by E. L. Todd
“I don’t want you to control yourself,” she whispered.
He kissed her forehead. “I want to make love to you, Nancy. But it can’t be ordinary. It can’t be anything less than amazing.”
“Okay. But I don’t want to wait anymore.”
“Just give me more time.”
She sighed in annoyance.
“Believe me, it’ll be worth it.”
She grabbed his arms and squeezed him.
“It’ll be soon. I promise.”
“Thank you.”
He stood up and stepped back. “I’m going to New York this weekend. I want you to come.”
“Another art show?”
“Yep. But it isn’t for me. I’m featuring you.”
“What?”
“I suggest you get to work in my office.”
“Thatcher, I can’t sabotage all of your events.”
“You aren’t sabotaging anything. This is happening. You can’t argue with me.”
“You don’t need to do this for me just because we’re together,” she said.
“You think that’s why I’m doing this?” he asked. “It has nothing to do with it. I think you’re the most talented artist I’ve ever seen. You deserve to have the spotlight. I fell in love with you because of your ability. It’s not the other way around.” He turned toward the door. “I suggest you get to work as soon as you’re done here.”
24
Nancy changed her clothes then went into his office. She sat in front of the blank canvas for a long time, trying to decide what to paint. She finally dipped her brush into the paint and started to splash the color onto the page. She sat on the stool and leaned forward, putting her emotions into her work. She waited for Thatcher to come in but he never did. She even wore his shirt and just her panties to entice him but he never took the bait.
When she finally finished a piece, she stared at it for a long time, feeling the dry paint on her face. It hardened on the surface and she scratched away a few drops on her arm.
Thatcher came beside her and handed her a plate. It had a sandwich and a few carrots. “You didn’t eat dinner.”
“Oh. I totally forgot.”
“I do that too.” He glanced down to her thighs then looked away.
“I caught that.”
He smiled then looked at the painting. “It’s fantastic, like all of your creations.”
“You think so?”
“Nancy, I wouldn’t take you to an art show, giving you my stamp of approval, if I didn’t believe that.”
She knew he was right. “Thank you.”
“Ready for bed?”
“I’m exhausted. But I should go back to my apartment. I haven’t been there in a while. Someone could have broken into the place and I would have no idea.”
He nodded.
She ate her sandwich then left the room, changing back into her clothes. “Are you coming over?”
Thatcher leaned against the door with his hands in his pockets. “I’m not sure.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means what it means.”
“Well, let me know whenever you decide,” she snapped.
He raised his hands in the air. “Okay, hold on. The only reason why I’m hesitant is because of our conversation earlier today. I don’t trust myself around you.”
“So now I’m sleeping alone?” She shook her head then grabbed her purse, storming down the stairs. Nancy didn’t look behind her to see if Thatcher was following her. At that point, she didn’t care.
“Nancy, stop.”
Against her will, she stopped before the door but she didn’t turn around. His voice could command her to do anything. She hated the effect he had on her.
“Now turn around and talk to me.”
She sighed then faced him, not looking at him.
“It’s nothing personal. Well, it is, but not in a bad way, Nancy.”
“Just when I got comfortable with you,” she said as she shook her head.
“What?”
“You told me you always want to sleep with me and now you don’t. You just changed your mind, you just left.” She reached for the door. “Night, Thatcher.”
He grabbed the door and slammed it shut, making the house shake.
Her breathing hitched at the unexpected hostility.
Thatcher pushed her against the wall, his body cornering her. He grabbed her neck and steadied her, looking into her face. The menace and anger on his face frightened her. She had never seen him so upset. “I’m not abandoning you. I love you more than I did yesterday. With every passing day, my heart flutters, grows for you. I’ve never been more in love my whole life. I’m not going anywhere—ever. My intentions are entirely selfless. I’m only doing what I think is best for you. I meant what I said. Without trust, there is no relationship. You need to trust me, Nancy.”
She looked away, her hands at her sides.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Nancy met his gaze, seeing the intensity in his eyes.
“I can’t lie to you because of this connection we have. If you ever doubt my actions or my words, all you have to do is look in my eyes, my soul. Everything you need to know is sitting there, available only for you.”
She grabbed the arm that held her throat and ran her fingers across his skin.
“It’s not that I don’t want to sleep with you. You must realize that.”
Nancy took a deep breath.
Thatcher lowered his hand then pressed his chest against hers and kissed her forehead. “Don’t ever doubt my love for you.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I’ll sleep with you as long we don’t do anything tonight.”
She was disappointed, but sleeping with him without fooling around was better than not sleeping with him at all. “Okay.”
“Let me grab my things.” He went upstairs and grabbed his bag before he returned. They drove their separate cars to her apartment then walked inside. It was the same as it had been before. Now that she spent so much time at Thatcher’s beautiful house, she resented her ugly apartment and the small space. She thought about the check sitting in her savings account but she couldn’t force herself to use it.
Thatcher changed into his sweats, which disappointed her, but she didn’t comment on it. She showered then put on her pajamas before she went to bed. Her bed was a full size, smaller than the king size bed Thatcher had, but she didn’t mind the limited space because she got to be closer to him.
Thatcher ran his hands through her hair while he stared at her face. She looked at his lips, wishing she could kiss him. His lips always tasted so good.
“Just one,” he whispered. He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. She sighed at his touch, wanting it to last as long as possible. His tongue didn’t move inside, and she felt disappointed by its absence.
He pulled away then placed his hand on her waist, not moving under her shirt like he usually did. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
After Thatcher fell asleep, she stared at him for a long time. When her eyes became heavy, she drifted off to sleep.
When she woke the next morning, Thatcher was gone. She knew he went surfing, but the knowledge didn’t dull the pain she felt. When she reached for her phone on the nightstand, she saw the note with Thatcher’s handwriting.
No smoke without you, my fire.
After you left,
your cigarette glowed on in my ashtray
and sent up a long thread of such quiet grey
I smiled to wonder who would believe its signal
of so much love. One cigarette
in the non-smoker's tray.
As the last spire
trembles up, a sudden draught
blows it winding into my face
Is it smell, is it taste?
You are here again, and I am drunk on your tobacco lips.
Out with the light.
Let the smoke li
e back in the dark.
Till I hear the very ash
sigh down among the flowers of brass
I'll breathe, and long past midnight, your last kiss.
While I watched you sleep this morning, this poem came to my thoughts.
-Thatcher-
Nancy smiled when she read it. She recognized the poem by Edwin Morgan. It was such a sweet gesture. No one had ever recited a poem to her before. Her melancholy gone, she got ready for the day.
When she arrived at work, Thatcher came to her office.
“Good morning,” he said as he kissed her on the forehead.
She sighed happily as she felt his lips touch her. “Thank you for the note.”
He rubbed his nose against hers. “The poem played in my head the moment I looked at you.”
“And what does it mean to you?”
He leaned on the desk while he looked at her. “That your presence is forever in my house, my heart, my bed even after you’re gone. Like smoke, the effects never disappear. It’s a permanent stain, one that I love.”
She smiled then blushed.
“You aren’t working in here today.”
“I’m not?”
“No. Come with me.”
They went to his office upstairs, where an easel and canvass were set up.
“We have to make sure you have plenty of paintings.”
“I would if you didn’t take them all.”
He smiled at her then led her to the seat. “Get to work.”
“I’m getting paid to paint?”
“You have the best boss ever, huh?”
“He would be even better if he put out,” she teased.
He came back to her then grabbed her waist, looking her in the eye. “I will rock your world, Nancy. You just wait for it.” He dropped his hands then left the room, the feeling of his intensity still lingering behind. When her thoughts turned sinister, she shook her head and focused on the painting.
Thatcher had her focus on her artwork for the rest of the week, making her paint a different piece every day. It was natural for her. Time passed without actually moving. When Thatcher came into the room with food, she realized she missed a meal. He never visited her unless he was bringing her something and he stayed out of the way.
Their nights were uneventful and boring. Thatcher didn’t make a move or even kiss her, and Nancy sighed in frustration, wanting to jump his bones. She became so frustrated that she fingered herself in the shower, imagining Thatcher kissing her body and thrusting inside her. Her orgasm was intense and she had to grab the rail so she wouldn’t fall over. She felt a little better after relieving herself, but she desperately wanted the real thing.
When Friday arrived, they took their bags and headed to the airport. Thatcher carried everything and made sure they got on the right flight. It was a nice change since their last flight together. He held her waist and guided her where she needed to go. She had been independent for so long that it was nice to be taken care of.
When they sat on the plane, she leaned on his shoulder and hooked her arm around his. Thatcher ran his fingers down her arm and played with her fingers. They didn’t speak very often, but their silence was full of conversation. They could communicate without the use of words. In a way, she felt like they both wouldn’t shut up.
Thatcher would look her in the eyes, conveying his love and devotion to her, and she would give him the same look. When he gave her that expression, she felt loved and treasured. It was a feeling she’d never known. The only look she received from men was desire. Their heated gazes would scan her body, imagining her naked. Thatcher did it when they were in the bedroom, but it was mixed with deeper emotions. She loved it when he looked at her that way. In fact, she wished he would do it more often.
When the plane landed, they took a car to the hotel in the city. She had never been to New York so she was mesmerized by the sight of the skyscrapers, the crowds, and the different culture. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry, in a rush to get somewhere. It was the opposite of Hawaii where everyone was mellow and relaxed.
When they stopped in front of The Plaza Hotel, Nancy raised an eyebrow. “This is where we’re staying?”
He nodded.
“Wow.”
Thatcher smiled. “I think you’ll like it. I usually stay here when I’m in the city.” He got out and helped her to her feet. The bell man immediately grabbed the luggage from the cart and put it on the trolley.
“We can carry it,” Nancy said.
He grabbed her waist and pulled her close to him. “The gallery is here this weekend. Just follow my lead.”
She didn’t know what that meant.
Thatcher grabbed her hand and led her into the hotel. He checked in at the front desk and the bell boy carried the bags to the room. Nancy didn’t like having anyone carry her belongings but she didn’t voice her opinion. Thatcher tipped the man, and the bellboy’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Thank you, sir. You have a wonderful stay.”
Thatcher nodded. “Have a good night.” He opened the door then pulled everything inside.
Nancy stepped inside and looked at the suite, marveling at its size and elegance.
“I have to say something,” Thatcher said as he looked at her. “You father is filthy rich and you grew up rich—for the most part—but you seemed to be so surprised by elegant and expensive things.”
She shrugged. “Just because my dad has money doesn’t mean I’ve ever used it. If he went on trips for work, I always stayed behind, voluntarily. It’s weird to live with someone your whole life but have no idea how to talk to them.”
He stared at her but didn’t say anything. “Would you like to see the Met?”
“The what?”
Thatcher smiled. “The Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art.”
“Oh.” Now she felt stupid. “I would love to.”
“Good, because I have tickets. We’ll have dinner afterwards.”
“Okay.” She changed then they took a cab to the museum.
Thatcher seemed uninterested and unimpressed by the pieces.
“You’ve been here before?” she asked.
“A few times.”
“We didn’t have to come.”
“I wanted to take you.” He grabbed her hand and led her to the Van Gogh picture. There was a crowd of people blocking the way. Nancy waited a long time for the crowd to move but they never did. Thatcher stepped away and whispered to the curator, handing him something. The man closed the doors and waited for the crowd to disperse. When they left, Nancy and Thatcher were alone.
“I have a feeling you arranged that,” Nancy said to him.
Thatcher led her to the painting and stood beside it, staring at it for a long time. “I didn’t have the opportunity to see this last time. There are always crowds.”
Nancy stared at the painting, realizing she could look at it forever. “It’s so beautiful.”
“I love the colors,” Thatcher said. “I always use yellow in my paintings because of him.”
She nodded.
Thatcher wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest. They stared at the painting for a long time, neither one saying anything. When an hour passed, Thatcher grabbed her hand and pulled her away. “I think we’ve expired our welcome.” They left then returned to their hotel.
“Where are we going for dinner?”
“You’ll see,” he said vaguely.
She stared at him for a moment before she looked away.
When they returned to the hotel, Thatcher held up another dress for her.
“You know what to do with this,” he said.
“Thatcher—”
“Please wear it,” he interrupted her. “I can tell you don’t like shopping.”
She held it in her hands, seeing the purple fabric. “It’s beautiful.”
“As are you.”
“I’ll get ready.”
“Thank you.”
After she changed, she sa
w him straighten his tie in the mirror. Since he was wearing a suit, she knew they were going somewhere fancy. When they got into the elevator, he pressed the button to the top floor, not the bottom. Now she was really curious to see where they were going. When the door opened, a waiter stood outside the doors.
“Good evening, Mr. Adams. Right this way.” He turned toward a door and opened it for them.
Nancy felt her heart race and her palms sweat.
Thatcher grabbed her hand and led her forward. When they walked through, she realized they were on top of the building. White lights decorated the canopy and they streamed around the sides. A single table sat in the middle with a white tablecloth and a single red rose.
“Thatcher, this is beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He led her to the table and pulled out her chair before he sat across from her.
She looked at the buildings and the sight of Central Park down below. There was a light breeze that fluttered through her hair. The flags of the different nations were marked at the top, high for everyone to see. When she looked at Thatcher, she saw that he only had eyes for her.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said.
She blushed. “Thank you.”
The waiter brought them a bottle of wine and two plates, which had crusted salmon, grilled asparagus, and creamed potatoes. He turned and left, leaving the door propped open. Thatcher poured the wine into their glasses then took a drink.
Nancy tasted the wine and enjoyed the slight bitterness to it. “It was so sweet of you to plan this.”
“It’s your first time in New York. I wanted it to be perfect.”
She stared into his eyes, noticing the specific word he used. Perfect. Her heart hammered in her chest when she realized what this night meant. It was really going to happen. He looked into her eyes, spotting the recognition. He drank from his wine and didn’t comment on it.
Nancy ate her food slowly, enjoying the taste. She didn’t mind that he ordered for her. He always had good taste in dining choices. He chewed his food slowly, still staring at her. She wiped her mouth with a napkin then returned it to her lap.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“No.”
“My jacket is yours whenever you want it.”
“Thank you.”
Nervous from the intensity of his gaze and their impending night, she pushed her plate away, unable to eat another bite.
