She’d be asked to help curate her friends show. Art she could do. Hanging them to bring out their best, not so much.

Standing in a large white room, with pieces littering the floor, and hooks and string hanging from the picture rail. She fiddled with her scarf, trying to fathom it all. She was wearing the wrong outfit for moving artworks about, but she was heading out afterwards, and this wasn't supposed to be taking this long.

Suddenly aware she wasn't alone, she turned to find a man looking over the artwork. She knew him. Well, knew of him.

“Some assistance, perhaps?” he offered.

She nodded and he quickly moved a few pieces about in the space. It didn't seem long before a whole new feeling shone in the room.

“Wow,” she said.

He smiled, “All I needed was some inspiration.” His smile warmed her. His gaze unsettled her, but in a surprisingly sexual way. “Beauty just needs the right light,” he continued and moved toward her, and pulled at her scarf. It unravelled and ended in his hand.

She didn't mean to, but she gasped.

He raised one of his eyebrows, in an unspoken question. A soft nod was her answer.

Urgent, heated, yet painfully slow movements between them, and her wrists were soon bound, and brought firmly above her head, struck firmly against a wall.

A raised eyebrow – a soft nod – a shared smile.

Nothing more needed to be said. She was unravelled. She would be left bedraggled. She would soon come undone, in the most surprising and lascivious way.