Chapter Five
"I love his use of colors in this painting. The light seems to play off the child's face." Ellie stretched her fingers barely inches from the oil painting indicating the myriad of colors swirling across the canvas, the translucency of the paint in some areas haloing the subject; this child. The ambiguity of the child's gender made the painting that much more appealing.
She awaited a response and when none was forthcoming, she spun around to see where Nicholas had gone. She had not needed to look far for her elusive escort, for there he stood, a distance away from where she was, a look of utter boredom across his too perfect features. From where she stood, Ellie carefully assessed him, wondering how it was at all possible for someone who professed to adore Yves Charmant's work as much as Nicholas did, to remain so utterly impassive to the exquisite art pieces around him.
They were nearing the end of their tour around the gallery and not once in the last two hours had he commented on any of the artwork, not unless one considered noncommittal grunts as remarks.
True to his word, he'd arrived at her house promptly at eight. Ellie hadn't allowed him time to hop off his motorcycle to greet Gabe. She'd been out of the house and on his bike in seconds, hastily kissing Sophie goodnight. The trip downtown had been exhilarating, to say the least and this time, she'd been lucid enough to actually enjoy the ride. They'd eaten dinner at a small Thai restaurant a few blocks from the gallery and as they sucked down their Thai ice teas and walked the short distance to the gallery, Ellie had been forced to admit that Nicholas presented a good time.
He was quick with the jokes, although still comported himself like a gentleman, his charm in the irreverent twist of his full lips. He was sweet in a way and twice during their meal, she’d even managed to catch a glimpse of the true Nicholas; the Nicholas who didn't need to hide behind the ‘I'm a bad boy' façade. The Nicholas that Ellie found she could actually see herself becoming friends with, if his ego allowed it.
"Tell me Nicholas, which of Charmant's earlier works do you find most fascinating?" With a kind smile for the couple heading her way, Ellie stepped aside, allowing them ample opportunity to view the painting she now saw as one of her many favorites. She gave him a dubious glance and was perversely satisfied to see his sudden alertness.
"Works?"
With the shuffle of the oncoming crowd she found herself standing incredibly close to him, and with an inadvertent shove from behind, she was sent tumbling into his arms. He had quick reflexes and used them effectively to catch her before she fell. His left arm spanned her waist and with the other he brushed her unbound hair from her face. The sweep of his warm hand against her skin produced a flush in Ellie, her cheeks warming beneath his palm.
"Are you alright?" the gruffness of his voice drew her gaze to him and Ellie wished she hadn't looked. His eyes held her spellbound; they weren't as completely gray as she'd initially believed, ice-blue flecks speckled through the gunmetal gray, an odd mix that made them oh-so appealing. She licked her lips and watched in fascination as those pale blue flecks dilated, fusing in with the gray. The intimacy of their embrace was not at all lost on her and when lucidity returned, she was out of his arms and standing at a less unsettling distance. He raised one elegant brow at her haste, his trademark grin settling on his lips. "You OK?"
Despite the slight tinge in her cheeks, Ellie managed to compose herself and toss the grinning rat a glare. "I'm fine." She huffed, "And I asked you a question before I was shoved." She said indignantly.
"Right." Nicholas glanced at her, the sly look in her hazel eyes was a familiar tell and mindlessly he thought she would make a horrible poker player.
Nicholas kept his amusement to himself while he silently applauded her attempt to trip him up; he'd nearly fallen for her artlessly crafted trap. Seconds ago, standing as close as he'd been to her, he would have said just about anything for a chance to kiss her. She probably had the best set of full lips he'd ever seen on a girl. He'd wanted to stoop down and taste them to see if they tasted as delectable as they appeared. Of course he wouldn't give into his baser instincts, not yet anyway. If he had any hope of getting anywhere with her, he carefully had to tread.
Ellie Holbrook wasn't the typical John Edgar nitwit and the more time he spent with her, the more Nicholas realized his regular bag of tricks was not going to work on her. She presented a challenge, no doubt about that, but, it was a challenge he was all too eager to overcome. The victory did not matter as much as the thrill of the chase.
"I'm not a fan of his earlier works, but that one," he cocked his head to the painting behind her left shoulder, adjacent to the one they had faced moments ago. She turned and he took the chance to step behind her, his hand settling on her shoulders, "might very well be one of my favorites."
The painting depicted a nude man standing at the center of the canvas surrounded by infinite darkness. The colors used to accentuate the pigment of his flesh were subtle but no less riveting. On his weathered features one could see the scars of life wreathed across, deeply enrooted in earth toned skin. His hunched shoulders hinted at the battles he had waged and lost, the weight of his troubles seemingly shrinking him to size. But despite all of that, it was the profound sadness in his eyes---the aching sadness so real and arresting that it seemed almost tangible, that always managed to evoke Ellie's tears.
It did so now and it was all she could do to keep herself from blubbering like a little child. "The first time I saw this painting," she felt him so close, having momentarily forgotten he was there, Ellie stiffened slightly. His breath whispering softly against the shell of her ear sent shivers hurtling down her spine. "I almost cried. The raw essence of pain captured in his eyes made me realize just how vulnerable we are to our emotions." Nicholas stepped back as she unexpectedly whirled around toward him.
"You really didn't just say that." Ellie was flabbergasted. Disbelief had her gaping, certain that she hadn't just heard her sentiments parroted back to her. It was impossible, the words too exact to be called a coincidence. He'd practically recited them verbatim. She'd written that entry in her online journal the first time she'd seen Charmant's "Void" and the damn bastard had more than likely found it, read it, and was using it now to appear sensitive? How stupid did he think she was?
Wordlessly, she spun on her heel and found the nearest exit, sure that if she'd remained a second longer, she would've resorted to violence. "Ellie!" Ignoring his calls she lengthened her strides, dodging through obstacles of human bodies, she was out of the building in record time. She lifted her hand to hail a cab, but the grip on her arm prevented her from doing so. Nicholas spun her around, the hold on her arm remained gentle but firm even in the face of her scowl.
"Let go!" She attempted to pull her arm away, Nicholas's hold remained firm.
"Mind telling me what I did first?"
"God! I can't believe I actually allowed myself to fall for your bullshit! And to think, I even believed you were somewhat of a decent human being. Well, you know what, Nicholas, you can go to hell." She wrenched her arm from his grasp and walked away from him, stomping in the opposite direction of where he'd parked his bike. She didn't know where she was going, didn't much care at the present moment, all that mattered was that she get as far away from him as she could.
"Ellie!" He was at her side and even with his longer strides he had to double his efforts to catch up to her. "Ellie...will you stop a sec..."
"Fuck off, Nicholas."
"Look, I'm sorry, Ok?" he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and cried, "Ellie Holbrook, I'm sorry! I was a dick and I'm sorry!"
Ellie stopped short, turned around and found him on his knees a distance away. Having gained an audience, he interlaced his hands in front of him in the semblance of prayer. "I was only trying to impress you. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I really wasn't trying to piss you off and I'm sorry if I did."
"You’re making a scene, Nicholas, get up!"
"Not until you forgive me!"
>
She blew out an exasperated breath. "Fine, I forgive you, now get up!" she said through gritted teeth.
He remained on his knees, much to the gathering crowd's amusement. "You don't mean it." He intoned, putting on display that stupid grin of his.
She folded her arms across her chest and glowered at him, "I forgive you for being an asshole, now please, get up."
He was before her in a blink of an eye, then leaned close and brushed a kiss against her cheek. "I know I seem to be saying this a lot, but I am sorry." He said, his smile, genuine in its entire effect, enhanced already perfect features and Ellie found her irritation vanishing. When his hand searched hers out and entwined their fingers, she blamed the fluttering of her heart on indigestion.
The crowd, seemingly satisfied at their happy reunion, clapped and aww-ed before continuing on their way. Ellie and Nicholas walked among them, the silence between the two, impregnable. They were not too far now from where he’d parked the bike and before they could go any further, Ellie stopped walking and turned to him.
"I don't let too many people get close to me, Nicholas. Don't make me regret befriending you," she glanced up at him, "Don't hurt me, OK?" Hazel eyes held sterling grey as her words hung suspended between them.
For the briefest of moments neither said anything, and then Nicholas leaned down and brushed her cheek with cool fingers, "I wouldn’t dream of it."
He was at it again. Like a creeping fog he could feel the depression setting in again, blanketing every inch of his being with a debilitating chill.
Nicholas dragged in a lung full of noxious smoke from his cigarette and breathed out on a deep, wearied sigh. He hunched forward, inadvertently causing his overgrown fringe to curtain his vision, he rested his arms on his knees and stared mindlessly at his naked feet.
"...in entertainment news today, renowned actress and socialite Sonja Grayson was seen at last night's Academy Awards with a new man on her arm, looking absolutely ravishing in her Loraina DeRue gown. Rumors have it that the mysterious man is reported to be her bodyguard and by that dazzling smile on her face, it seems he's doing a lot more than security detail---"
"Turn that shit off." He groused, leaning back against the leather couch.
"Really, Nicky, you're such a grouch." Evey purred, taking hold of the remote control she aimed it at the flat screen and hit the power button.
She had fine contours and sticky hips, swaying them like seduction was going out of style as she waltzed his way. Forever legs, pale, perfectly shaped, made the skin to clothes ratio seem improbable. The mini she wore showed her violet lace panties, which judging by the look in her cognac eyes, was probably as indecent as the smile on her scarlet mouth.
"This could be the man of her dreams," she said, falling between his parted thighs. She looked up at him through kohl rimmed eyes, her grin growing wider. "You should be happy for your dear old mother." Her hands inched higher up his thighs, dexterous fingers tiptoeing ever closer to the evident swell in his pants.
He watched her through hooded eyes, features inscrutable as he reached out and brushed her pale blond curls away from her face, and with an empty smile he guided her head between his thighs. "Suck my cock, Eves." he took a drag and pulled the cigarette from between his lips, "Do it how I like it." He whispered.
She was an eager little thing and quite skilled with the fingers, too. In seconds flat, she freed him from his chafing prison and her mouth quickly went to work. She had a mouth like a goddamn vacuum, suck and release, suck and release. She did a wraparound twirl thing with her tongue that had him growling for her to take it deeper. With one hand lost in her curls and the other gripping the Afghan beneath him, he held the cigarette between his lips and groaned. "Fuck."
His eyes were clenched shut and beyond their orangey tint, a pair of almond shaped hazel eyes popped up, large and probing hazel eyes that raped him of his will to breathe the moment Evey deep throated every inch of him.
"Fuck...."he rasped again.
Nicholas saw Ellie’s face as if she were standing right before him, those hazel eyes clouded over with a need only he could satisfy. He bucked, his hand clenched in Evey's hair, holding her down as she milked him, greedily swallowing every bit of his spunk. "Ellie." He breathed.
Evey's throaty laughter dissipated his fantasy in a quick and disheartened he reluctantly opened his eyes.
"You've got to be kidding me," she chortled. "My God, Nicky, only two weeks in this Bet and you're already moaning her name? And here I thought it was supposed to be the other way around. Wait until the guys hear about this."
Nicholas's foul mood returned with a vengeance and the scowl on his face it seemed, served as ample warning for Evey to shut up. He came to his feet, once again tucked in and fly zipped up, he ambled to the bathroom, the clinking of his belt buckle the only sound in the living room. "You should be gone when I get out." He said before disappearing into his bathroom.
Evey huffed. The guy was moodier than a girl during her period, she silently thought, sweeping her fingers through her blond tresses. He was always so stoic and blasé about everything. But, it wasn't like she wasn't use to it. She'd known him for two years now and they were what most would describe as friends with benefits. She was the dependent booty call and he never disappointed. Knowing him for as long as she did, Evey knew as much about him as everyone else in school. Which wasn't much. He came from money naturally; everyone in their clique was wealthy.
His mother did a few movies back in the day that were considered classics to some now. She didn't really act anymore, but one could always find some juicy tidbit about her in the gossip rags. His father, probably just as infamous as his wife, happened to be a tycoon of some sort, with a whole lot of money and a whole lot of power. That was about as much as she knew and it didn't seem like Nicholas was too amped to share anything with anyone anytime soon.
The only person she could say he was even remotely close to was Matt Bates. They had a relationship that some would consider to be the very best. And Evey knew Matt had a thing for Nicholas. Too bad for him, Nicholas didn't crunch dick. He ate pussy though, real well too. Tonight, it didn't seem like he would return the favor, but Evey wasn't too worried. With a small smile, she stood, searched and found her designer handbag and made her way out the door. "I'll see you at school, Nicky. Give a kiss to Ellie for me."
He'd call again. Nicholas always called her when he needed to unload.
"Fucking bitch." Nicholas muttered minutes after the front door closed shut. He stepped out of the bathroom with his face dripping wet as he headed to the bedroom and found a towel to dab his face. He should've known better than to invite her over. Another stupid decision brought on by the unexpected call from his mother earlier today. He threw the towel on the bed, stripped off his t-shirt and tossed it in the same vicinity as the towel.
He hadn't spoken to his mother in nearly a year. She'd randomly called today, to ask him to dinner tomorrow night, with her new pet in tow. He had yet to call her with an answer, which should have naturally been no, but like a fool, he'd told her he'd think about it. Thinking about it only managed to raise his blood pressure.
He grabbed the half-emptied bottle of water from where he'd left it on the dresser, took a swig, recapped it and put it back where it'd been. He then picked up the pack of Marlboros, drew one out, his third tonight and sparked it to life. With smoke filling his lungs, he settled back against the black headboard, the bevy of down pillows providing ample support for his back. Seated with one leg slightly raised and the other stretched out on the bed, Nicholas sighed and mindlessly wondered how many sleeping pills he needed to take to get some sleep.
Insomnia was a bitch. Especially when you were jonesing for a decent night's sleep and got nothing but white noise and an urge to drink yourself stupid.
He was beginning to regret kicking Eves out. With her kind of entertainment, he would've been busy until the break of dawn with nothing in mind, but good ol' mindless fun. Perverse c
uriosity had him wondering how good of a fuck Ellie would be. She was a prude, no doubting that, but from his personal experience prudes tended to be more fun in bed, more adventurous as it were. Imagining her in bed and all the things that he could do to her brightened his mood considerably. That Desmo was as good as his, but first there was still the matter of getting her in his bed.
Ellie. Nicholas smiled. Ellie was something else.
"...I don't let too many people get close to me. Don't hurt me, OK?"
Those words echoed in his mind. To think that he'd actually cared enough to apologize and to genuinely mean it, still managed to baffle him. He didn't know he could even still do sincerity. But, he'd done it and quite well, too. He leaned over, grabbed the ashtray from the bedside table and set it between his legs. After a few flicks of the cigarette, he brought it back to his mouth and raked his hand through his inky mane, his thoughts lingering on the diminutive girl who spoke her mind and cared absolutely nothing of what he thought of her.
She fascinated him. In her he found a kindred spirit of sorts. Even more so now that'd he'd read the countless entries on her online journal. There'd been a myriad of poetry, some hers, for example, some others, and still some others collection of her favorite writers, but each just as poignant as the last; like the one she'd written on Charmant's "Void" and the sheer emotions that had taken over her once she'd seen it, had been so beautifully written that the words resonated in Nicholas even now.
She used her words so carefully, her imagery so vivid that it seemed almost tangible. He'd spent hours on her site, absorbing the words of her free verse like some lyrical junkie, marveling at how each poem spoke to him as nothing had before, reflecting points of his life so perfectly. It was as if she knew of the aching loneliness that festered at his core, of the desperation and overwhelming need to remain afloat despite how painful it was to remain thus.
Beautiful Disaster (The Bet) Page 6
