far more important than her business—her heart.

Chapter One

“You need a night of multiple orgasms.”

Lena Crane looked up at her friend and business partner,
Michelle Fulton, and couldn’t keep the startled look off her face. “I need
what?”

“You heard me.”

“Heard, yes. Understood, no. What makes you say that?”

“Besides the fact I know you haven’t been out on a date in
months? The way you’re staring at the postcard you’re holding. I know it can’t
be for the Jaffe account. You have this look of yearning on your face, which is
not what an insurance company usually inspires. You look like you need a long
trip away from it all. Or, as I said, a night—or more—of multiple orgasms.”

“You know as well as I do that long trips away are not an
option,” Lena said.

“And we’re back to my recommendation about the orgasms.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Well we should be. What is that anyway?” Michelle settled
into the chair opposite Lena’s desk.

“It’s an invitation.” She handed it to her friend. “I received
one at home too. It’s for a showing at the Wagner Gallery. Can’t imagine what
mailing list I got added to.”

“It’s gorgeous and the design is very dramatic. This,”
Michelle flipped the card over for the information, “Daniel Royer has serious
talent. You going to go? Wait, don’t answer. I already know what you’re
thinking. You’re busy. You can’t.”

“How do you know what I’m going to say?”

“Because it’s what you always say. Lena, you are forty…”

“Passed it,” Lena corrected. As of last week, her forty-first
birthday was less than six months away. Not that she cared. Much.

Michelle continued, hardly pausing, “Gorgeous, at your
sexual peak—”

“Passed it.”

“Then use it or lose it, sunshine, because you’re hiding
behind work. I don’t care how many old friends you connect with on Facebook.
Instant messaging and endless games of Bejeweled are not a social life.”

Lena winced at the truth of the statement and fought back
with logic. “I can’t think about this with the company in crisis. You know as
well as I do we need new clients and referrals or we are going to be either
downsizing or closing our doors for good. We’re the owners. We need to stay
focused.” As one of the principals of Crane and Fulton, Lena had created her
perfect job. Her company with Michelle was a dream come true and for the first
six years, things had gone very well. She thought they were going to beat the
bad economy, but the last twelve months were one nightmare after another.
Clients’ budget cuts and a lack of new business were threatening everything.
And that was not acceptable. She’d had enough failure in her life—this was not
going to be another.

“You need to relax and get out, Lena. If your creativity
dries up like your sex life where will our company be? You haven’t gone on a
real date in over a year and a three-month relationship doesn’t deserve a
twelve-month mourning period.”

Lena said nothing. It was mostly true, although not her
mourning the last man in her life. She was well and truly over him, but not
what he said about her being cold and unresponsive. It still stung because he
wasn’t the first to say he was disappointed with her in bed, telling her she
was too reserved. It was one of the things thrown at her in anger by her
ex-husband at the end of their short marriage twelve years ago. He claimed she
acted as though she was thinking about being excited instead of allowing
herself to be. The years of her supposed sexual prime didn’t mean anything
different for her other than going through double-A batteries more frequently
and having vivid fantasies of a stranger who found her sexy and seductive and
reveled in finding new ways to please her.

“Come on, Lena, let’s go. You need to get out, and you need
to get laid. If it makes it easier, tell yourself you’re scouting him as a
potential new artist for future campaigns. You can accept that as a reasonable
rationalization, right? You’ll find a hot guy who will pretend to know art in
the hopes of seducing you, and you’ll let him.”

“I couldn’t do that.”

“You can. And you will. There’s nothing ailing you a few
orgasms won’t fix.”

Lena laughed in spite of herself. “You really believe that,
don’t you?”

“Sunshine, it’s my personal philosophy. And if I’m
wrong…you’ll still have enjoyed those orgasms so what’s the problem? By the end
of the week you’ll need and deserve a night out. We’re going if I have to
forcibly drag you.”

“Okay, okay,” Lena agreed, knowing arguing wasn’t going to
help. “Now let me get back to work.” She shooed her friend out the door with a
wave.

Instead of opening the Jaffe file, Lena stared at the
postcard. The image of the soaring female phoenix was vivid and decidedly sexy.
Something in the woman’s expression made Lena want to change places with her.
The phoenix looked powerful, passionate and free, qualities Lena knew were missing
from her life. It scared her to be faced so blatantly with this painful
contrast yet she couldn’t stop staring at the erotic picture or completely
ignore what it stirred in her. It reminded her of a time when—

Lena shook her head to clear the distracting thoughts. With
any luck Michelle would forget or Lena could claim a deadline was keeping her
busy. As plausible excuses ran through her mind, she frowned since it proved
Michelle right. She’d become one of those single women who focused on work
rather than play. Women she’d made fun of when she was in her twenties, certain
she’d never be like them. She opened her planner and tucked the postcard
inside, writing the event in pen at the appropriate time. She was going.

* * * * *

Unfortunately, by the end of the day on Friday, she wasn’t
sure she was getting out of the office all weekend, let alone for the night.
She was so involved in having everything polished and perfected for the
presentation she and her team were making to Jaffe Insurance, she answered her
phone without checking the caller ID.

“Lena Crane, how can I help you?”

“Well, you can start by telling me when we’re going to see
you next. Are you coming for the faire?” Janice Crane’s distinctive, melodic
voice was warm and engaging, but that’s not what Lena heard.

“Mom, hi.”
Damn
. Serves her right for reaching for
the little ringing menace and not looking. No matter what she said, the next
twenty minutes were lost. “How are things?” The open-ended question should buy
her time to finish what she was working on. A few well-placed monosyllables,
and her mom would ramble on for a while.

After going through what was happening for her, her father
and Lena’s brothers, Janice finally asked, “So, what’s new with you,
Thumbelina?”

She shook her head involuntarily. Being six inches shorter
than the shortest person in her family was not fair. Her father and brothers
broke six feet, her mom three inches below. They were long and willowy. She,
short and curvy, a gift inherited from her maternal grandmother. The nickname
her older brother gave her when she was seven stuck for over thirty years. “Not
a lot. Work is crazy, everyone here is stressed, and Michelle and I are going
to an opening at a gallery tonight.”
What the heck is wrong with me?
Her
second slip in a few minutes. She better concentrate on the conversation or she
would tell her mother she was considering a one-night stand.

“That sounds wonderful. Who’s the artist?”

“I can’t remember. No one I’ve heard of, but the postcard
was interesting and since we’ve been working a lot of late nights, Michelle
thought we should check out the party.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to a gallery and you don’t
know whose work is showing. There was a time when that was important to you.”

She cringed and made a face at the receiver. She hoped to
bypass this conversation, but clearly it wasn’t going to happen. “It’s a simple
night out, Mom.”

“It could be you, should be you, Lena, having an opening of
your own, and stop making faces just because I can’t see them.” Lena stared at
the phone as if it were alive. “I know you too well not to know the expression
you’re wearing. You should be making art and sharing it with the world. You’re
brilliant.”

Lena hated this topic. She’d rather discuss her love life—or
lack thereof—than her artistic choices—or lack thereof. She rubbed a hand over
her eyes, glad she brought makeup with her for the evening, because whatever
she applied this morning was gone. “Mom, we’ve been over this countless times.
I tried to show my pieces and it didn’t work.”

“You tried once, and it was almost fifteen years ago at a
series of shared exhibits that were poorly attended.”

“And poorly reviewed,” she said, feeling the ache of an old
wound. Outsiders saying whatever they wanted about her work, not realizing
there was a person behind what was hung on the walls. It was a nightmare and
thanks to the fact that her mother never let her forget, it was a recurring
one.

Undaunted, Janice continued. “Why you let it stop you is
beyond me.”

Because it hurt too much, Lena remembered. She’d rather have
her heart broken repeatedly over love than risk exposing her soul through her
art. “It didn’t stop me. It gave me a new direction. I love my work here and
lots of people see my art.” Her mother snorted. “Yes, I realize you don’t consider
it art, but I do, and it matters to me.”

“Lena, darling, I’m not saying it doesn’t matter.”

It was time to change the subject and use a little white
lie. “Mom, Michelle just walked in the door and tapped her watch. I have to
change before we go, so I need to say good night.”

“You’re not fooling me,” her mother said succinctly. “Or
yourself, but I’ll let it pass if you answer my earlier question. Are we going
to see you at the spring fey festival?”

Lena cringed. She forgot festival season was beginning. As a
well-known and multi-published children’s author and illustrator, her mom told
stories to guests at the event while Lena’s father, Tom, a folk singer, acted
the part of a strolling minstrel and occasionally set her mother’s stories to
music. They were a rare couple who prospered financially and creatively doing
what they loved most. When she was little, Lena thought her parents magical and
believed she was their fairy princess. She would dress in beautiful costumes
with wings, a crown and a wand helping to entice kids and their parents to come
and sit for the show, but the older she became, the less magic she saw.

Traveling to fairs and book signings, spending summer at the
camp her father’s family owned, and living in a house that was more like a
caravan then a home stopped being fun for her when she entered her teens and
saw the way other kids lived. She wasn’t a fairy—she was a changeling, not
belonging with the other colorful members of the clan. Her brothers never lost
their youthful belief in creating magic and fantasy, but as soon as she could
leave for college, she was gone and happy to embrace a normal way of life.

Still, the fairs were fun and she tried to attend
occasionally. It didn’t seem like a possibility this year. “I don’t think I
can. It’s only a few weeks away. I have a business trip and who knows what when
I return.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. You sound worried. Is everything
okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” she said, and knocked her wood desk out
of habit. She wasn’t ready to tell her mother about the dire straits the
company was experiencing. She’d been the family failure enough times already.

“Well, we’re here if you need us,” her mom said. While Lena
could hear the sincerity in her voice, at her age she wasn’t going to lean on
anyone. She could make it on her own. “So after the show tonight, any other
weekend plans?”

“Nope. I’ll probably come into the office for a lot of it.”

“Lena, you need to get out. You need to do more things you
enjoy.”

Again with this topic. Were Janice and Michelle in touch
with each other? “I do. I enjoy my job and I’d like to keep it.”

“Your job doesn’t keep you warm at night, or hold you after
a bad day.” Lena said nothing. “I’m sorry, honey, I know you think I should
butt out, but I love you and I want to see you happy in all the areas of your
life.”

“I know, Mom.” And she did. Her mother was only voicing
concerns Lena tried to avoid. It made something in her throat tighten, but
before she could say anything more, Michelle did knock on her office door and
tap her watch. It was nice to see she knew her friend well.

“I’ve got to go, Mom. Talk to you soon.”

“I want to hear all about the show, honey, and any art
you’re making. I love you.”

Ah, one last dig, Lena thought, but smiled anyway. “Love you
too.” She hung up the phone and put her head down on her desk with a small
thud.

“Talking to your mother?” Michelle asked.

“How did you know?” Lena asked, not lifting her head.

“Been there, bashed that. I think they sign a contract
giving them a quota for how many times they are required to annoy their
daughters. Come on. Put on your party dress and your big-girl shoes and let’s
get out of here.”

“Sounds good.” And she was happily surprised to discover it
did.

When Lena and Michelle arrived at the Wagner Gallery at
nearly ten o’clock it was already difficult to walk around without bumping into
another body. Immediately after they checked their coats, they were offered
their choice of brightly colored drinks.

“What are these?” Lena asked.

“’Tinis,” Michelle told her. “Appletinis, Pomegranate-tinis,
and the pink one looks like watermelon.”

Lena chose the one Michelle said was apple and tasted it. It
was sweet, but powerful. “Nothing teeny about these, that’s for certain.”
Fearing the warming effects of the alcohol on an empty stomach, she was glad to
see other servers with small bites of food. She selected one and moved through
the exhibition.