Lace and Paint (True Colors Book 1)

by Ally Sky

  “I don’t like the sneaking around and I don’t like lying to him.” He sighs.

  “Me neither. But I do like being here.”

  “I also like you being here.” He turns to me and his mouth finds my lips. “Now let’s get some sleep. It’s late, and in a second I’ll make you scream again.”

  “When are you getting up?” I ask softly, as he lifts the blanket and gets in beside me.

  “Early.” He puts his hands on my waist and turns me so my back is to him. “At six.”

  “What?” I’m shocked by the idea. “Why?”

  “A run, a shower, breakfast, and work.” He yawns tiredly.

  “You run at six in the morning?”

  “Yes, it’s the best time to run. It clears my head before the day begins.”

  “Where do you run?”

  “At the park or on the treadmill on the patio.”

  His hand is hugging my waist, his head is buried in my neck, and his mouth is next to my ear, so I can hear and feel his every breath, every whisper.

  “You drive me crazy…”

  He closes his eyes, and my heart skips a beat.

  I drive him crazy. Wrapped up in his arms, I close my eyes and hope that I’ll manage to fall asleep.

  It’s five thirty a.m. and I can’t sleep anymore. I slip out of bed and put on my oversized shirt and panties, trying not to wake up the man sleeping peacefully beside me. I decide to explore the house.

  His house is spectacular. I don’t know what else I expected from someone like him, who’s been in this business for so long, but whoever designed the house did a really good job.

  Ben’s office is right next to the bedroom, which leaves me wondering why he works from the living room and why he has a desk in the bedroom as well.

  At the end of the hallway, next to the living room, I open the door to the guest room, which is spacious and designed with a lovely simplicity. Opposite it is another bathroom. The living room and kitchen are open space. The big leather sofas are in front of a huge television screen mounted on the wall, and I’m surprised when it suddenly occurs to me that this is not a bachelor pad. This is a family home. It feels warm and inviting, with perfect artworks on the walls, huge throw pillows on the sofas, and beautiful light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. His kitchen is spacious and accessorized, with a black marble island in the center, just like Danny has in his kitchen. I try to rein myself in, but my imagination runs wild. I can see myself sitting on the high chairs with Ben, smiling at him and drinking our morning coffee together. And maybe even our evening drinks.

  Electric window blinds are on the far wall of the living room, and I guess they lead onto the patio, or maybe even to a garden. I walk around the living room and I notice a shelf beneath the plasma screen. On it is a small statue of a shiny, blue balloon blown up in the shape of a dog, like the ones you find at children’s birthday parties.

  My heart flips.

  I know that statue. I’ll be damned.

  I go closer and stand in front of it. My mouth drops open.

  “How’s my house?” I hear a sleepy voice behind me.

  “Spectacular,” I answer with a slight grin. He stands behind me and presses against my back. I can feel his erection as he moves my hair aside and kisses my neck.

  “Is it an original?” I ask, unable to take my eyes off the blue puppy. My thoughts are focused on his breath on my neck and his warm tongue wishing me a good morning.

  “Yes.”

  “You have a statue of a dog-shaped balloon by Koons?” I can’t believe it.

  “Yeah. Do you like Koons?” He’s impressed.

  I love Koons. I love his fearlessness. His boldness to be exposed, nude, without hiding. Not like me, not like my anonymous blog. I envy Koons.

  “I love Koons.” My eyes are fixed on the blue puppy and the familiar feeling between my thighs awakens and gets my heart racing. “Are you getting ready to go running?” I close my eyes and let myself react to his touch.

  “After,” he whispers and his tongue finds my ear. I lean my head back on his chest.

  “After what?” I whisper.

  “After I hear you come again…” My heart almost bursts from his words.

  His hands go down, caress my stomach, and one, confident, wicked hand goes into my black lace panties.

  Thank God I bought new underwear.

  I release a tiny moan as his finger finds my clit. He barely touches it, torturing me slowly. And then his finger is inside me, finding out how wet I am. I assume he’s smiling.

  “Come to bed,” he whispers in my ear, and I open my eyes, waking up from this sweet dream.

  “What’s wrong with your sofa?” I turn to him, teasing.

  “Not now. Maybe tonight…” he teases me back, then takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom.

  We’re lying on our backs, panting. I screamed. I can’t believe I did that. The damn smile on his smug face leaves no room for doubt about how much he likes seeing me like this. He enjoys it—the thought that he makes me feel this way.

  “I’m glad you stayed,” he chuckles naughtily, his chest heaving.

  “Me too. And you don’t have to say anything. I know I should go now.” I smile at him in disappointment. I’ve definitely taken whatever I can. I’ve seized every minute with him, but I do have to go. Maybe get some sleep before the day begins.

  I sit up in the big bed, looking for the shirt and panties Ben removed wildly, a moment before he made me come in an extremely vocal way beneath him, before he was inside me and let himself come intensely, while calling out my name.

  Back in my own bed, I have a hard time falling asleep.

  I know what sleep-deprivation does to me. I know my body starts playing the samba, preparing for a carnival. But I simply cannot close my eyes.

  Friday

  June 8th 2012

  And then morning came.

  And the rays of the sun forced me to come to terms with the fact that I’m not his girlfriend and I have to leave. I’m not staying for breakfast, not even for coffee. I’m just that girl who cried out beneath him and allowed him to bury his head between her legs, then sink inside of her and come loudly. He called out my name and then fell on the bed exhausted and let me sleep next to him until morning came. And I just stared at his heaving chest and tried to calm my racing heart. He let me sleep with him, held me to him with caressing arms, and breathed into my neck. My heart surrendered, gave up, whether he wanted it or not. My heart surrendered and I’m not going anywhere. I just want to stay hidden in his big bed. It’s the secret I’m keeping from the world and the secret I’m keeping from him. He mustn’t know. It’s bad enough that my body is captive already. He doesn’t need to know my heart is his too.

  I’m tired. I’m so tired. But the alarm clock has gone off. It’s nine thirty and I have to get up. I lie on my side in bed, hugging my pillow, addicted to the yearning. Ben’s words are stuck in my head.

  You drive me crazy...

  It’s Friday. Already? The week has hardly begun, and already it’s over. The city is still trying to recover from all the celebrations in honor of the Queen.

  Standing under the hot water in the shower, a smile comes up on my face and widens to a grin as I think of the perfect night we spent tangled up in each other, with his hands caressing me in his sleep. And today, I’m going to meet him for a drink. Another scheme. I’m going to see him and, if I get lucky, spend another night in his bed.

  Actually, what does luck have to do with it? I’ll make it happen.

  While I get on the tube on my way to Covent Garden, I think about the great conversation I had with Sarah. I had suggested I go around to the galleries spread all over the city, introduce myself and hand out our business cards. Sarah thought it was a great idea and mentioned it had been obvious to her I would adapt to the job quickly. I’m pleased she thinks I’m doing a good job, especially in light of the fact I want her boss to like me.

  I love Covent Garden so mu
ch. Wandering around the market is as wonderful as I remember. I glance at my watch and realize I don’t have a lot of time if I still want to get home and be ready by five o’clock. At least I offered a meeting place that’s close to his house.

  Walking around the galleries goes just as I expected. I smile my charming smile, hand out business cards, and enjoy meeting new people. I’m in a playful and bubbly mood. I wonder why. This job is really perfect for me. I get to see different art every day, walk around my favorite city and find time to do the things I like, which in the past few days have been writing my blog, painting, and having forbidden nightly rendezvous in Ben’s bedroom.

  At three thirty, I decide that I’m done working for the day. That’s the big advantage of wandering around town—no one is checking up on me to see where I am each minute. I get on the tube at the Covent Garden stop and hurry home to shower and get ready.

  After my shower, I dry off quickly. It’s four thirty and I don’t want to be late. After my trick at the restaurant, I’m going to wait for him at the bar wearing my most seductive smile. If it’s up to me, he can skip his drink and take me straight home to his house. I choose a knee-length pencil skirt and a shirt with a plunging cleavage. I smile at myself in the mirror while I put on my makeup, thinking how easy it’ll be to take it off.

  I take my big, black bag, glad that the men of the house are still at work, and shoot off a quick message to Danny.

  16:45

  I’ve gone out. Don’t wait for me.

  There’s food in the fridge or at the pub

  “Would you like to order?” A young waiter smiles at me, seeing me at one of the square tables on the well-lit top floor.

  “No, thanks, I’m waiting for someone,” I say, smiling back at him. He walks away and I wait, checking out the place.

  This bar is different. I could never have imagined it. Large, glass chandeliers hang from the ceiling, red curtains cover the walls, and tiny statues of angels peep out at every corner. The paintings on the wall give an ambience of a building from another century. I glance again toward the stairs, waiting to see my man appear, hoping he won’t be in a bad mood when he finds out I’ve tricked him once again.

  He told me not to interfere in his business. Well, it’s not as though I cancelled another meeting. Worst-case scenario, I made him leave work earlier than he wanted, which I’m sure isn’t such a bad thing. Then I catch sight of a pair of wide shoulders in a grey suit and green eyes to which I said goodbye to only this morning. They’re checking out the place, not sure whom to look for, not knowing who they’re going to meet. My mouth is dry.

  He sees me. Puzzled eyes stare at me. I smile at him impishly and he stands still, taking a deep breath and folding his arms across his chest.

  Busted. Now let’s see how bad it is.

  He continues to stand there, glaring at me. I cock my head, trying to show him that no matter how cross he is with me, I’m unfazed. He drops his arms, strides towards me, and stands next to the table. I look up at him and smile, meeting angry eyes.

  “Please tell me you’re here by chance.”

  I look at him innocently. Maybe that will help.

  “Talia, please, tell me this isn’t another one of your tricks.” He’s seriously pissed off.

  “Just a tiny little trick. It’s not as though I cancelled a meeting.”

  “I thought I was very clear about my business.” His eyes burn with anger.

  “You were very clear, and I was very clear when I said I love making mischief. So let’s make mischief together. Now sit down already and order a drink.” He’s as mad as I thought he would be.

  “Why do you assume I’m staying?” He crosses his arms again, holding his brown leather bag. I try to appraise the situation quickly. I knew he wouldn’t be happy. But how bad is it really?

  “You can go. You don’t scare me with your threats.” I try to sound indifferent to his anger, waving my hand to the stairs.

  “What am I going to do with you?” he bites out in frustration.

  “I can think of a few things…” I smile coyly. “I think your sofa stars in one of them.”

  He stares at me and I see that my last sentence did the job and broke the ice. He can’t help the sinful smile that appears on his face.

  “Why do you think you’ll be seeing my sofa today?” he enquires, his green eyes gleaming as he waits for my answer.

  “I don’t think, I know. I am going to drink and, if you’re lucky, I’ll get a little drunk, and you won’t be able to resist temptation. You’ll take me back to your house and hear me scream, while I look at Koons’ puppy.” My heart is racing, if only from the fact I said all that out loud.

  “You are incorrigible.” He shakes his head.

  “True. Now do you mind sitting down? I want to get drunk and you’re holding me back.”

  He sits down, places his brown, leather bag on the floor, then puts his phone and wallet on the table and elegantly crosses his long legs.

  “So, Mr. Ceiling, business cooperation?” He’s amused.

  “I can’t believe how easy it is to schedule a meeting with you. You really need to play harder to get,” I giggle. The young waiter returns to the table and takes our order. Ben orders a Glenfiddich whiskey and tries not to laugh as I order a brandy cocktail called Between the Sheets.

  “You want me to play hard to get?” His green eyes stare at me.

  “You can try, but we both know it won’t work. You just can’t resist me.” I laugh.

  “Really?”

  “Really. You can sit here and pretend you don’t care about a thing, but you’re just waiting to hear me scream again.”

  Did I just say that?

  “I really do love listening to you,” he says in a low, seductive tone. I gasp. This man can sit across the table from me and chills will go through my body just from hearing his voice. It really is illegal.

  Our smiling waiter returns and puts the drinks on the table, but we only have eyes for each other. The waiter leaves and Ben raises his whiskey to me. I raise my cocktail, smiling, and we make a toast.

  “To John Ceiling.” He laughs and I laugh with him.

  I take a sip of my cocktail. It’s strong and the brandy good. I know how easily I can get drunk, and with this brandy, it’s not going to be a problem.

  “So where did you hang around today on my dime?”

  “At Covent Garden.”

  “How was it?” He takes another sip of his drink.

  “I think it went well. I hope I’m not wrong,” I reply, unable to figure out his expression.

  “I don’t think you should be worried,” he says quietly, his tone satisfied.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Sarah thinks you’re doing a great job. And if she’s happy, then I’m happy.” He smiles.

  “Sarah’s pleased?’

  “Yes, she said she heard great things about you.”

  “And when did she tell you all this?”

  “When I met with her.” He doesn’t give away too many details. He can tell how curious I am but I’m sure he holds back just to annoy me.

  “Okay, I’m glad she’s pleased.” I shrug, trying to play it cool. I take another sip of my cocktail and just as I expected, it doesn’t take a lot for me to become drunk.

  “So where do you get all your ideas from?” Ben changes the subject abruptly, and I give a little cough as his question catches me off guard.

  “I’m a creative girl,” I mumble, shifting uncomfortably.

  “You really are creative. Maybe I need to find you some other projects at work, keep you busy with other things so that you won’t have any free time for your mischief.”

  Is that what he wants? To make sure I’m too busy to have time for my scheming and crafty plans?

  “I thought you liked my mischief.”

  “I like it a lot. I’m just starting to worry how far you’re willing to go with it.”

  “How far do you want me to go with it
?” I ask nervously.

  “I don’t know. I thought you got what you wanted.”

  “Which is?”

  “Me, in my bed, until morning,” he says, his face creases a little in concern. I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t know what else I’m capable of, or because he thinks maybe I haven’t got what I want.

  I take another sip without answering him. He doesn’t need to know. As long as he thinks all I want is his body, he’ll carry on giving it to me. If he knew, really knew, what I wanted from him, he would leave in a second.

  “You’re very quiet tonight.” He takes a sip of his whiskey.

  “I’m trying to decide what to do over the weekend. Your Queen’s celebrations at the beginning of the week threw me off my routine slightly.” I make up some lame excuse, which I’m not even sure he buys.

  “Do you like your routine?” he chuckles, I guess he’s figuring out what works with the unconventional girl sitting before him.

  “I need it more than I like it,” I confess one moment before I can decide whether he even needs to know all this.

  “You need routine?” He leans forward and gazes at me seriously. I’ve already brought up the subject, so why avoid it now? He knows enough about me and hasn’t run away yet. Anyway, he only wants my body. It shouldn’t matter much.

  “Yes, my routine keeps me safe,” I answer quietly. Despite the alcohol coursing through my blood, I realize I’ve never had this conversation with any of the guys I’ve ever been with; only with my doctor and some really good girlfriends.

  “Keeps you safe how?”

  “It keeps me balanced. It’s one of the things I need to avoid taking pills,” I almost whisper, giving him a rare insight into a world he knows nothing about. My world.

  “One of the things?” He tries to understand what I’m talking about.

  “Yes, not to drink too much, to eat three healthy meals, and to get enough sleep.” I immediately know what he’s going to say.

  “I don’t think you’re doing a very good job.” He glances unhappily at the glass in my hand and then switches the greens to my face.