Eight Ways to Ecstasy

by Jeanette Grey

  Because it was too violent, too gruesome. But the image looked exactly like how it had felt to walk away from Rylan. To trust, to let someone in and believe their words. To love.

  Only to find out he hadn’t been who she’d thought he was at all.

  “Exposed,” she managed to choke out.

  With that, she turned on her heel, away from that painting and on to the next. As she walked, her heart pounded hard in her chest, and that was good. That was a reassurance.

  Her heart was still her own, caged safely behind her ribs.

  Thanks to his mother, Rylan wasn’t a complete novice when it came to the gallery scene.

  This wasn’t quite the corner of the gallery scene he was used to, though.

  None of the other shows they’d stopped in at had been as grizzly as that first one, but they were all out there. The purpose of art might be to make you feel, but Rylan didn’t particularly enjoy feeling unsettled.

  He liked feeling like the world was a more beautiful place than it seemed on the surface. He liked the way Kate’s art made him feel.

  Not the way it had certainly looked like she felt, staring at that awful painting of a broken, empty rib cage. She’d gone quiet on him again in its wake, and it made his limbs twitch with a restless anxiety, to the point where he was only too happy to move on to the next place on her list. But even there, in a brighter setting, surrounded by sculptures that didn’t appear to have actively been dismembered, she remained withdrawn.

  Until they arrived at their fifth—and, she had assured him, final—stop of the night, where they walked in the door and smack into a guy who took one look at Kate and lit up like a Christmas tree.

  “I was wondering if you were going to show up,” he said, putting down his drink. He was clearly an artsy type himself, with shaggy, dark blond hair and a streak of paint on the knee of his pants. A little shorter than Rylan was, a little leaner.

  He didn’t so much as spare a glance at Rylan as he held his arms out to Kate.

  Something possessive sparked and flared in Rylan’s chest. But he smothered it. Balling his hands into fists, he shoved them in the pockets of his jacket and tried not to glower. Kate was allowed to hug whomever she wanted. She was her own person—she could do anything she pleased. But Rylan didn’t have to like it.

  Fuck, but he really didn’t have to like it when she stepped right up to the guy and slung her arms around his neck. Rylan bristled, a hot stone lodging in his throat.

  At least she didn’t linger. The guy made as if to keep her close, but already she was pulling back. “Sorry,” she said. “We ended up hitting the place over on Rivington first.”

  The word we left her mouth, and that got blondie’s attention. He looked up, away from Kate, darting his gaze around until it landed on Rylan. Withdrawing his hands from his pockets and crossing his arms, Rylan nodded.

  The guy swallowed and inched backward, and that alone, that act of acknowledging Rylan’s claim—it should’ve pacified the rumbling, angry thing in Rylan’s lungs. Except it didn’t. Because it was surprise that widened those eyes. Surprise and hurt.

  The jealous heat that had filled Rylan flashed suddenly, painfully cold.

  Kate hadn’t told him. Not just about Rylan and who he was, but that she was even seeing anyone at all.

  And this boy had gotten his hopes up. It was written all over his face.

  Trailing off, Kate followed the guy’s gaze, looking over her shoulder at Rylan and then back to her friend. “Oh. Um.” She fidgeted with her sleeve. “Liam, this is Rylan. Rylan, this is my friend Liam. He’s in my program.”

  “That’s right,” Liam said. He extended a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  Liam’s handshake was firm enough—not Wall Street firm, but most people’s weren’t. Rylan only clamped down harder when Liam said, “Kate didn’t tell me she was bringing anyone.”

  “Kate,” Kate said, “didn’t know for sure if she was coming at all, if you recall correctly.”

  That much at least was probably true. She hadn’t decided on what she wanted them to do until just the other day.

  “Fair enough.” Liam dropped his hand as Rylan let go.

  Rylan held his gaze, made him be the one to glance away.

  Of course, where else would he look next except to Kate? “The exhibit’s really good. Do you want to walk around?” He gestured to the side of the room, brushing her arm with his other hand and making Rylan’s blood boil. “I could get you a glass of wine? Red, right?”

  And Rylan was this damn close to interjecting. He was her date. If anyone was going to get her a drink, it should be him. Being a gentleman meant leaving her alone with Liam, though, and no way he was doing that right now.

  Kate nodded, and Rylan watched the guy retreat for a full two seconds before turning back to her.

  “He wants you.”

  Kate’s gaze lifted to meet his, her chin tilting up, that all-too-rare flash of stubbornness firming her lips. Determination was a good look on her. A sexy one.

  “I know,” she said.

  And Rylan…somehow hadn’t been expecting that. “You know?”

  She’d seemed so unaware of her own desirableness their first time around. He’d been more than clear about his intentions, and even then, she’d needed reassurances.

  She rolled her eyes. “He asked me out the same day you showed up again.”

  Jealousy tore at the back of his throat. “And what did you say?”

  “What do you think?”

  He didn’t even know anymore.

  Huffing out a breath, she raked her fingers through her hair. “I told him I was tired, if you must know. Because I…” Her gaze darted around for a second, her cheeks flushing. “I wasn’t ready.”

  Pain tinged her voice, squeezing Rylan’s heart.

  She hadn’t been ready because of him, and he kicked himself all over again for the way he’d let things unravel between them. At the same time, gratitude lit him up. What if she had been ready? What if he’d never come to his realization, or if he’d had it a couple of days later? If he’d knocked on her door only to find her with this boy…

  All she’d given him were these seven nights to win her back, but he’d come so close to missing even that. If he’d returned to find her already involved…Well, he still wouldn’t have given up. He would have fought for her tooth and nail. Still, he thanked the luck that had given him his chance.

  And yet. His mouth went dry. If she hadn’t been ready to date again, what kind of chance was he working with here? They had history, sure, but he’d admitted it to himself now: He loved this girl. Hopelessly and helplessly, and if she didn’t want the more he was planning for, the future and the home he’d imagined for them to share—

  He’d make her. Not by force, of course, but he’d show it to her, and she would see. They could be amazing together.

  They would be.

  “Kate…”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  Would she ever?

  Some of the desperation he felt must have bled into his expression, all his training in keeping his emotions hidden deserting him in the face of this woman.

  She deflated by a fraction.

  “Come on,” she sighed. “You might as well meet everyone else, too.”

  That wasn’t exactly enthusiasm in her voice. But he followed along regardless.

  He met a solid dozen people over the course of the next few minutes, including one of the artists on display, who was an alumnus, apparently. Rylan set to memorizing their names the way he would members of a rival board, and he did a damn good job if he said so himself. Liam returned after a fashion with Kate’s drink, brushing past Rylan as he passed it to her. Acting so innocent when their fingers brushed against the plastic cup. She thanked him with a smile, and Rylan didn’t punch him in his smug, intrusive face, or tuck Kate under his arm and carry her straight back to the car. Be
cause he could practice restraint.

  He wanted to, though, dammit all.

  He wanted this glimpse into her life, but he wanted her to himself even more. Their first time around it had been the two of them, alone in a foreign country, surrounded by another language. Dependent on each other in a way they never could be where they lived, and he missed it. They’d been so insulated. So intimate.

  There was so much more competing for their attention here. But he’d fight his way through it.

  He’d get her to himself soon enough.

  She elbowed him in the side, and he jerked his head down. “Stop it,” she hissed.

  “What?”

  “Growling at everyone who so much as looks at me.”

  He hadn’t outright growled, had he? “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  As if to test him, Liam edged closer to them at just that moment, his mouth tilting up into a conciliatory smile. “So, Ryan.”

  Rylan gritted his teeth. “Rylan.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” He actually looked contrite, like maybe he hadn’t misspoken it on purpose as a power play. Then again, most people outside of his family probably wouldn’t. “That’s unusual.”

  “It’s his middle name, actually,” Kate said, and there was a pointedness to it he chose to ignore.

  “Cool.”

  Rylan cleared his throat. “It’s a family name. My grandmother’s maiden name.” He looked down to find Kate regarding him with interest. He shrugged and continued. “I’m a junior, and when I left for college, I thought…” What had he thought, beyond the blinding haze of anger and resentment? Sent off to his father’s college to get his father’s degree so he could be shoved into the seat at his father’s side, wearing his name and his suits and…His throat bobbed. “I thought I needed something of my own.”

  Kate’s eyes were soft as she stared up at him. Softer than they had been before. “You never told me that.”

  He hadn’t told her his given name at all, until he’d had to.

  He kept his hand at his side against the instinct to reach over and stroke her cheek. “Not because I didn’t want to.”

  With their gazes connected like that, the space between their bodies humming, it felt like a moment that could have gone on and on.

  Beside them, Liam gave an uncomfortable chuckle, as if even he knew he was intruding. “So what do you do?”

  Rylan didn’t look away from Kate. She’d asked him that very question on an open Parisian street, and he had talked all around it. “I do some work for my father’s company.”

  Liam said something banal about his own family, but Rylan couldn’t be bothered to listen.

  How different would things be now if he had only been more open with Kate at the beginning? She might not have been impressed by the wealth, but would she really have spurned him the way he’d imagined? He’d told himself at the time that the half truths were all a part of the seduction, but they’d been something else, too. They’d been a chance for him to get outside of himself. To be better than he had been, at least in this one person’s eyes.

  And her eyes were still the only ones that mattered to him. Her eyes and her skin and the warmth of her, the taste and the scent of her on his tongue. His gaze settled on the soft, plush pout of her mouth, the one he hadn’t kissed in hours, and his skin went too tight, heat making his mind fuzz over.

  Then, in the middle of his anecdote, Liam put his hand on Kate’s arm. The green that had tinted Rylan’s vision flashed a dangerous, violent red.

  He’d been keeping his possessive instincts on the tightest of leashes, but anything under that kind of tension was destined to snap.

  Ignoring the boy and ignoring his manners, ignoring everything except that bit of skin touching skin, he snapped.

  Cutting Liam off, Rylan addressed Kate directly. “Have you seen what you wanted to see here?”

  They’d barely glanced at the art. These people had stolen even that from her, and now he was taking it away from her too in his hurry, and he wanted to stop himself. But he was too far gone.

  “What?” Zeroing in on his eyes, Kate crinkled her brow. And then she seemed to catch up. Her breath stuttered, her mouth stuck somewhere between indignation and arousal, and even if she was only halfway with him, he would take it.

  “We have to go.” He grasped her arm and hauled her bodily against him, where she belonged. Liam’s hand tightened on her other wrist, and the flame inside Rylan went supernova.

  “You just got here—” Liam started.

  Rylan’s blood rose hotter, and he reached toward him. “Listen—”

  But then Kate shook free of the both of them, and Rylan’s hand was ice, extended out toward her still. She turned to Liam, and Rylan’s heart turned over in his chest until she gave the guy this tight-lipped, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry.” She jerked her thumb at Rylan. “I think this one forgot to eat. He has a habit of getting hangry.” She looked to him, gaze pointed. “Don’t you?”

  He was hungry all right, but not for food. Still, this was her lying for him. Covering for him. Trying to make his caveman behavior acceptable in the eyes of someone whose opinion she valued. The last few minutes washed over him, the insane way he’d been acting. She was being more patient with him than he deserved.

  The jealous beast quieted by a fraction, and he nodded stiffly.

  “Why don’t you go grab some cheese and crackers, while I check out the exhibit.” There was no room for question in her voice. “I’ll meet you over there in a minute.”

  Rylan didn’t want to let her get three steps away from him, but she radiated a need for space. He forced himself to take a deep breath. “Sure.” He glanced to Liam.

  He was going to walk her around the gallery. Take Rylan’s place. He fit there better anyway, didn’t he? Understood her art and her life, and—

  She turned to Liam, too. “Sorry again. I’ll see you on Monday?”

  That wasn’t an invitation. It was a flat-out dismissal if anything. The dark, angry well that had opened up in Rylan shrunk, if only a little.

  “Sure.” Liam looked as floored as Rylan felt.

  Together and apart, they stood there, watching as Kate walked away.

  Chapter TWELVE

  What the actual hell.

  With measured, even steps, Kate made her way around the edge of the gallery, stopping in front of each painting for at least the count of ten. To the outward observer—maybe to the men staring holes in the back of her head—it probably looked like she was giving the pieces her full attention, appreciating them the way they deserved. When really, inside, she was a fluttery, rattled mess.

  It was too bad, too. This show was easily her favorite of the night, the artist’s style having at least some grounding in realism. The images were even mostly cityscapes, totally relevant to the studio work she was trying to do. They were worth examining in detail.

  She was barely seeing them.

  She took a step back as if to get a better view of the canvas in front of her, glancing over her shoulder to check she didn’t bump into anyone. And if her gaze just happened to go to the corner of the room—to the man in black with the dark, hooded eyes and the rumpled hair and the most intense, piercing sort of glare…

  Her breath catching, she whipped her head back around. She hadn’t even bothered trying to spot Liam. She liked him well enough, and she sure as hell hoped they could salvage their friendship from the smoldering ruin Rylan seemed determined to make of this evening. But he wasn’t her concern.

  Rylan had stood exactly where she’d asked him to, next to the table of wine and hors d’oeuvre, but he hadn’t looked like he was enjoying the Brie.

  He’d looked like a man stalking his prey, and just that tiniest, briefest of glimpses made her pulse thunder in her ears.

  Jealousy wasn’t something she’d ever expected from him. The way he’d grabbed at her and all but bared his teeth at a guy who wasn’t even really h
is competition…It was ugly. It was infuriating.

  And damn her if it wasn’t the hottest thing she’d ever seen.

  Breathing against the burn he ignited in her just by existing—the one he’d fanned into a flame with his possessiveness—she moved on to the next painting. Maybe by the time she finished her circuit of the room, she’d have herself back under control. She didn’t need to jump him or let him drag her out of there. They needed to talk about this and why it wasn’t okay.

  But her slow walk led her closer and closer without bringing any clarity to her thoughts. She reached the end of the exhibit a still-simmering jumble of want and indignation and need.

  She turned and met his gaze, and the heat inside her shivered right down to her bones.

  He ate up the distance between them in a dozen long strides, his eyes fiery and jaw tight. “Finished?” he asked, hot and clipped, and her throat was a desert.

  She managed a jerky nod, and then before she knew it, he had his arm looped around her, ushering her toward the door.

  Liam stepped forward when they were almost to the exit, concern written all over his face. She couldn’t even fault him for it. This looked bad. Looked like the sort of thing her mom had always warned her about. But her blood and skin were singing, an exhilarated mania mixing with the arousal pulsing through her veins. She caught Liam’s eye and shook her head, trying to tell him without speaking that she was fine. She might not be in control of herself or this situation, but she was fully on board and along for the ride.

  Liam’s mouth turned down into a frown, but he stood down. Even when Rylan practically went out of his way to clip his shoulder, he didn’t rise to the bait. Just watched them go.

  They surged through the door and out onto the street. The cool night air washed over her, but it didn’t help. Neither did Rylan walking them another three feet, to where glass windows gave way to brick, and then he was stopping. Shoving her up against it.

  His mouth descended on hers, the kiss hot and claiming, and she gave in to it without hesitation. She opened for him, accepting the smooth press of his tongue and the sting of teeth scraping over her lip. The solid muscle of his chest forced her farther back against the wall, and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process anything beyond the heady scent of him and the taste of his lips.