The Golden Key Legacy

by AJ Nuest

  “Look, man, I don’t know what to tell you.” He opened his large hands to either side of him, the perfect illustration to demonstrate his complete lack of information. “She showed up pissed at the world and demanded to see you. That’s all I know.”

  Rhys’ eyebrows jacked up in surprise. He grimaced at the dull throb the reflex caused and rubbed three fingers across his forehead. “Pissed at the world, huh? You forgot to mention that. A little heads up might have been nice.”

  “And miss out on watching you get your ass kicked?” Nate chuckled and shook his head. “Not a chance. Consider it payback for all those times I ran interference for you in art school.”

  “That’s bullshit, and we both know it.” Sure, Nate had acted as Rhys’ wingman more often than not during their wilder, sexually charged college days, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t reaped the rewards. “Besides, Tasha would smack you upside the head if she heard that.”

  The fiery, raven-haired mother of Nate’s two boisterous rug-rats would never stand for being categorized as “payback.” The thought alone was enough to shrivel Rhys’ balls to the size of prunes.

  Nate narrowed his gaze, drumming his fingers atop his desk, and Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose against the grating rhythm. “You never get tired of reminding me how you introduced us, do you?”

  “No. I don’t.” But chances were good Nate didn’t fully comprehend the reason why. Truth was, Rhys would have given anything to experience the kind of deep connection Nate and Tasha had shared since the first night they met. Unfortunately, life spent stuck in the cold isolation of boarding school, a mother’s abandonment and the continued neglect of a distant father, damaged a person. Made them use whatever tools were at their disposal to retreat from reality. Well, that and an obsessive desire for a woman who, up until a few hours ago, Rhys believed didn’t exist.

  He lowered his head and laced his fingers along the nape of his neck. Still, even during his darkest hours, those mornings after a three-day binge when he’d reach the lowest of the low, Nate had been there for him. Shit, Rhys had lost count of the times his friend had ditched class to rescue him from whatever hellhole he’d gotten lost in. Nate was the one person who’d accepted him regardless of his eccentricities, and the one who’d stood by him and believed in his art when no one else would. Including his wealthy, influential father.

  Nate deserved better. Something else they both knew. “Look, I’m sorry. This whole thing is just really fucked up, but that’s no excuse for my acting like a dick.”

  “Save the pity party for someone who hasn’t spent the four years since graduation begging you to get your shit together.” The chair creaked and Rhys lifted his head as Nate stood. He rounded the desk, propped his ass on the glass edge and crossed his arms. “My momma didn’t raise no fools, Rhys. Our friendship aside, there’s only one reason I agreed to show your work in my gallery.” He gripped the edge of his desk and leaned forward, lifting one thick, dark eyebrow. “Money, my friend. Plain and simple. You might be nuttier than a fruit cake, but you’re one talented son of a bitch, and I plan to make a boatload of cash off every single one of your sales.”

  “Now.” He smoothed a flat hand down the length of his gold tie and rose to his feet. “Since my first priority is to protect my investment, my biggest concern is how we’re going to get you through this. And keep in mind Tasha will have my ass in a sling if I come home drunk.”

  Rhys grunted. While that was without question, tying one on was the last item on his agenda. He’d never been able to paint under the influence and he needed a clear head. A visual of her—the white-haired minx who’d taught him more about keeping his hands to himself in three seconds than he’d learned in a lifetime—streaked into focus in his head. He smirked. Yep, that would be perfect.

  Seeing how he wasn’t leaving the gallery, he might as well use the time hoping…longing, aching…for her return to his advantage. Shit, he’d wait days if he had to.

  He pinned Nate with a hard stare from under his brows. “I need paint, brushes and several large tarps.”

  The glide of bristles coated in rich color, the steady reassurance of the brush in his hand and his headache faded to a minor inconvenience. The resentment he carried dissolved like oil paint dipped into thinner. Nothing Rhys ever tried helped him work out his angst like bringing his muse to life on the canvas, and this session was shaping up to be better than all those before.

  Now that he had a precise, life-sized, three-dimensional model to work from, and had been on the receiving end of her enthusiastic, uninhibited anger, he became like a man possessed. The elements he’d missed in his original renderings zeroed into focus with the ease of breathing, as if the sole reason he’d been put on this earth was to showcase her beauty to the world.

  At some point during his concentrated fine-tuning of portrait after portrait—adding a stark line of fury to her jaw here, a spark of rage in her eyes there—the glaring lights of the gallery had covered him in a film of sweat and he’d kicked off his boots and socks, shrugged out of his button-down shirt and stripped to his dego tee. Soon after, Nate had mumbled a few words about heading home and tossed the keys to the front door on the speckled tarp at Rhys’ feet.

  Hours or days could’ve passed while he worked; he lost track. The star-studded sky outside the wide gallery windows might have signaled late evening or the middle of the night; he didn’t care. All that mattered was capturing the clear visual of his inspiration before time and the fading of his memories shuffled her features back to a fleeting, insubstantial wisp he couldn’t pinpoint.

  He stepped back and squinted at his current work in progress, bit the handle of the brush between his teeth and leaned down to pick up another. A sweep of the clean bristles back and forth through a dab of red paint, the addition of a little white and he lifted the brush to her lips. He’d not done them justice in the first go-round. In real life, they were fuller, juicier, and no doubt tasted like manna from Heaven.

  If he was careful, with just the right touch, maybe he could—

  The bell above the door jingled and he glanced over his shoulder, and the subtle layering of sexuality he’d been working to recreate no longer counted for squat. Because she was back. He turned to fully face her. Exactly like he’d been hoping.

  “You.” She pointed at him from across the room, that same furious spark he’d just added to the canvas glinting like a diamond in her eyes. She’d ditched her fuzzy coat, and the sheer blouse she wore over a white lacy camisole shot every ounce of blood he owned straight into his groin.

  Sweet God Almighty. Any doubts he might have harbored about her being the same woman decorating the walls of the gallery flew out the window.

  “I am not shocked to discover you are still here, going about your immoral business as if you’d nary a thought to do elsewise.”

  Evidently, she didn’t like the pictures. He spurted the brush from between his lips and paint splattered his toes as it clattered to the tarp. How she’d gotten here, he couldn’t guess and didn’t care. But she was real. In fact, she seemed more real than anyone he’d met throughout the entire course of his life. “Well, yeah. I’ve been waiting a long time for you. I wasn’t about to leave.”

  “Ha!” She tossed her head back and his focus slipped to the slender line of her throat. God, what he wouldn’t give to lick that soft stretch of skin just once. Even though one time would never be enough. Even though that single taste would leave him jonesing like an addict for his next high.

  “Indeed, you have.” Her hands fisted at her sides and she shifted uneasily from boot to boot. A second later, she narrowed her eyes and stormed across the gallery on those leather-clad come-to-Jesus thighs. “Then let us be done with this one-sided arrangement. ʼTis high time we had out our differences once and for all.”

  “Whoa, whoa.” He back-pedaled away from her, tripping over tubes of paint and discarded brushes until his shoulder blades connected with the wall. “Careful. Slow down. Wait, wet
paint!”

  “Do not tarry about such frivolities with me.” The back of his head bounced off the space between two canvases and stars showered through his vision as she jammed her forearm under his chin. “I am long accustomed to the ruse of your insincere distractions.”

  He dropped the brush and pallet to slide the cushion of one hand behind his head, and grimaced when the paint landed sunny-side down. Nate was gonna fry his ass for making such a mess. “Um, ouch?”

  “You shall release me from your devil’s bargain.” The pressure on his wind pipe increased, and he seized her hips. Jesus Christ, who had lit a fire under her? One hard kneecap rose between his thighs and lodged a threat to the underside of his balls. “Henceforth, you shall cease and desist in this madness to infiltrate my realm.”

  Infiltrate her what? The air thickened with her scent, a mouth-watering combination of sultry leather and the hint of a crisp, clean breeze rolling in off a high mountain. Damn, he wanted to bury his face in it. Let it soak into his skin like the sun on a hot summer day. “Shit, you smell good.”

  With a flip of her wrist and a wink of silver, a knife appeared in her fingers and the tip jabbed the thin skin below his jaw. Okay, she was officially pissed off. “Release me at once. Or you shall leave me no choice but to end your reign on the sharp edge of my dagger.”

  Release her? He scowled at her past the high angle of his chin. Release her from what? “Yeah, correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re the one who seems hell bent on inflicting injury here.” Besides, if either of them had the other by the briefs, it was her who had twisted his life into a proverbial wedgie.

  “I shall not ask again.” The tip of her knife poked deeper and he gritted his teeth. “Release me at once.”

  All right, enough nancy-footing around. He grabbed her wrists, reversed their positions and slammed her back to the wall. Restraining her hands at shoulder height, he locked those dangerous knees of hers between the clenched muscles of his thighs, trapping her body with his.

  Obviously, she had confused him with someone else, but he wasn’t about to get spanked like some scared little kid. Not again. He’d spent enough time on the streets to know a thing or two about digging his way out of a jam.

  Her frustrated growl vibrated into his chest as she thrashed against him, but he tightened his grip and held on. Hell, he could play this game with her all damn day. The silky strands of her hair tickled his nose as he lowered his lips to her ear. “If anyone in this room needs to be released, it’s me.”

  The tempting curves of her breasts bumped his pecs. He inhaled along the dizzying slant of her neck and she growled beneath him. Every muscle in his body hardened as her nipples tightened and poked his chest through the skimpy layers of her shirt. “Take a look around, sweetheart. I’m happy to paint your picture, but don’t think a day hasn’t gone by I haven’t asked myself why.”

  Her hips ground against him and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. If she didn’t stop, this little tussle of theirs was apt to head in a different direction altogether. Like the one where he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her into Nate’s office, stripped her down and stroked her until she shattered in his hands.

  “And what of the key? I presume you are fully prepared to relinquish your claim on that which is not rightfully yours?”

  “I couldn’t give a good god damn about the key.” Hell, he had some chemicals back at the warehouse that would dissolve it in about ten minutes if that’s what she wanted. “Figuring out why you’re here is the only thing that matters to me.”

  She slowly stopped squirming. He leaned back and she lifted her eyes to his, and he was jolted by the confusion darkening her angelic face. For fuck’s sake, she was young. Younger than he’d ever imagined. Too innocent and unspoiled for the grubby intentions of an asshole like him.

  A second or two later, defeat crumpled her brow, and her gaze shifted back and forth across his neck as if she were searching his shoulders for answers.

  He braced for the waterworks. Any second now, tears would fill her gorgeous brown eyes and he would be left standing like a dick. Nothing to say, unsure how to comfort her.

  His brow twitched when they never came, and the dread squeezing his windpipe slowly receded. He’d always envisioned her as strong, determined, a bit of a pain in the ass. A pulsing heaviness tightened his balls. It shouldn’t have shocked him to learn she could hold her own in a fight.

  The tip of her tongue appeared as she pulled her lower lip between her teeth and bit down. His shaft jerked so hard and fast, his knees almost gave out. Jesus Christ, didn’t she have any idea how the heat of her tight little body pressed into his nearly drove him insane? How much he wanted to sweep her tongue aside with his and suck that luscious lower lip of hers deep into his mouth?

  Being anywhere near her was like fighting a full-out war with his endurance. This close? Shit, this close, he was a goner.

  “You are not the monster I believed you to be.” Her fingers relaxed and the knife tumbled to the floor with ricocheting clang. “If you would kindly unhand me, I swear on the nine I shall no longer threaten or harm you.”

  Nine what? He shook his jumbled head. Didn’t matter. She’d finally accepted he wasn’t gunning for her and that was their first step in the right direction…not to mention the best news he’d gotten all day.

  He nodded, lips turned down in a frown. Trouble was, now that she’d worked through her suspicions, the thought of letting her go made him ache worse than the throbbing bruise at the back of his skull. “That’s too bad. I kinda like it when you go all Xena Warrior Princess on me. Makes me hot under the collar.”

  She snapped her chin up and he smiled at the pretty blush tinting her cheeks. Hopefully, one day very soon, he’d be able to recreate that same pink for his next piece. He’d ask her to sit for him and then work out the perfect thing to say so he could capture the delicate tones with his brush.

  Lowering her hands to her sides, he stepped back. The loss of contact made him crave her even more. Her focus darted past his right side and he turned, then crossed his arms as Forbes and his partner streaked past the window, pounding down the sidewalk like their asses were on fire. No cars lined the street but, then again, she could’ve hailed a cab. “How’d you get here, anyway?”

  “My uncles’ shop is a short distance from here.” She stepped to his side and repeated his crossed arms. “I waited until their backs were turned and slipped through the door.” A glance in his direction, and she shrugged. “They feared I might run off and do something rash.”

  He grunted and side-stepped slightly in front of her as the two men ratcheted the door open and tripped over the threshold in their rush to get inside. Whether or not she left the gallery was her decision, not theirs. Besides, if the call were his to make, she’d stay within arm’s length of him all night. Or forever. Whichever came first.

  “There you are!” Forbes slapped a hand to his chest, doubled over at the waist and wheezed a series of long-winded breaths. “My God, we thought we’d lost you.”

  Rhys scowled. He’d known she was coming back. She’d known she was coming back. Why was it so difficult for everyone else to get on the same page?

  The shorter, dark-haired man—Jon something-or-other—stumbled to a low ottoman and collapsed on the seat, lifting the back of his wrist to his forehead. “I’m too old for this shit.”

  Good God. If he didn’t already spend time on stage, the dude definitely belonged in the theater.

  “You have my sincerest regrets.” His muse rounded his shoulder, strode forward and knelt before the guy like he was some sort of high-powered, gay, super hero. “I beg your forgiveness, Uncle.” She lifted her hand to Forbes and he clasped it in his. “I beg for mercy from both of you.”

  Rhys squinted, irritation tightening his jaw. If either one of them so much as wagged a finger at her, he’d lay them out flat.

  “Oh, my darling girl, it’s all right.” Jon sat up and ran his palms down her
hair, back and forth along her upper arms, cooing and fawning as if he’d found his long-lost pet. “Are you all right? You scared us half to death.”

  “Let’s just take her home.” Forbes stepped close and squeezed his lover’s shoulder. “I think we’ve all had enough excitement for one night.”

  Speak for yourself. If Rhys had anything to say about it, the excitement had only just started.

  “Yes, quite right.” She nodded and stood, helping the seated dude to his feet. Rhys leaned down and snatched her knife off the floor, ran his thumb over the embellished hilt and raised his brows. Huh, looked like an antique.

  He flipped the blade in the air and offered it to her handle-first. “You forgot something.” As she reached for the weapon, he tipped the end up and waited for her to meet his gaze. “What time do I see you tomorrow?”

  Whatever hour she agreed to, he’d be counting the seconds until she walked back through that door.

  She glanced between the two men standing on either side of her and his stomach clenched. He swallowed past the awkward breath freezing his lungs. For Christ’s sake, it wasn’t like he’d never asked a woman on a date before. Then again, none of them ever had him by the balls like she did.

  A quick straightening of her shoulders, and she seemed to make her decision. “Assuredly, I will return early on the morrow. There is much yet to discuss.”

  Yeah, like if she was seeing anyone, for how long and who the lucky asshole might be…amongst other things.

  He lowered the hilt and she gripped the blade, but before he let go, he tugged her forward a step. “One last thing.”

  She widened her eyes and that god damned, groan-inducing blush returned to her cheeks. The one that made him want to pick her up and wrap her mile-long legs around his waist so he could bury himself balls deep inside her. “Will these tests of my patience be something I must daily endure in your presence?”

  He grinned. God, she made his heart beat faster. She made him feel. “What’s your name, princess?”