THE TABLES WERE covered with equipment and the floor was littered with metal shards and grease. They had no other choice but to fuck against the one clean patch of wall. Ian pushed her back to the wall and pulled her pants and underwear down to her ankles. He groaned when he entered her, and so did she. She groaned in ecstasy but also in relief that even though she’d left him, he’d come for her. And she knew as he lifted her leg and wrapped it around his back he would always come for her. Ian took her mouth with a hard deep kiss and Flash wound her arms around his neck. He fucked her with quick rough thrusts to drive the point home that she was his, all his, and always would be his as long as she wanted.
“More, Ian,” she said, and he lifted her off her feet and buried his cock deep inside her. She arched her back to take it all and he pumped his hips to give it all. They were a writhing mass of mouths and tongues and arms and legs and sweaty hair and grasping hands. Ian bruised her back with his thrusts and she didn’t care. She loved it. She wanted it. The harder he gave it to her, the harder she wanted it. They could be tender with each other later tonight, in Ian’s bed, which would soon be their bed. Right now she just wanted him so deep inside her she would feel him all the way into her blood, her bones, her DNA.
“I love you,” she said against his lips, into his kisses. “I love you...” She said it until she came with a sudden sharp spike of pleasure all the way from her stomach to her toes. She said it again when Ian came inside her, filling her and filling her as she clung to his shoulders and wished she never had to let him go.
Ian took a breath, pressed his forehead to hers.
“You feel better now?” he asked.
“Yes. You?”
“Much better.”
“I should have been wearing my dress,” she said. “It’s much sexier than my work clothes. And knowing Mrs. Scheinberg, she fully expects me to seduce you while I’m wearing it.”
“I love the dress,” Ian said. “And I love you in it. But truth is, you’re sexier to me in your work clothes than anything else. Except naked.”
“You really do love me, don’t you?” she asked.
“You just figuring that out?”
“Yes,” she said.
“You’ll get used to it. Now get dressed. We have to go back to the party. Dad has a present for you.”
“Any other orders?” she asked as he let her down to the floor.
“Yes,” he said. “One more order.”
“And that is?”
He took her face in his hands and looked her deep in the eyes.
“Never, ever weld truck nuts to my car again.”
Flash sighed in defeat.
“Yes, boss.”
“One more order.”
“What?”
“Never, ever run away from me again,” he whispered. “Please?”
“Well,” she said, putting her hands over his. “Since you said ‘please.’”
Flash pulled herself together as best she could and Ian zipped her back into her dress. They returned to the party and found it still in full swing.
“Where have you two been?” Angie asked when she and Ian walked back in the front door.
“Went for a walk,” Flash said. “Got a little overheated in the house.”
“A walk? For over an hour?” Angie asked.
“Nice night,” Ian said. “Where’s my father?”
“Upstairs,” Angie said as she casually wiped red lipstick off Ian’s ear with her cocktail napkin.
“Um, thank you,” Flash said, blushing.
“Glad you had a nice ‘walk,’” Angie said with a wink before strolling away to the bar.
“I really do like your family,” Flash said. “They’re not at all what I expected.”
“They’re pretty cool,” Ian said as they walked up the stairs in pursuit of his father. “I’ll keep them. I might be getting more family soon.”
“Somebody pregnant?”
“No. But thanks to your sculpture of my mother, Dad finally talked to me about my other family, my mom’s family. And he told me he wants me to contact them.”
“That’s amazing, Ian.”
“I can’t wrap my mind around it. For years I was afraid to ask him about my mother’s family. I didn’t want to hurt him by bringing all that old pain up again. And then tonight we were looking at your sculpture and he just started talking about her. All thanks to you.”
“That’s the power of art. It can get through any chinks, any seams, and if there aren’t any, it’ll make them,” she said, smiling up at him. He stopped them on the landing to kiss her but the kiss didn’t get very far.
“Finally. About damn time you two turned up.” Ian’s father stood at the top of the stairs. A woman with dark brown skin and dark eyes wearing a burgundy-and-gold sari stood next to him.
“Is this her?” the woman asked, her words tinged with a subtle Indian accent.
“Ms. Veronica Redding, please meet Ms. Hema Lalwani. She owns a gallery in Seattle.”
Flash was too nervous to speak. Everyone even remotely familiar with the art scene in the Pacific Northwest knew of Hema Gallery in Seattle. Flash had gone to every exhibit there in the past four years.
“You’re very gifted, Ms. Redding,” Ms. Lalwani said. “I’ve never seen metal sculpting as intricate as yours on such a large scale. I’d like to feature your work in my gallery next winter.”
“That’s very nice of you,” Flash said. “But I’m afraid I can’t accept your offer. You’re obviously friends with my boyfriend’s father and I can’t—”
“You misunderstand,” Ms. Lalwani said. “I have never met Mr. Asher before in my life. I came here because after your piece sold, the owner of the Morrison sent me photographs of your work. I contacted Mr. Asher about the piece as I wished to see it in person. He invited me here to this party. I am not offering you a gallery showing as a favor to anyone other than me and my gallery. You should say yes.”
“I don’t know,” Flash said. “The only reason you heard about my piece was because my boyfriend’s father bought it.”
“Young lady,” Ms. Lalwani said with a tight smile that didn’t look like a smile. “My job is to discover new artists. Usually the artists are the ones sending me photographs of their work or begging me to see it or even meet with them for five minutes. I don’t care who bought the piece. I don’t care who sent me the photographs of your work. I saw them, I was intrigued. That is why I am here. I had never heard of Dean Asher before Friday. I don’t care who he is. I certainly don’t care who your boyfriend is. I don’t even care who you are, Ms. Redding. I only care about art, your art, and I want it in my gallery.”
“Damn,” Ian said under his breath.
“I think I’m in love with you,” Flash said.
Ms. Lalwani looked upward and gave a little elegant shrug.
“You aren’t the first to tell me that.”
“She accepts,” Ian said. “Right, Flash?”
“Right,” Flash said. “I accept.”
“Flash?” Ms. Lalwani said. “Is that your name?”
“Nickname. There was this movie—”
“Yes, Flashdance,” Ms. Lalwani said. “I know it. Who doesn’t?”
“He’s never seen it,” Flash said, pointing her thumb over her shoulder at Ian.
“Never?” Ms. Lalwani said. “You’ll have to correct that oversight. Now come with me. We need to talk about the show. I’ll need new pieces. At least three. Your technical proficiency is on display in your floral pieces but those are representational. Only your sculpture of the woman in ivy is true art. That is what you should be doing.”
Flash’s heart leaped and her brain danced and she felt like she’d been struck by lightning. Everything Ms. Lalwani said made sense. She could see it, what she’d been doing wrong, what she’d finally gotten right. It was electric, speaking to someone who understood her art and could help her.
“You’re right,” Flash said. “You’re absolutely right. I knew it while I was making it. I knew I’d finally figured out my motif.”
“You two can use my private office,” Dean Asher said. “Across the hall on the right.”
“Thank you, Mr. Asher,” Ms. Lalwani said.
“It’s Senator Asher actually.”
“I don’t care.”
“Will you have dinner with me tomorrow?” he asked.
Ms. Lalwani raised her eyebrow at him.
“A state senator?”
“Running for US Congress,” he said.
“Hmm. Win your seat, then I’ll consider it. Come with me, Flash.” Ms. Lalwani waved her hand and walked away.
“Well,” Dean Asher said. “That went better than I expected. Good luck with her.” He paused to kiss Flash’s cheek on his way down the stairs. “Put in a good word for me.”
“Better go talk to the lady,” Ian said. “I don’t think she’s the sort who likes to be kept waiting.”
“She’s so famous.”
“I’ve never heard of her.”
“You’ve also never seen Flashdance. She married an American billionaire, and he died and now she’s, like, the most famous art collector in the world. And her gallery is known for launching important young artists. I am...” She started to spike up her hair but Ian stopped her.
“Stay calm. You got this,” he said.
“Tell your dad I said thank you,” Flash said,
“I absolutely will. I told you that you were good.”
“You did. But there’s a big difference between knowing you’re good and knowing you’re good enough,” she said.
“You’re good enough,” he said. “You’re incredible.”
She kissed him again for love and for luck, and she knew she’d have plenty of both as long as they were together.
“Okay, go knock ’em dead,” he said.
“I can do that.” She let go of his hand and started up the stairs. “It’s just so embarrassing, you know.”
“What is?”
“I met the most important gallery owner in the region, and the entire time we were talking about art, my boyfriend’s fly was down.”
“It was? Shit.” Ian looked down at his pants and up at her with a scowl. A very sexy scowl.
Flash laughed and laughed all the way up the stairs.
“Made you look!”
* * * * *