House Of Payne: Payne

by Stacy Gail

  Yes, came the immediate answer. When that man was Sebastian Payne, having her nonexistent panties melt was the only reaction that made sense.

  “You seem pretty sure of yourself.” And he’d find out he had every right to be, if he chose to slide his hand past the negligible veil of terrycloth. God help her, she was so turned on she could almost feel her depths gloving him until he was seated all the way up to the hilt of his penis… “Maybe it’s because I seem available? Within reach? Receptive to whatever advance you choose to make? I am sitting here wearing nothing but a bathrobe, after all.” Touch me. Send your people out of the loft and slide your hand between my legs. See how much I want you…

  “Don’t remind me.” For only an instant—so fast she thought she may have imagined it—a look of almost wretched hunger flashed across his expression, so vast and all-consuming it was like a wildfire that could never be extinguished. Then it was gone as he looked away, shaking out a linen napkin and placing it on his lap with inordinate care. “If you don’t mind, let’s talk about something else for now.”

  Crash.

  The verbal door that was slammed in her face was so loud she was shocked no one else heard it. Damn it. She’d practically drawn the fickle bastard a map, and he chose to stall out before reaching the final destination. While she’d like to think it was because they weren’t alone, the rebuff was about as subtle as if he’d shoved her away and accused her of having cooties.

  So he was yet another human being who realized she wasn’t worthy. What a surprise.

  “Um.” Humiliation burned like acid until it filled her world, to the point that it took a second to cobble some words together. “So… educate me out of my old-fashioned mindset. Who’s getting ink done these days besides fat, hairy motorcycle guys and sailors on shore leave?”

  “Jesus, talk about stereotypes.” A trickle of tension seemed to drain out him, and a corner of his mouth curled. “Are you sure you’ve been awake for the entirety of the twenty-first century?”

  Funny he should say that. “I missed about a week after a car accident, but beyond that, yeah. Who’s your fastest growing demographic?”

  “I think it would surprise you.” For a moment she thought he was going to say something else before he shook his head. “House Of Payne has been booked solid since September during daytime hours, thanks to soccer moms coming in for sessions while their kids are in school. But there’s no one particular demographic that outstrips any of the others. The fact is, nowadays just about everyone has some kind of body art.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Oh, I know.” He became statue-still, his gold-green gaze sliding over her as Andreas moved toward the table with plates in hand. Becks barely noticed. She was too busy trying not to fidget under another wave of arousing heat while Payne looked at her as though she wasn’t wearing a thing. “All that lovely virgin skin. You’re a beautiful blank canvas for someone like me, Becks.”

  There it was again, that unguarded look of ravenous desire. This time it didn’t vanish under a veil of caution. But she’d learned her lesson, if only because she had enough self-respect not to be treated like a piece of candy he wasn’t sure he wanted to slobber over. “Well, then. If tats are so mainstream that soccer moms are getting them, there’s no way I’m going to follow that flock of sheep. Unless something comes along to change my mind—and I mean something spectacular—this canvas is going to stay blank.”

  “You just can’t stop yourself from throwing challenges my way, can you?” His smile was sharp as Andreas slid plates in front of them. “Should I tell Becks how I respond to challenges, Andreas?”

  “I stay out of your business. But,” he added, looking at Becks with humor-filled eyes, “since you seem like a nice girl, I’ll give you some advice. Run while you can.”

  “In flip-flops? You’ve got to be kidding.” Then the scent of the food in front of her permeated her senses, and she looked down at the elegantly plated food. No matter how her stomach had dropped over Payne’s mixed signals, she’d have to be at death’s door to not have her mouth water over the culinary perfection sitting before her now. “Never, in the history of this apartment, has there been anything this beautiful served on a plate. I don’t think I can eat it. It’s too pretty.”

  “It was meant to be eaten, not stared at.” But Andreas beamed and fussily turned her plate around as if to give a better viewing angle. “These are crepes with lightly sweetened mascarpone filling and sliced strawberries that were soaked overnight in pink champagne. It’s topped with strawberry reduction and stabilized whipped cream.” He poured champagne into two flutes, then nodded to the young man already standing by the door with Andreas’s large box in hand. “Once you’re done, just leave the table outside the door and it will be taken care of. We’ll see ourselves out. Bon appétit.”

  The sound of the front door closing spawned a new tension that knotted up her insides, and she tucked into her food out of self-defense. She hadn’t realized how easy it had been to relax with the buffer of other people around. Now that they were alone, she suddenly had no clue how to act.

  “I hope you intend to clean you plate. Otherwise, Andreas will pout, and a pouting Andreas is not a pretty sight.”

  She tried not to jump at the sound of Payne’s voice. “I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings when he went to so much trouble. You both did, actually. That makes me wonder… why? Why did you do all this?”

  He watched her eat, apparently content to ignore his own plate. “Why not? Don’t you think a little pampering every now and then is good for the soul?”

  “But I’m no one. I’m nothing. All this extravagance—” she again gestured at the table “—I’m not worth it.”

  “Never call yourself a nothing, and never allow yourself to think you’re not worth the best this world has to offer.” He raised his flute and held it up to her. “Going for the best is the only way to get what you want, Becks. That’s why I’m going after you.”

  Chapter Four

  If Payne lived to be a hundred, he’d never forget Becks’s expression. She looked like she’d swallowed a bug. He would have laughed if it weren’t for the fact that out of all the reactions he’d expected, flat-out disbelief wasn’t one of them.

  Maybe he was losing his touch.

  “Okay. Just so we’re clear,” she began after a long moment taken up by the draining of her champagne flute. “When you say you’re going after me because you only want the best, you’re talking about professionally, right?”

  She couldn’t have floored him more if she’d tried. “Damn, I really am losing my touch.”

  “Don’t be offended. It’s just that things can get complicated and stupid with one simple misunderstanding, and neither one of us needs that kind of drama. To avoid that, I need to have everything sketched out for me like I’m a five-year-old. So… you mean to say you’re going after my artwork for House Of Payne, and that’s what this is all about, yes?”

  “I think you need one more of these before I answer.” He filled her glass with more bubbly and waited until she’d done it justice. “The first half of my answer is yes, you’re right to a certain extent. I went through all the new material you posted on your website last night, then went through the rest of your gallery. I’m more convinced than ever that your artistic vision and ability to create lifelike 3D art is exactly what House Of Payne needs to continue to be on the cutting edge of the tattoo industry.”

  “Wow.” Color flooded her cheeks, and she shook her head as if struggling to take it all in. “That’s quite an endorsement. I’m glad you like my work.”

  “I more than like it. I want it.”

  “The pieces I put up on my online gallery can be negotiated for sale. Which works are you interested in?”

  “You misunderstand. When I say I want it, I’m talking about everything. I want all the originals you have to offer. Even the ones you haven’t yet shared with the world.”

  Her jaw did a slow-mo drop. “W
hat? Just… what?”

  “We don’t know each other that well yet, so I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I’m a selfish, covetous bastard, and once I decide I want something, I go after it hammer and tong until it’s mine. I don’t want anyone else to even glimpse your art and think about owning it or mimicking your style.”

  She shook her head. “Very few people know I’m alive, much less about my art. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “Believe me, after Missing Piece aired the other night on the news, people the world over sat up and took notice of who you are and what you can do. That’s why I want to buy your entire collection. I’m willing to pay a fair price not just for each piece, but also for the exclusive right to commercially reproduce your work. In addition to that, there are about a dozen other pieces that I want to commission you to recreate with body art specifically in mind.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as the raised lettering pushing out of a stone surface on that one piece entitled In Memoriam. I want an entire alphabet like that, giving that realistic look of letters pushing up from beneath the skin. I’m also crazy about the fire and water pieces you’ve done. Lastly, I was inspired by that one dark, sci-fi mecha woman piece you put up last night—No Nightmares For Robots. I loved the detailed, three-dimensional skin you did on the woman. The intricate shading and layering of her gears, wiring and circuitry… it’s pure genius. I’ve never seen anything in my industry coming even close to it. I can imagine an entire suit of mechanized body armor in the form of tattoos, and No Nightmares For Robots is exactly what I want. Do you have any questions at this point?”

  She looked at him as if he had slipped into a foreign language. “Just one. Have you lost your mind?”

  “Why? Do you think so little of your work that you doubt the sanity of the people who like it? You should work on that sales pitch, Becks. It’s not the best I’ve ever heard.”

  With a sound of impatience, she waved his words away. “Don’t be ridiculous. I know my work is unique and, if I say so myself, positively fabulous. I’m talking about the price tag.”

  Damn, when it came to her work, her confidence was just about the sexiest thing going. “What about it?”

  “Do you have any idea how much buying my entire collection is going to cost you? I’m not cheap, you know.”

  “I don’t do cheap. And don’t tell me you think House Of Payne can’t afford you.”

  “I don’t know what to think.” She put a hand to her brow as if the champagne had it spinning. “I never imagined Robots as a template for body art, but I can see how that project would make you think of tattoos. Of course, I would need to get together with you on what specifically you’d like to see for your tattoo stencils. I’ve never created anything to fit over a shoulder or around a leg, so be prepared to go into detail about what you want from me.”

  They’d be working together, side by side, late into the night when anything could happen… “I can’t wait to get started.”

  “You do know that custom work is even more expensive, right? I charge my clients by the hour. You’ll be no different.”

  The memory of Becks inviting him to hold his breath for thanks of payment for her art flashed through his mind. “If only my mother could have met you.”

  She frowned. “Your mother? Why?”

  “Forget it.” Smiling at his own foolishness, he shook his head. “Don’t you want to offer me a discount for filling up my shopping cart?”

  “No matter how killer your smile is, that’s never going to happen. I’m damn good at what I do, and I know what my art is worth.”

  “I’m happy you know your value and happier still to find out you think my smile is killer.” He chuckled when she offered an eye roll. There was just something so fucking hot about a sassy woman. “Let me worry about my wallet, Becks. I’ve already told you, I go for the best. This is true for both my professional life and my personal one. And that leads me to the second half of my response to your original question.”

  “Second half?” The look she shot him was hilarious, like she almost believed he was going to pounce on her like a cat with a mouse. Then again, maybe that wasn’t so hilarious, since that was pretty much the situation. “Don’t you think that’s enough?”

  “You’re the one who wanted everything to be spelled out like you were five, so here it is. I want you.” And he did. It had always been there in the back of his mind, but until Becks had barreled into his office it hadn’t been a solidified determination. Now it was. She was brighter, sexier and more of a challenge than he’d ever imagined, to the point where he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Later, if there was fallout… Grimly he pushed the thought away. Fuck the fallout. Maybe, at some point far down the road, he might tell her that he knew all about the car accident that had nearly taken her life and the role he’d inadvertently played in it. But not now.

  For now, he would simply enjoy her.

  “I see.” Despite her calm response, his statement seemed to freeze Becks in place. “So when you say that you want me, you actually mean—”

  “I desire you. I’m fascinated by you. I find you intellectually stimulating and sexually alluring. I lost sleep last night because thinking about you gave me a hard-on that wouldn’t quit. I look at you and picture you naked. I hope like hell you do the same when you look at me. I. Want. You.”

  “Oh.” Her hand touched the base of her throat, where her pulse pounded so wildly he could see its frantic flutter. More than his next breath he ached to put his mouth there. “Well. I did ask you to spell it out for me, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah.” That visible sign of her excitement sparked shivers of reaction in him, and with the heat of lust pooling fast and heavy in his cock, it was all he could do to keep from jumping her right there. “You really have no one to blame but yourself.”

  “That’s why you’ve gone to all this trouble?”

  “Trying to please you is no trouble at all.”

  The tremulous catch in her breath was audible. He could only hope she didn’t hold his smile of feverish hunger against him.

  “All of this,” she swept the table with a gesture, “is because you’re… seducing me.”

  “Now that’s something I don’t know.” He didn’t look away from those turbulent eyes even as he reached past the small table to her robe-shrouded knee. With a flick of his wrist the terrycloth fell away, allowing him to slide a slow hand over her kneecap to the silken flesh of her inner thigh. “Am I, Becks? Am I seducing you?”

  Her eyes fluttered closed for only a moment before she brushed an encouraging caress over his hand. That was all it took for his heart to almost beat him to death. “At the very least, you’re giving it the old college try.”

  If this was a dream, Becks didn’t want to wake up. Twenty-four hours ago she had been ready to kill this man with her bare hands. Twenty-four hours before that, she’d known of Payne’s existence only through TV sound bites and social media.

  What a difference a day or two made.

  “You’re going to have to forgive me for being slow on the uptake. No one’s ever tried to seduce me before. My experience runs more along the lines of the wham-bam, thank you ma’am kind of thing.” As she spoke, she nudged the rolling table aside. With that physical barrier removed, intoxicating heat prickled her through her until the inner folds of her sex tingled with it. “This is a first.”

  “Good.” His free hand hovered over the knot in her robe’s sash, before slowly running down the length of it. “First times are always memorable. That’s what I want to be for you.”

  “Memorable?”

  He nodded, his eyes locked onto her as if he didn’t want to see anything else but her. “Even when you’re old and gray, I want you to remember your first time with me.”

  A startling thrill shot through her, because it almost sounded like she was genuinely cared for. But cold, hard logic told her otherwise. Believing in people and the apparent solidity of their emot
ions was a seductive trap designed to shatter any dreams she’d woven around them. She’d never believe in anyone again.

  No matter how tempting the current trap was.

  “Don’t ask for guarantees, okay?” She smiled and shoved the yearning to believe in him down into an internal secret vault, where everything she’d once been was now locked away. “People always forget. Life moves on. All that matters is the moment, because nothing can be relied on in the future, especially people.” But deep down, she knew she wouldn’t forget this day and how he had gone to such lengths to make her feel important. Like she mattered, even when she didn’t.

  His attention, however momentary, was a gift beyond measure in her barren life.

  The hand on her thigh paused. “Again, you surprise me. I thought we artistic types were overly emotional sentimentalists.”

  “Only for my art. Things like sentiment and emotion don’t work in real life. It’s best just to leave them out of it.” This was the last thing she wanted to talk about, especially now. With great deliberation she scooted toward the edge of her seat, all the while watching his eyes darken until they were almost black. Her pulse quickened as her action brought his hand closer to the barely veiled juncture of her thighs, where she throbbed with pure need. “So if you’re worried about me falling for you and turning into a crazy emo pain in the ass, don’t. It won’t happen. It can’t happen. You’re safe from me, I promise.”

  “That’s one hell of a promise.” The hand holding the end of the robe’s sash tightened, but didn’t pull. She tried not to shiver, wanting the long terry panels to fall away and unveil her. The raw hunger in his sleepy-lidded eyes and the bulge she could see behind his zipper had her breath backing up in anticipation. “The thing is, I wonder…”

  She shifted her shoulders, anxious under the robe that suddenly felt too heavy on her skin. “What?”

  “I wonder if you’ve considered whether or not you’re safe from me?”