Then again, with every passing moment, I was caring less and less.
He was shoving his knee between my thighs, the way he knew I liked - forcing my stance wider and wider. In my high heels, I had too little traction to try and fight it. My feet slid apart, exactly as far as he wanted.
I moaned into him, gripping his arms for balance. His muscles flexed under my hands as he grabbed me hard around the waist, breaking off our kiss long enough to nuzzle at my face, then slide over and gently nibble at my ear. I shivered and gripped him harder, feeling like I might actually lose my balance.
The skin around my mouth was tingling from his stubble rubbing against it. I exhaled harshly. He hesitated for a moment, pulling back and looking at me with concern.
"I’m fine," I reassured him, smiling a little. "I swear. I’m breathing and everything."
He grinned, and his hands slowly slid up under the hem of my skirt. The pads of his fingers left a burning trail on my bare thighs; I was suddenly very, very grateful that I hadn’t worn pantyhose. I hated them anyway, though I knew I was "supposed" to wear them with certain outfits - and Daniel certainly never complained.
And at that exact moment, I heard the door swing open.
We both froze.
His fingers were inches from the hems of my panties. His eyes followed the sound of the footsteps, all the way across the marble tile, to the urinals. I knew there was a very small chance that our unexpected visitor would even turn to see to the two pairs of feet under the stall. And even if he did, he might choose to ignore it. But in defiance of all logic, my heart was beating so fast I thought it might explode. More than anything, I wanted to take a deep breath, but I didn’t want to risk making a sound.
The water ran, and a few impossibly long moments later, I heard the door swing open again.
We were alone.
Daniel’s eyes met mine. The corner of his mouth was twitching, and for some reason I felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside me. I let it out - quietly as I could, but it was infectious, and suddenly we were both laughing - gasping, leaning against each other, trying to stay as quiet as we could. Daniel buried his face in my shoulder, shaking. When we finally recovered, he lifted his head and looked at me again; his eyes were shining, and suddenly this wasn’t just about my jealousy or the risk or anything but my need for him. The intensity of it hit me all at once, and I was breathless. I couldn’t tell what was throwing me more off-balance - the deep thrum of desire in my body, or the familiar twinge in my heart. I wanted him. Every part of him, always, and I couldn’t stand the thought of it not lasting forever. Just now, this moment, wasn’t enough. No one moment would ever be enough. I had to know, really know, that I would always have this.
That I would always have him.
This realization all happened in one fraction of a second, but it must have shown on my face, because I saw his brows knit just a little before he leaned in and kissed me again. As my heart thumped faster and faster, I tried to do as he’d always told me. I tried to breathe, taking in the smell of his cologne, the taste of his mouth. The way his body felt under my hands, the hard angles, the radiating heat. In a moment, he’d hoisted me up, lifting me effortlessly off my feet so I could wrap my legs around his waist. I’d almost forgotten how strong he was.
He tugged at my panties, pushing them aside and guiding himself into me in one, remarkably smooth motion. Leave it to Daniel Thorne to make bathroom sex elegant. Even this silly little thought made my heart throb painfully. God, I was in love with this ridiculous man.
I grabbed at the back of his neck as he held me up against the wall with his hands and body. Within moments, I was so overwhelmed with him that I probably wouldn’t have noticed if someone else walked into the bathroom. He had a way of doing that to me. I was acutely aware of every point of contact - his fingers digging into my thighs, my hips, his hands always moving and sliding to get a better grip - his mouth on my neck, my ears - and of course, the place where we were joined. The stall was shaking under the force of his thrusts, and I could feel already that my spine was going to be sore afterwards. But I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.
When my climax rattled through me, I bit my lip to keep quiet, but I couldn’t quite stifle the low whimper as I shuddered and pulsed. My head snapped back, and would surely have hit the wall were his hand not there to stop it. I felt his fingers flex against my scalp as he stilled inside me.
A few long, shaky breaths later, he was slowly letting me back down on my feet. I kept leaning against the wall to steady myself, and he straightened himself up quickly, looking not at all like a man who’d just had a sordid public sexual encounter. I was sure I still looked flushed and guilty and reeked of his cologne, and probably would for the rest of the night.
Oh, well. Wasn’t that kind of the point?
"You go first," I said, and he nodded, flicking the lock back and making a hasty retreat. I stayed there for a few minutes longer, cleaning up as best I could and catching my breath.
As I walked unsteadily back to the table, I could feel Gen’s eyes following me. My instinct was to look away, but instead I forced myself to meet her gaze. My mouth curved up into a sly smile, without me even trying.
I sat down gracefully. Briefly, I wondered if they’d been sitting her like this, silent and awkward, for the entire time since Daniel got back. Gen kept sort of opening her mouth, looking like she was about to say something, and then deciding against it at the last moment.
Our food finally arrived, and we all busied ourselves with eating for a while. Some polite, subdued comments on the quality of the meal ricocheted around the table, but other than that, we were all content to focus on the business at hand.
In upscale restaurants, Daniel always ate like he’d been trained by Emily Post. It wasn’t his usual style, but it was pretty entertaining to watch. Sometimes I’d amuse myself by trying to mimic him, holding my fork upside down and dabbing my mouth with my cloth napkin (kept in my lap, of course) between each sip of wine. Most of the time, though, I just ate like a normal person, and no one seemed to mind. At this particular moment, considering what had just transpired in the bathroom, it seemed ridiculous to try and be ladylike. So I continued using my fork as a shovel, occasionally glancing at Gen and trying to read her studiously blank expression. She had switched back into Professional Journalist Mode, which, while admittedly an unintended side effect, was perfectly fine with me.
"So," I heard myself say, finally. "Elephant in the room."
Gen’s eyes widened. I heard Daniel set his fork down and look at me.
"The article," I said. "You know. The Woman Behind the Man. You’re dying to ask me if I’ve seen it."
"Oh." Some of the color came back into Gen’s cheeks. "Well, I wasn’t going to mention it."
"What is this, now?" Daniel was looking from one to the other of us; for once, he was the one left out of the conversation.
"Oh, you didn’t see it?" Gen was surprised. "Well, that’s probably for the best. It was a…" she looked at me, as if anything she could say would be worse than the actual article.
"It was nothing," I said. "Just a stupid feature about me. All speculation and bullshit. But it’s fine. I’m used to it know. I laughed about it, actually."
Gen was looking at me searchingly. "That’s good," she said, finally. "I can’t imagine."
"Yeah," I said. I could feel Daniel’s eyes burning a hole in me, but I didn’t look at him. "Well, with any luck, you’ll never have to."
When we’d said our good-byes and Daniel and I climbed into the back of the town car, he immediately hit the button to close the partition. John glanced once over his shoulder, but didn’t comment - all the times I’d been in this car, I’d never seen Daniel do that.
"You didn’t say anything about that article," he said. "Who wrote it? I’ll make some phone calls. I’ll make sure the writer regrets it."
I shook my head. "Don’t be ridiculous."
His face was grim. "I
hate seeing you dragged through the mud because of me."
"I know." I settled against him, resting my head on his shoulder. "But it’ll be over before long."
I wasn’t sure if I was right. But in that moment, listening to his breaths and his slow, even heartbeat, it didn’t matter so much.
CHAPTER TWELVE
When my phone rang unexpectedly in the afternoon, I answered eagerly, hoping it would be Kelly with some news about her investigation.
"Hello?"
"Maddy? It's Curtis. Can you come down? I put up your installment and I want you to see it before the show. Let me know if you want anything changed. Is there any way you can find the time?"
"Oh…sure," I said, looking across the room at Daniel. But he didn't seem to even notice I was talking. I retreated quickly into my studio and shut the door. "Sorry," I said. "I just had to go somewhere where I could talk."
"It's fine," said Curtis.
"When did you want me to come?"
"Any time that's convenient for you. Seriously. I practically sleep here." I could hear that he was smiling, perhaps a little wryly.
"I'll try to stop by tomorrow," I said. "If I can get away." Without Daniel noticing, I added silently.
***
As it turned out, it was - once again - incredibly easy to slip out without Daniel even looking up. I'd been coming and going to my usual classes, workouts and errands without him noticing at all, so I'm not sure why I thought this would be any different. Still, I had a sort of secret thrill in the pit of my stomach as I made my way to the gallery. It was sort of nice to have something just for me, in the midst of all this chaos. It was a relief to leave the house, to talk to someone other than Daniel or Lindsey or prying journalists.
The first thing I noticed was the free-standing wall in the middle of the gallery, which Curtis had already picked out for me. He'd painted it black, so it stood out stark and imposing, like the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey.
Curtis was just emerging from his office, having heard the bell ring on my arrival.
"Do you like it?" he said, enthusiastically, coming towards me. "I think it'll be perfect, they're going to stand out so nicely."
"Yeah, they sure are," I replied, staring at it. "You don't think it's…too much?"
"Too much? No, no," he said, stepping close to me and looking the wall up and down, from my vantage point. "I think it's just right. Why?"
"I don't know. I feel like I'm going to wake up one night and see it standing at the foot of my bed."
He laughed. "You're too young to be making that reference, missy. But, all right, point taken. Would you prefer to be gray? Or something else maybe?"
I shrugged. "I mean, if you really think it'll complement it," I said. "You're the expert."
"Well, I was never the best with colors," he admitted. "I mean - I get by. But my wife - rest her soul - really, she was the one with the gift. I'm still a little bit lost without her." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go off on a whole…thing."
"It's all right," I said. I wasn't sure if it was recent enough to justify saying I'm sorry, so I decided not to comment. "Well, I think it looks nice. I'm just…I'm just nervous, I guess. First show and all that."
"Did you want to review the pieces?" he asked, gesturing towards his office. "Come on, just take one more look. I think I've picked my favorites, but I'm absolutely open to suggestion. I want you to feel like I'm showcasing your best work."
"Well, you'd be a better judge of that than I would," I replied, following him into the small room. "I think it's all crap."
He laughed. "That's normal. Trust me. Usually when people think that, though, they're not right. If you think everything you make is pure spun gold, that's when you should be worried."
"All right," I said, sitting down. "I'll take your word for it on that."
He'd picked out two other drawings - one of a horse that I'd done years ago, and a still life with a bowl of wax fruit that I hardly even remembered. They were both technically well done, but both of them, I thought, lacked a certain depth of feeling. No one was going to look into a bowl of fruit and feel like I'd touched some long-forgotten childhood memory. But looking through the rest of my portfolio, I had to admit he'd made the best possible choices out of what was available. My best work was mostly done while I was still a student; I'd been floundering ever since, either too exhausted from my string of soul-crushing retail jobs, or too distracted and drained by working for Daniel and his company. At least, that was the excuse I always told myself.
"So what do you think?" Curtis said finally, shaking me out of my reverie.
"Sorry," I said. "I sort of got lost in there. Yeah, I think you chose pretty well. I just wish I had something better to give you."
"Don't be ridiculous." Curtis sat down, tucking an e-cigarette between his lips and taking a long pull. "I wouldn't have given you an installation if I didn't think your work merited one."
"Well, that's comforting." I glanced up at the walls, noticing for the first time that they were plastered with little drawings, sketches, and watercolors - exactly the type of thing I wished I could do, but could never quite achieve. "See, that kind of thing -" I pointed to a portrait of a young man lounging on a windowsill, staring out at the landscape beyond. "That's what I wish I could do."
He smiled faintly. "You and me both," he said. "That was…well, still is, I suppose. One of my wife's drawings. That was me, once upon a time. Believe it or not."
I stood up, moving closer to it. The man's face was mostly hidden, but the physique certainly matched. "I can definitely believe it," I said. "I'm…she was very talented."
"Yeah, she was." He exhaled a lungful of vapor. "You want to hear the most pathetic story you'll be told all week?"
I chuckled, sitting back down. "Okay, I doubt that. But okay."
"We met in college. I was an artist. Well. An 'artist.' " He made air quotes around the word. "But she was an artist, you know what I mean? I was ashamed to even look at her. We had some of the same classes, figure drawing, you know, whatever…and I'd look over at her sometimes and her hand would just be fucking flying across the paper. I had no idea how she was even doing it. It was like the ideas came so fast that her pencil couldn't keep up. I looked at the shit I was drawing, and then I looked at her, and I thought to myself…there's no way she'll ever take a second look at me. All predicated on this idea of me being a worse artist than she was, you know? Now, in retrospect, I have no idea if she would have been immediately turned off at the idea of dating someone who couldn't draw as well as she could. I mean, I have no idea if that was even on her list. But for some reason, at the time, I was utterly convinced that my inability to draw was going to ruin my chances with this girl. So, do you know what I did?"
"What?"
He was chuckling a little at the memory. "I knew that the one hot commodity - the one thing that every artist wanted, was a connection with a gallery owner. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how hard it can be just to get a placement. And no matter how good she was, she was still going to end up in the same slush pile as everyone else, right? So I figured - the one sure way to get her attention would be to just go ahead and…buy an art gallery."
"Oh my God." I was already laughing. "Please tell me you didn't."
He shrugged, grinning. "Well, I managed to sell it to my dad as a business opportunity. This space was up for sale, and it was a complete dump, so it was cheap. He had the money ten times over, so he fronted me and I bought the damn thing. I spent all my nights and weekends renovating it, to the point where my grades suffered even more than they already did. But by the end of it, it was worthwhile. I was able to do my first showing, and when I approached my wife with the proposition, of course she said yes. It was an amazing opportunity. I didn't have nearly enough spots for all the students, so it was going to be a stiff competition for my first showing. And I was straight up offering her a spot."
"And she fell for it?"
&nbs
p; "Well." He took another puff. "What kind of sociopath would buy an entire art gallery just to impress one girl? Of course she bought it. It was much easier to believe than the truth."
I grinned at him. "I'm deeply troubled," I said.
"Don't worry, I told her before we got married. By then, she already knew I was a little crazy, so she took it all in stride."
I had to laugh. Really, it was nice to know there was someone out there with an even more fucked-up origin story than Daniel and me.
"Did you ever wonder?" I looked up at her paintings again. "I mean - did it ever occur to you that maybe…manufacturing things like that…did you ever feel guilty, like she wouldn’t have ever been with you otherwise?" I realized how bad it all sounded, and I quickly began to backpedal. "I’m sorry," I said. "I don’t mean to be…that was a really rude thing to say. It’s just that…" I hesitated and took a deep breath. Curtis was watching me closely, concern on his face. "Daniel’s got this weird…thing. I think because he was my boss, and because of his money, he thinks I somehow felt obligated to be with him. Or whatever."
It was close enough to the truth without revealing our secret. Curtis was nodding.
"So it makes some kind of sense to you?" I asked, fiddling with my purse strap.
"Sure," he said. "I mean - not at this point, how long have you been together? Years, right?"
"Just over two." I cleared my throat. "But I mean…you know, there have been some rough patches."
Curtis sipped from a mug on his desk. "Of course," he said. "But some people are just a little more, you know, insecure. And odds are, he’s dealt with it before - people who were just sort of intimidated by his status, or they’re after his money, or whatever. It’s probably his default mode to just be bitter and suspicious." He took another drag from his e-cigarette. "Still, though," he said after a moment. "You’d think, after all this time."
I smiled, wanly.
"Yeah, you would think, wouldn’t you?"
***
The next time I got an unexpected phone call, it actually was Kelly. I only knew because I remembered her voice - she didn’t bother to introduce herself when I answered the phone, leading instead with:
I Married a Billionaire: Lost and Found (Contemporary Romance) Page 12
