PeakExperience (2 page)

“Stop fidgeting,” Michelle said as Lena adjusted her dress.
“Take a big courage sip of your drink and you’ll be fine. You look incredible.”

“Thanks.” She did feel sexy, which was probably making her
more nervous. She couldn’t remember the last time she dressed in anything more
than her professional clothes. Another sad but true statement on her life. The
blazer she had on during the day was back in the office, and the little black
sheath was all she wore. She’d brushed her hair out long from its usual
ponytail, and darkened her makeup to make her eyes smoky. Her lips were a deep
red, which matched the soles of her Louboutin pumps. The shoes had been a
reward to herself. They added almost four inches to her five-foot-three frame
and were more comfortable than expected. She was glad to finally have an excuse
to wear them again. She bought them over a year ago and had worn them only two
other times.

Lena was aware of the buzz in the air, an excitement
regarding the work on display and the artist. She experienced a similar
sensation at her showing and at the few others she attended since then. Tamping
down the longing, which never fully disappeared, she glanced around the room,
slowly working her way through the crowd with Michelle. It was hard to see the
pictures from a distance since each one had a group around it, but Lena heard
snippets of conversations when people passed.

“Very talented.”

“Exciting.”

“Wish I could afford it.”

“I wish I had a place for it.”

The part of her that once wanted this life—dreamed of
it—envied the artist, but at the same time she was relieved she no longer
needed to worry about the pressure of nights like this. Soon the artist would
have to face the reactions of the critics and if they were against him, none of
the positive comments would matter.

“I see something I want,” Michelle said in her ear as they
continued to maneuver toward the displays.

“A painting?”

“A man. Do us both a favor—find one for yourself.”

“You can’t leave me so quickly.” She was embarrassed by the
note of panic in her voice.

Michelle placed a hand on Lena’s shoulder and looked into
her eyes. “You need fun, not a chaperone. I’ll connect with you later. Be brave
and let go a bit, sunshine. You deserve it.”

Lena smiled and nodded, although she wasn’t certain she
agreed. Watching her friend move purposefully through the crowd, she thought
she would trade almost anything for Michelle’s confidence at big events, and
with men. Lena was more comfortable in small groups, like business meetings or
a dinner party. That was how she met her last boyfriend, through mutual
contacts. She winced. Maybe she needed a larger function after all.

What if she followed Michelle’s advice and allowed herself
to be seduced? What if she let the next man who caught her interest take her to
bed? The thought of losing control, even for one night, was stirring—and scary.
And exactly what you need
, a daring voice said in her head. It was not
something she ever permitted herself to consider, let alone do. Maybe it was
the call with her mother, or maybe it was the prospect of a weekend filled with
nothing but work and whatever was recorded on her cable box, but Lena knew it
was time to do something different, maybe drastic. She took another sip of her
drink and made her decision.

She continued to walk slowly around the gallery, which
wasn’t hard given the crowd and her heels. Focusing on the pictures, she was
moved by what the artist created. His show choices were arresting. He started
with a basic photo of a woman or man, frequently nude, then made them into
creatures of myth and fantasy using a combination of digital art and more
traditional mediums, like oils and acrylics. Sometimes the original photographs
were displayed next to the finished creations. Griffins, sorceresses and the
phoenix from the postcard surrounded her with color and energy. And sex. The
figures were distinctly sexual. Their poses, exposed bodies and expressions of
pleasure gave her a tingling feeling that had nothing to do with the drink in
her hand.

Walking over to the next portrait, Lena had the sensation
people were staring at her and she thought maybe her bra strap or something was
showing. She adjusted her dress again, hearing in her mind Michelle’s voice
telling her not to fuss, and her mother’s suggestion to have fun. It was
getting crowded in her head. She stepped closer to the picture and her breath
caught at its beauty.

Within the silver frame, at least five feet high, a brunette
woman wearing nothing but her hair and flowing water stepped out of a river to
reach for a man reading a book under a nearby tree. Or maybe he was writing in
it, since there was a pen nearby.

Her gaze traveled slowly over the vivid figures, entranced.
The scene was set deep in a forest, the colors as lush and abundant as the
trees giving the two characters their privacy. The river was so real Lena
thought if she touched the canvas her hand would come back wet. When she
finally focused on the face of the being coming from the water, her heartbeat
increased as she stared at an image of someone who looked remarkably like—her.

The woman’s expression was one of longing and joy mixed
together in an intense expression. Lena wanted to weep. It was a feeling she
ached for. There on the canvas she was confronted with her hunger for a
happiness missing from her life. Passion was rarely a part of her days anymore
and it made her sad. Michelle and her mother were right, painfully so. Ignoring
emotions didn’t make her crave them any less. In fact, in this moment, they
were stronger than ever. She allowed herself to have half a life, and suddenly,
she felt that was no longer an acceptable option.

She looked at the title of the picture. The card read,
His
Muse
.

“So, do you think the man is going to get lucky?” asked a
deep voice, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath on her neck.
Caught up in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the man walk up behind her. Lena
turned to see a very masculine chest then raised her head to look into
pale-blue eyes that were welcoming and warm. And sexy as hell.
He’s exactly
what you’re looking for
, the daring voice said again, definitely louder
than the voices of doubt. She finally recognized it. It was her, the way she
used to be when she jumped into things and enjoyed them. She couldn’t stop her
smile.

* * * * *

Everyone assumed Daniel Royer’s pacing was opening-night
jitters, but he knew better. Once his work hung on the walls he stopped
worrying. Alice Hamilton, his agent, and the people at the gallery knew what
they were doing, and he was proud of the pieces he chose. His inability to
stand still was for a completely different reason. He wasn’t going to relax
until he learned whether or not Lena was intrigued enough by his postcards to
come tonight.

She inspired and initiated his interest in art during a
summer at sleep-away camp, and art remained a first love—as did she. Could
following up on a crush that lasted more than a decade be considered stalking?
He hoped not.

At nearly fifteen, he was awkward and didn’t fit in with the
more athletically inclined boys, like his older brother, at Crane Hill Camp. He
wasn’t sure why Lena was there that summer, since she was older than most of
the counselors, but she was one of the only people with whom he felt
comfortable during his weeks at her parents’ camp. There were three periods a
day when campers could choose whatever activity they wanted and while most of
his bunkmates headed to the soccer fields and the lake, Daniel spent all the
time he could in the art cabin with her. After the first week, she let him
enjoy self-directed projects. She would get the group of kids started on their
craft for the day, and then give him guidance for whatever he chose to work
on—pastels, charcoals or another medium. Initially he thought she was being
kind since she was the daughter of the directors, but eventually he realized
her attention was genuine.

Because of her photography work, the camp had a small yet
functional dark room. She lent him a camera when he showed an interest in the
process of developing film. It was love at first click. The little machine was
made for his hands. He didn’t touch another canvas for the rest of the summer.
He was constantly snapping pictures, talking to her about art, and helping
create the camp’s annual yearbook. But a teen boy’s concentration can be held
by photographs for only so long, especially in the presence of a beautiful
woman. One afternoon in the dark room his attention was on her, not the picture
he was working on. He could smell her skin above the chemicals they were using,
and he wished with all the longing of his young heart he could kiss her.

He still wanted that kiss. Of course, now he wanted a hell
of a lot more. He willed his thoughts off her beauty and body. The last thing
he wanted was to embarrass himself with an erection. Images of her fueled years
of fantasies and inspired his art. In his memory she was graceful, bold and
energetic. He still saw that in her tonight, but as he watched her from a
distance, he took the time to learn more from her body language, scrutinizing
her with an artist’s eye and a man’s appreciation.

The way she held her arms close to her body and made little
eye contact with those around her suggested a shyness he’d never noticed. As
she skittered around other guests she seemed almost frightened. But there was
more. She wore her dark hair longer, and the dress that showed off her legs was
much better than the shorts she favored at camp. With her lips parted and wet
from her drink, her eyes focused on his work, she looked like a woman waiting
to be pleased. He was going to need to hold something in front of him if he
continued to be aroused by her.

He ambled through groups of people, acknowledging those he
knew and taking thanks from those who recognized him. When he couldn’t
immediately locate her he became concerned she left. Finally, however, he
spotted her standing transfixed in front of the work he considered the best in
the collection. It was not for sale because it was special to him. The one he
created with an image of them both in his head. His pulse raced. He ached to
know what she thought. Did she see the resemblance? Did she like it?

Heart hammering, he walked to her. She was so focused on the
canvas, she didn’t notice him. He stood behind her, breathing in her scent,
which lacked the suntan lotion and fresh air he remembered, but included a
floral bouquet that was new to him and tickled his senses. He needed to bend to
get closer, which made him smile. When they first met, he was barely an inch or
two taller. Tonight, even with her stiletto heels, he had more than six inches
on her. She was going to fit beautifully in his embrace.

It was driving him insane waiting for her to turn, so he
spoke first and asked if she thought the man in the picture was going to
connect with the spirit who was approaching him. She jumped and stumbled
slightly. He reached out to steady her and her drink when she looked up at him.
The skin on her bare arms was warm and soft and he wished he could caress her.
“I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It was my fault. I guess I was caught up in the picture.
Were you talking to me?” she asked.

“I was. I am. I was wondering if you thought the man in the
picture was going to get lucky.”

She smiled at him then turned back to the painting, taking a
step toward it. He could have indulged in a tray of drinks and not felt as
intoxicated as he did when he saw Lena smile. He didn’t know why his question
made her respond the way she did, but whatever the reason, he wanted her to
continue. Her whole face brightened and there was a glimmer in her eye that was
daring yet wary.

“Yes, I think he is. Although whether it’s lucky in love or
creativity I can’t say.”

“How about both?”

“Both is definitely better,” she said.

“Do you like it?” For the first time he felt nervous
regarding his work as he hoped for her approval. He gave himself a mental
shake. Less than two minutes with her and already he was questioning himself
and feeling fifteen again. That needed to change. She was no longer his
counselor.

“I love it, actually. There’s an entire story in this one
moment. He looks so peaceful, so available for what might happen next. And
she’s powerful. She may not be certain how her presence will be received by the
man, but she knows this is where she is supposed to be.”

Her thoughts on the picture were completely different from
his since he was thinking of the man’s perspective. The man was creating, lost
in his thoughts and the woman comes to him as if answering his call, his plea.
“I like your interpretation.”

“Thank you.” She gave a gentle sigh and said, “Wouldn’t it
be great if we could be visited by our muses?”

I’m standing next to mine
.

“I would love to have a chance to speak with one and hear her—or
him—talk to me, guide me. I’m in corporate identity design and there are times
when I would give anything to grab the phone and dial 1-800-MUSES4U to get what
I need on a particular project.” She bit her lip as if surprised she said so
much. “I’m sorry. I should introduce myself. I’m Lena,” she said, extending her
hand.

As he reached for her hand he realized, surprised, she had
no idea who he was. It never occurred to him he might have changed to the point
where she wouldn’t recognize him, and because last names were rarely if ever
used at summer camp, his name wasn’t familiar. He debated with himself whether
he should tell her, and decided against it. He knew he’d receive more honest
responses if she didn’t know he was the artist. He’d have a chance to explain
later. He shook her hand, allowing her touch to warm him. “I’m Daniel.”