Untamed (Untamed #1) (11 page)

Maybe I didn’t need the pills. I tipped my hand and let them fall into the sink, rinsing them down the drain. I felt lighter, somehow. Like I’d won a battle.

Don’t kid yourself, Reagan.
My mother’s voice echoed in my head.
This isn’t some heroic breakthrough. You still have the rest of the bottle. You need them. You know you do.

I unscrewed the lid and tipped the bottle to spill its contents, but at the last minute I changed my mind and tucked it into the side pocket of my purse. Just in case.

Told you so.

Fuck. I shook my head, trying to hurl her out of my mind and focus on something else.

I looked down and saw my keys next to my purse.

The car. Dalia had said that Dare needed a car for work. Even though I knew he didn’t want my help, I couldn’t stand by and let him struggle when there was something I could do. Easily. And when it was my fault he was in this situation to begin with.

But before I did that, however, I had to do one little thing. I searched three nearby grocery stores before I found it. Perfect. And yummy.

Back inside Dare’s apartment, I left the car keys and jars of chocolaty goodness on the bar where my change of clothes had been. Then I wrote my own note using the back of his.

Dare,

The Nutella is for Dalia.

(As a thanks for the shorts.)

The car is for you. Use it until yours is fixed.

(It’s not charity. It’s the right thing.)

PS: I’m going commando.

—R

I also included my phone number, knowing full well that he was going to be pissed about the car. I kind of hoped he would call to ream me out. I made the bed and did one final walkthrough of the apartment to make sure I didn’t leave anything behind.

And that’s when I noticed the art.

Honestly, I have no idea why it took me so long because the place was overflowing with it. Not hanging up on the walls where you’d expect, but rather the entire perimeter was lined with canvases leaning against the exposed brick. Kind of like Dare was running a mini-gallery. Or maybe had just finished robbing one.

I flipped through some of the work. If his collection was any indication, Dare REALLY loved New York. A lot of it contained typical touristy stuff found around Times Square—sketches of yellow cabs on rainy city streets, various angles of the Statue of Liberty, and colorful Central Park landscapes. The work was extremely well-done, even if the subject was overdone. However, there were a few pieces hidden amongst the mundane that really took my breath away.

Nudes.

Not erotic. Just…beautiful.

For a brief moment, I thought they were Rex Vogel’s. The images were reminiscent of his technique. Plus, Dare had known about him, so it wasn’t hard to deduce that Dare was a fan of his work. And also naked women.

But this particular artist had a uniquely different style. Slightly more contemporary. Definitely more raw and unbridled. Could art be untamed? Because that was the perfect word to describe it.

Excited shivers ran through me as I studied one in particular. It was of a young Japanese woman. Her body was turned away from the artist, her long, black hair strategically covering her so that most of her nudity was left to the viewer’s imagination. Most, but not all. And she was gazing over her shoulder at me.

It was breathtaking. And I had to know more. More about who created her.

I snapped a few photos in hopes that Sabine would know where to find the artist. Maybe he or she had a collection that could be a good fit for the gallery’s upcoming showcase. Not to mention I wanted to own one.

The thrill rushing through my body and igniting all my senses was similar to what I’d experienced at the club last week with Dare. Kind of like falling in lust at first sight. I needed more paintings. I wanted to own all of them. I searched the canvases for a signature, finally locating one in the bottom right corner.

WILDE.

Go figure. Wilde was untamed.

And I was in art lust.

fourteen

“W
hen are you going to come work for me full time,
chérie
?” Sabine said, the lilt of French coloring her words.

I looked around the gallery and sighed. “
Un jour
.” That was my response every time.

One day.

“
Bientôt?
” And that was what she always said.
Soon?

“Soon.” I hoped. Though if my parents had their way it would be never.

“Did you have a chance to attend the exhibit on Thursday night?” Sabine asked.

Guilt wound through me. “No. I had to go to a seminar.”

Dark eyebrows lifted gracefully. “Art seminar?”

“I wish,” I said. “
Boring
seminar.”

“Oh,
chérie
. There isn’t enough time in life for boring.” She tsked her disappointment, but quickly followed up with a bright smile. “Next time, don’t be the one who says ‘I wish.’ Be the one saying ‘
Oui, bien sûr!
’ Say yes to anything and everything that makes you smile.
Oui à la vie. Oui à l’amour. Oui à l’art
.”

If anyone could get away with throwing her hands up in the air while reciting made-up mottos, it was Sabine Rochard. With her raven-black hair pulled into a bun and held in place with two green chopsticks, a bright kimono, and luminous skin the most beautiful shade of deep, dark brown, she often reminded me of a living, breathing piece of art. “Sing it with me,
chérie
!” she cried and repeated her chant.

Yes to life. Yes to love. Yes to art.

I groaned. “That sounds like a very tall order, Sabine. How about just a ‘hell yes to art’ for now?” Pulling out my phone, I scrolled to the photos I’d taken earlier. “I may not have gone to the seminar, but this morning I did hunt down something I know you’ll really like.”

“Something I’ll
really
like?” She leaned over my shoulder to peek at my screen. “I’ve never seen you so sure of yourself, Reagan. There is hope, after all! We shall make an art buyer of you yet, no matter what your parents say.”

“
Vive la résistance!
” I pumped my fist in the air, and then flipped through the pictures I’d taken at Dare’s apartment. “Have you heard of this artist by any chance? Wilde?”

“Wilde?” She frowned. “
Non
.”

“But his work looks familiar, doesn’t it?”

She squinted, proceeding to
hmm
and
hah
her way through all of the images. “Very good. Like Vogel’s work, no?”

“That’s what I thought at first, but it’s quite different if you study it carefully.” I zoomed in on the image of the Japanese woman. “Look at his style. The muted colors on these nudes are so unique. Vogel loves his vibrant skin tones and is known for the bright colors he uses on the eyes. In these images, there’s always a feature that vividly stands out, but each time it’s something else. Here, it’s the dark hair. In this other one, the high cheekbones. Oh, and here—the nipples.”

“It’s like the artist is highlighting the women’s most unique features.”

“Their best features,” I whispered, completely mesmerized by the paintings.

“Every one of those models is in love with him,” Sabine said matter-of-factly. “Or her.”

“How can you tell?”

“Look at the way they’re gazing at us. Or, rather, at the artist. It’s clearly unrequited love. Sad and bittersweet. So beautiful. You’re looking for someone striking. And powerful. And talented. Man or woman, this person has something special.”

“Oh, god! I could spend all day discussing their work, Sabine.”

She nodded. “You shall find me the artist, yes? Then we’ll discuss it together.”

But how?
Wait. Dare had to know who the artist was if he had multiple paintings in his apartment.

“I’ll find them, Sabine,” I promised.

Which meant I would have to see Dare again.

Thank you, mysterious painter!

Dare called a little before nine that night. I’d just returned from getting coffee down the street—it was going to be a long night of studying.

“Reagan,” he said. No polite niceties, no sweet nickname. “I just got home from work and there is a red Mercedes parked in front of my apartment. Also a set of car keys on my counter. I’m not sure how else to word this, so…
what the fuck?
”

“Let me guess, you hate the color?”

“Reagan.” My name was a growl on his lips. “This isn’t funny. I didn’t ask for this. The last thing I want from anyone—especially you—is fucking charity.”

“But your work. Dalia said you can’t—”

“That’s
my
business.” He was breathing so hard I could practically feel his anger vibrating through my phone. “I said we were even. I’m not going to get you in trouble with the law or your insurance, so—”

“It’s not about that.”

“You can’t just give me a car!”

“I can. And I did,” I said. “Dare, I broke yours. You need a car way more than I do. I like to walk whenever I can. And my parents have so many vehicles they can’t even keep track of them all. Their driver is going to bring another one over for me tomorrow. I bet you any money they won’t even know it’s gone from the garage. And if they do, they won’t care.”

“I’m glad to hear you have cars to spare and money to bet, Princess, but I don’t want any part of it,” he shot back.

“That’s not what I meant. You’re not being fair.”
Princess
irked me. That’s not who I was. “Look, I’m sorry. I fucked up. I felt bad and tried to redeem my stupid actions. Maybe I didn’t go about it the best way, but I did the only thing I knew how. Leaving the car for you wasn’t meant to be some malicious act or fucking charity. I didn’t do it because I wanted to save my ass or even because I pitied you, Dare. I just thought it was the right thing to do. If that makes me a princess or a selfish bitch then I’ll take it back.”

Dare was quiet for a moment. “Shit, Ree.”

“Forget it.” I shut my eyes and tried to will away the tightness in my chest. Stop caring, Reagan.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I just can’t use your Mercedes,” he said, his voice softening. “Not just because it feels wrong, but have you seen my place? That car is worth more than the entire building.”

“Just borrow it until yours is fixed,” I said. “It’s a week, Dare. Only a fucking week.”

He was quiet again and then said, “I guess so.” A few seconds later, he added. “Thank you. I’ll make sure—”

“Now about that color,” I jumped in before he could finish.

“Ha-
ha
. You’re hilarious,” His voice warmed. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Aside from rejoicing about escaping your wrath?”

He laughed. “Naturally.”

“Homework.” I groaned. “Oh, and trying to find the most creative way to get out of a meeting with my father’s political advisors.”

“Sounds serious.”

“It is.” Too serious. Already I was sick of it and they hadn’t even gotten started. “What do you think about the tried and true I-got-abducted-by-aliens excuse?”

He thought for a moment. “Too cliché.”

“A mugging in Central Park?”

“Too brutal. But believable,” he said. “How about going for something simpler. Like telling them you’re too busy having dinner with an incredibly talented cook?”

I laughed. “They’d never buy it. I don’t know any of those.”

“Well, you only currently know him as an incredibly talented something else.” I could hear the mischievous smirk in Dare’s voice.

“Oh, THAT guy.” He was so incredibly talented I could feel my cheeks heat at the mere thought of the things we’d done last night.

“Yeah, that guy would like to thank you for lending him your car.”

I frowned. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” It wasn’t just the political meeting. It was Dare. I’d already spent more time with him than any other guy in years. What was worse, I liked it. I hadn’t wanted to leave his apartment this morning.

Dinner. It just wasn’t a smart move.

“Well, if you change your mind, I’m making my famous mac and cheese,” he said. “It sounds simple, but it’s a secret recipe that I promise will be worth your time.”