Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
VIVIAN
Six months ago
“Got it?”
“Yep, got it.” I strain, bursting a blood vessel somewhere in my body, I’m sure.
Jace huffs out, “Viv, I can carry this box by myself.”
“Nope, it’s my circus, my monkeys. I’m helping.” Awkwardly, we navigate the U-shaped switchback on the grand staircase, trying not to mar the pristine walls with my delivery. “It’s just so cumbersome.”
He jostles the long box. “Now that’s a dollar-sized word for my penny brain.”
I laugh. “Shut up, big guy. I know your secret; you’re all brawn and brains.”
And a beastly beauty.
But I press my lips so tightly together, the obvious fact doesn’t escape.
I love it when Jace wears that fitted, midnight-blue suit with his unbuttoned, white shirt. It makes his sparkling lapis eyes reach out and wrap around my heart.
My heart that’s always happy when I’m with him.
He grins, walking backward but focused on me. “You know, my friend, I’m so damn tempted to shout ‘Pivot!’ right now.”
My eye roll is epic. But it can’t erase my smile. Not when I’m with Jace. “I don’t look like her.”
“Whatever you say, Rachel.” He turns around, lifting his end of the box, resting it on his shoulder. “Guess that makes me Ross.”
“Guess you’re just going to carry this whole thing by yourself?” He’s lifted the box right out of my hands. I throw them up. “Jace, let me help you, please. It’s my stupid box anyway.”
“Nope.” He bounds effortlessly up the stairs. “Just tell me what’s in it.”
“Angel wings.” I follow him, trying really hard not to stare at his perfect ass. Clearly, I’m failing. “My client wants a catwalk-lingerie theme, so I ordered giant, white feathered angel wings.”
“So do we call this place Vivian’s Secret?”
Vivian’s secret?
He has no idea, setting the box down to gaze around my studio.
This former bedroom is perfect for boudoir shots.
The gold four-poster canopy bed gleams as sunlight pours in through the three tall windows, framed by romantic, sheer white curtains.
With its elegant ivory linen headboard and sumptuous ivory sheets, I can change the look of the bed with the rainbow of silk and faux fur pillows and blankets I store in the giant prop closet.
For a different vibe, a sultry, black-velvet Victorian settee reclines in the corner. The uplights beneath it create a dramatic effect.
But I’m partial to the gold, full-length baroque mirror propped against the white wall. I love capturing a client gazing at her beauty.
My studio lights are neatly tucked into one corner, with my treasured camera and its row of lenses, sitting on an antique French dressing table. Sometimes, I use the table and its mirror as a sexy setting.
Jace examines the space like he’s seeing it for the first time, even though he’s up here every day, leaving me tea. Leaving me with a smile.
“You ever shoot yourself?” he asks, grinning. “I mean, not like with a gun, but—” He always does this, cutely fucking up his modifiers. I love it. I love him. “But I mean, do you ever take your own boudoir self-portraits?”
“Once.” I fight a laugh, bending down to tug at the tape on the box. “I did it years ago when I was in college, but it didn’t go too well.”
“Why?” he asks, helping me. “Wrong lens? Bad lighting?”
His bear paws easily rip the cardboard open. Like he could easily rip my jeans open as well, sending a sweet shock right between my lonely thighs. It makes me blurt out.
“No, bad husband.”
Shit. Inwardly, I wince. I try not to bring him up. I try not to think about David.
Even though he signed the divorce papers—a judge left him no choice—it’s like I’m still married to a monster. One that lurks in a dark closet, where I’m trapped inside with him.
No one knows my secret but me and my monster. Oh, and his complicit friends. I realize his friends are so vile, I could deny any rumors they spread, but David has the damning evidence.
I’m doomed.
A sudden tension fills my studio. I glance up and find Jace seething. His sexy nostrils flare. “Bad husband?” His gorgeous eyes glare. “What did he do to you?”
I shrug. “He just said my shots didn’t look good. That my tits are too small, and I’m not sexy.”
Jace rears back, huffing. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?” His heavy brows knit in disbelief. “Goddamn, Vivian. Do you know how beautiful you are?”
I do when you look at me that way.
When you make me feel this way.
Heat blooms in my lonely body. My cheeks blushing, nipples peaking, sex tingling. My heart jolts, making my teeth grab my bottom lip because Jace and I never say what’s right here, ripping our breath away.
“Viv,” he answers my flattered silence. “You’re beautiful and sexy as fuck. You’ve got that whole hot-girl-next-door look going. Just saying.” But he covers his exposure. “Hell, everyone is sexy when they feel sexy. And only people who hate themselves say shit about someone’s appearance.”
“I know that now. I was just young and believed him and wanted to please him.”
But lately? I’d be pleased to stab David’s eyeballs with my toothbrush. Instead, I clean the toilet with his and set it back where he left it.
“Why did you want to please him so much and not yourself?” He shakes his head. “Fuck, why do women do that? They try to make everyone else happy, and it only makes them fucking miserable.”
That’s the million-dollar question, and it took me years to find my answer.
“Because my parents were divorced, so I got this naive notion that if I could work for the perfect marriage and be the pleasing wife, it wouldn’t happen to me.
But now I know perfection doesn’t protect you; it only makes you more prone to disaster. Because no one and no love is perfect.”
Except this one.
This friendship.
Jace and I talk about everything. Everything except for the one thing we really want: each other.
“Yeah, well.” He scoffs. “I don’t know any straight man alive who wouldn’t be very pleased to see you and your sexy little tits wearing these and nothing else.”
He points to the five-foot angel wings in the box. I know he’s innocently trying to make me feel better about my body, and it works.
But he’s also eyeing me with an intensity that makes my lips part.
Jace is letting this build. Whatever this is between us. Between my thighs. Between his legs. It’s getting hard. It has a thundering pulse.
He licks his lips. “Just say the word, Viv, and I’ll take the shot.”
I hear everything he means.
Say the word, and he’ll take a sexy picture of me. Say the word, and he’ll make me feel desired. Say the word, and we’ll unleash this passion. Say the word, and we’ll be way more than friends.
I want what Jace wants so much.
But I can’t.
If David suspects that I’m in love with another man, he’ll post the video. He’ll destroy me.
But he can’t ruin this: my treasured friendship. Jace has proven his devotion. I’ve proven my loyalty. We’re close friends, even though we can’t get any closer.
“Uh-huh. Alright, big boy.” I joke. I keep us going. “My tits for your tats. If you can take a picture of me, naked, in these wings, I’ll take a picture of you in them too.”
He throws his chiseled chin up, laughing. “You think I’m too shy to do it? Think again.”
“You can’t be serious.” I laugh. “You’d actually do it? You’d get buck naked and wear angel wings and let me take a picture of you?”
He bounces his thick brows, smirking. “Cheese.”
I narrow my happy eyes, seriously contemplating this temptation. Because that’s what it’d be: a temptation I couldn’t handle. But I love our laughs. “So if I—”
“Excuse me?”
A woman’s voice sings out. It’s coming from the landing between my studio and the showroom.
“Excuse us?” she calls again. “Is anyone here to help? We’re here for our pleasure throne.”
“Shit,” Jace mutters. “Vale said she’d be late today. So I gotta help.”
He brushes past me to meet the customers down the hall, but they surprise us, suddenly appearing in the doorway.
“Hi!” A beaming petite woman with long dark curls and stunning brown skin waves. “Hope we’re not interrupting.”
Behind her stands a man almost as imposing as Jace.
But this man has dark ink on his handsome light face, his neck, his hands.
I know who he is. A local, religious icon—Pastor Sire Rutledge.
And that’s his beautiful, young wife, Wren.
They’ve shopped here many times. They don’t hide their heavenly sex life.
That’s how I met Wren before, shopping for sex toys. She said Jace is friends with the pastor. I think Jace even safely escorted her back to her husband’s church.
“No. We’re just, uh—” Jace tries ushering them back, but Wren doesn’t budge.
She peeks around him, chirping, “Hi, I’m Wren Rutledge. We met a few months ago.” She’s not talking to Jace. She’s smiling at me. “And this is my husband, Sire. Think I mentioned him. How he’s Jace’s, uh… pastor. Anyway. We’re here buying dildos all the time and vi—”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jace interrupts, ire straining his voice, but his eyes are amused. “You’re loyal customers, we know. But our manager isn’t here. So how can I help you?”
“We just came in to pick up our oral sex throne.” Wren leans around Jace; she’s focused on me. “My husband is excited to use it on me. You know, so I can sit on his face. Some call it a queening chair, but what’s all this?”
She gestures at my studio, and I grin, stifling my giggle, excited to meet a potential client with no filters or fear. “Oh, this is for boudoir shots.”
Jace keeps trying to usher her back. “Yeah, uh… Just let me get your special order. It’s downstairs, and—”
But Wren’s a tiny force. “Boudoir shots? Tell me more.” She darts under Jace’s arm. “And you’re Vivian, right?”
“Yes, Vivian Tate.” I step over the box, striding her way. Though Jace is acting weird, I’m professional. My hand is already outstretched, ready to greet her. “Nice to meet you again, and yeah… I’m the photographer. Would you like to know more about my—”
She shakes my hand. “Yes, I’d—”
“No!” But Jace interrupts again, gritting out. “Mrs. Rutledge was just leaving. To go downstairs. To pick up her queening throne and then skedaddle.”
“Skedaddle?” Wren flits her hand at Jace. “No, we’re fine.”
Sire chuckles with a rumble. “Angel, I think we need to take the hint.”
What hint?
Why is Jace acting so weird with these customers? Why is he so amused, yet annoyed by the spriteliest woman I’ve ever met? God, I’d love to do a session with her. She’s fearless, flawless, and funny.
“Exactly! You call me Angel. And Vivian has angel wings. Look!” Wren points to the open box on the floor before marching over to poke Jace’s mammoth chest. “It’s a sign. Vivian is perfect.”
Do they know each other?
I’m trained to notice, to focus, to zoom in and capture what’s there. And clearly, what’s there is a powerful energy binding these three together.
Oh my god.
It’s almost the same energy I get whenever Jace is around Nash and Vale.
It’s not sexual, it’s sensual. It’s not lewd, it’s loving. It’s like a sultry, silent secret hiding in plain sight.
It’s what I sense. I’m an empath. It’s frustrating when I’m in pain; I can’t fight my tears. But it makes me a better artist, using it as a strength for my photography. I can feel my subject’s emotions. I’m sensitive to their story. I can intuit things the naked eye can’t see, but my lens can.
And I can’t deny that I’m curious to know if they’ve ever been together. These three: Jace with Wren and Sire, or Jace with Nash and Vale.
And I can’t deny that that image only draws me in, while the thought of Jace with just another woman fills me with dread.
I’m waiting for the day when Jace reveals he’s seeing someone beautiful, someone perfect for him. When he’s beaming and in love with another woman, and I’m breaking into a million invisible pieces.
I have no right to claim him. No right to be jealous. No logical reason to expect him not to find someone else because we can’t be together. We’re just friends.
I want Jace to be happy.
I just wish it could be with me.
“Vivian’s very busy.” Jace sounds so serious, but Wren won’t stop batting her lashes at him. “She’s already booked for the year, and—”
“Hey!” Another woman’s voice calls out. “How can I help?”
It’s Vale. She seems breathless. As if she just ran upstairs to intercept whatever this is.
“Can you please help the pastor and his wife?” Jace grumbles. “They were just leaving.”
“No, we weren’t.” Wren aims her beaming smile at me. “We just met Vivian, and—”
“And come with me. They need… uh, more time.” Gently, Vale tugs Wren’s arm, gushing, “You’re going to love your queening chair. Talk about pussy worship. Nash loves ours, and…”
Their voices fade as Vale leads Wren and Sire downstairs, and Jace turns back to me. “Sorry about that. They’re very eager customers.”
He’s cute.
They’re more.
I know.
A hundred questions sit on the tip of my tongue because I sense it all the time.
I hear the men booting upstairs to the third floor for secret meetings. I’ve noticed the handsome, inked Dom—the local lawyer, who rents that locked room.
Twice, I swear I’ve heard a woman’s satisfied moans from behind that black and gold door. I wasn’t sure if Jace was in there, but those are the only two nights he wasn’t by the front door, waiting to walk me home.
I know there’s a secret society surrounding Jace. I can sense its carnal circle.
Don’t ask me why the idea of Jace with others tempts me, but the threat of him with just one woman is torture.
But it’s here, this instinct burning inside me, wanting to know more.
Though I don’t dare ask.
If I do, it would only be fair that I answer Jace’s questions. That I respect our friendship and reveal my secrets too.
So I keep them myself.
And I keep secretly loving Jace.