by Lara Adrian
A glance at Nick’s texts sends renewed heat into my cheeks. Especially the ones I missed while I was busy getting off. I hurriedly tap out a reply. Sorry, gotta go now.
You ok?
I giggle, beaming and out of breath. Great now, thx. Was amazing.
His answer hits my phone not even a second later. Gonna make you come so hard next time I see you. Be ready. This was only the beginning.
The dark promise spirals through me, arrowing right for my still-molten, quivering core. As if my orgasm a moment ago wasn’t enough, every nerve ending in my body lights up all over again. I’m ready for whatever Nick has in mind. More than ready.
Damn. I’m in trouble with this man.
I can’t contain my grin as I turn off the phone’s display and quickly stow it in my employee locker. I head over to the coat room door and open it to find Joel’s scowling, corpulent face glaring at me.
“What the hell are you doing in here? And why was this door locked?”
“Sorry,” I say, sounding more than a little breathless. I clear my throat in an attempt to mask the small giggle that’s bubbling up inside me. “I was, um . . . on a private call.”
His beady eyes narrow on me. “Make calls on your own time. Your break ended five minutes ago.”
“It did?” My tone sounds glib, but I’m genuinely surprised. And probably less contrite than I should be. “I guess I lost track of the time.”
He grunts, disapproval in the flat line of his mouth. “That’s all you got to say?”
I shrug. “Pretty much.”
His frown deepens. “Well, it just cost you an hour’s pay. Now, get back on the clock and get to work. This isn’t your private lounge back here.”
He pivots and stalks away, full of self-importance. I don’t care about his overbearing attitude. Not tonight. I don’t even care that I’ve just lost an hour’s wages.
Because what happened in here with Nick?
Totally worth it.
Grinning shamelessly, my body still humming with pleasure, I dump my half-eaten cup of soup in the kitchen then head for the restroom to freshen up before I report back to the bar to finish my shift.
Chapter 14
The rest of the week passes without any further communication with Nick. I have to admit I’m disappointed I haven’t heard from him. After the way we’d left things, I had thought for sure he’d call or text again. And, yes, I’ve been looking forward to another round of long-distance sex with the man—craving it like the dirty girl I’m evidently becoming now. I want him, whether that’s over the phone lines or in person.
Even worse, I miss him. Which is crazy, considering we hardly know each other. Not in real life, anyway.
I may be able to conjure his cerulean blue eyes and handsome, chiseled face without even trying, or reconstruct every strong, muscled inch of his incredible body in my mind, but outside of his bedroom—or the locked back room of my workplace—what I know about Nick Baine is very little.
I could go nosing around on the Internet to satisfy some of my curiosity, but that’s a line I refuse to cross. God knows, I wouldn’t want anyone digging through my life, even if most of the records hadn’t been sealed by the court years ago. I’d never be able to forgive a violation of my privacy, and I won’t do it to Nick either.
I’ve already surmised the obvious basics about him, anyway. Intelligent. Successful. Wealthy. Far out of my league in more ways than I care to count. Besides, even if I was tempted to creep into his life online, the things I want to know aren’t going to be listed on his Wikipedia page or in any article that might turn up on a search engine.
I want to know why a rich, devastatingly gorgeous man—who must be one of the city’s most sought-after, eligible bachelors—chooses to live alone in his tower penthouse at the top of the world. I want to know why he wants me, of all the women he could have drooling at the chance to be with him. I want to know how he got the terrible scars on his right hand and arm.
Most of all, I want to know why I see flashes of hauntedness and pain in his eyes in those fleeting moments before he shutters his gaze to me. I want to know why I sense that this powerful man is hiding his own ugly secrets, that he might be just as damaged and afraid as I am.
I doubt I’ll ever uncover all of Nick’s truths. Maybe I shouldn’t even hope that I can.
The fact that he hasn’t tried to reach me all week only seems to confirm that just because we’ve been naked and sweaty together a few times, we’re not suddenly going to be a couple.
It’s a sanity check I apparently needed. Because whatever is going on between us—the dark, magnetic attraction that drew us together from the moment our eyes first met—it’s temporary. It’s not part of our daily lives and never can be. I know that. Hell, I’m determined that it won’t be.
And yet, I find it takes all of my willpower to resist sending him a quick hello as I head out of our building to meet Margot at the gallery for lunch.
She’s not on the main floor when I enter Dominion and greet her perky, brunette assistant.
“Margot’s in a portfolio meeting with one of our artists,” Jen informs me. “She’s running a little late. They should be wrapping up in a few minutes.”
I nod. “No problem. I’ll just browse on my own until she’s ready to go.”
An attractive couple speaking to each other in a foreign language are the only other customers on the floor with me. I give them a brief smile as they pass by me on their way to another display. I’m shocked to feel a pang of envy as I watch them holding hands, their fingers laced together, eyes full of adoration as they quietly converse in front of the art.
It doesn’t escape my notice when the man’s hand drifts to the curve of his companion’s backside. He whispers something in her ear and her reply is a low murmur, filled with desire. Will they go home soon and tear each other’s clothes off the way Nick and I did? Or will they take their time making love, knowing they have forever in each other’s arms? The pang in my chest sharpens, and I decide I really don’t want to play this little game after all. Turning away from the couple, I divert my attention with a collection of abstract works on the other side of the gallery.
Although I intend to look at some of the displays I missed at the party a few nights ago, it doesn’t take long before my feet have carried me in front of Beauty. She is just as striking and starkly sexual today as she was the other night. Possibly more so, seeing how she was the catalyst for Nick and me leaving together.
Then again, considering the inevitability of our collision and everything that’s followed, maybe Beauty was just an innocent bystander.
My lips curve at the thought of that night. My time in Nick’s bed. The carnal need for him that’s still simmering inside me, and only a single inappropriate thought away at any given moment.
“Dare I hope that smile means you like her?”
The deep male voice that sounds beside me is unfamiliar, but warm as whiskey. The faint traces of an easy, southern drawl only add to the smoky timbre.
I swivel my head and find a thirty-something man as tall and beefy as a linebacker standing next to me at the display. With his shoulder-length mane of luxurious sandy brown hair, his untucked, faded chambray shirt, black jeans and cowboy boots, he’s gorgeous in a wind-tossed, rodeo rebel kind of way. A thick, neatly trimmed beard frames his ruggedly handsome, suntanned face and lopsided grin, while molasses-brown eyes hold me in a curious, interested stare.
The full power of which is trained on me.
I get the idea he knows his look works for him because he just stands there, waiting patiently for me to find my tongue.
I blink and clear my throat. “I do. Like it, I mean. It’s an amazing piece. You have an incredible talent.”
I don’t have to ask if he’s the unnamed artist who painted it. The look of quiet pride that lights his eyes at my praise is unmistakable. He glances at the canvas and nods thoughtfully. “It helps to have the right inspiration.”
“Yes,” I agree.
Before I can ask him about the woman in the painting, he pivots to me and extends his hand. “I’m Jared Rush.”
“Avery Ross,” I reply as he briefly clasps my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
His grin is devastating. “You must be Margot’s lunch date. Sorry for holding you up.”
I shrug. “It’s all right. I didn’t mind waiting.”
“Oh, there you are!” Margot exclaims from across the gallery. She glides over to us and pulls me into a quick hug. “When I didn’t find you out front with Jen, I thought we might’ve missed each other again.”
I shake my head. “Just browsing while I waited for you to wrap up with Jared.”
Margot’s gaze bounces between us in surprise and not a little intrigue. “You know each other?”
“Just met,” he says, and I can feel the growing heat of his gaze on me while I pretend not to notice. “Avery was telling me how much she likes the painting.”
“Isn’t he brilliant?” Margot enthuses. “You should see his other work.”
I smile at him. “I imagine it’s all incredible.”
“Avery’s an artist too,” Margot announces, much to my chagrin.
“Is that right?”
“Not really,” I murmur. “I dabble a bit. I’m still an amateur, especially compared to you.”
As I speak, Jared’s intense gaze holds me even closer. “If you’re interested, I’ll bring you out to the Hamptons sometime to see my studio. We can talk process, share our techniques. I think you’d enjoy it.”
I have no doubt I would. And I’m quite certain it’s not only art techniques he wants to share. While his attention is flattering, the last thing I need to do is complicate my life any more than I already have. Besides, as gorgeous as Jared Rush is—as much as I’m impressed by his talent and dying to know more about his process—there’s only one man whose been able to tempt me into his bed in more years than I care to admit, and he’s currently a continent away.
Margot tilts her head as she looks between Jared and me. I can see her trying to gauge the situation, but I keep my face schooled to a neutral expression, the mask that’s always ready whenever I need it. When my eyes tell her nothing, she looks at Jared. “Would you like to join us for lunch?”
To my relief, he shakes his head. “Can’t today, unfortunately. I’m due back in Sagaponack to work. In fact, I’m late. Gotta make use of the daylight when I can.”
He leans over and presses a light kiss to Margot’s cheek. Then he pivots and holds out his hand to me. We shake again, and his eyes hold my gaze with a sensual promise that would make any woman melt on the spot. Even I’m not completely immune.
“Great to meet you, Avery. Let me know if you want that studio tour. Margot can put you in touch with me anytime.”
“Okay.” I nod, even though I doubt I’ll be taking him up on the offer. “Nice to meet you, Jared.”
“Pleasure’s all mine.” His charming drawl packs an added punch when he flashes me a broad, dimpled grin. “Hope I see you around again.”
As he steps away from us to leave the gallery, Margot gives me a sly smile. “An invitation to his studio? That’s a first. I think he likes you.”
I slant her a sardonic look. “I’ve got a feeling he likes a lot of women.”
“True,” she admits. “But let’s face it, when a guy looks like that, who can fault him? Add in his creative talent and success—not to mention the fact that he’s a genuinely good man in a city full of sharks—and it’s no wonder he’s got women practically trampling each other for his attention. If I wasn’t happily married, I’d be right there with rest of them. Jared Rush is a bona fide catch.”
“I’m sure he is, but I’m not casting my line to find out.”
“Well, you could certainly do worse,” she gently chides me. “You should seriously consider what he said, Avery. The invitation to visit his studio, if nothing else. He wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t mean it. Do you realize how many other artists would kill for a chance to study with him? And with Jared’s connections in the art world, he might also be able to open doors for your work at other galleries too.”
The reminder about my failure at Dominion stings, even though I know it isn’t Margot’s intent to make me feel bad. She’s only trying to help.
“Speaking of potential new connections,” she adds, “I’d been hoping to introduce you to some people who were at the gallery party last week, but when I came looking, you were already gone. You didn’t even come say goodbye.”
I wince inwardly, feeling guilty and awkward about the whole thing now. “I’m sorry. I should’ve let you or Jen know that I wasn’t staying. I kind of . . . left in a hurry.”
She frowns, obviously confused. “Left in a hurry? Why? Did something happen?”
“Um, I guess you could say that.” I’m hedging, but until this moment I wasn’t even sure I wanted to broach the subject with Margot. She may be my friend, but I’m not sure she’s going to appreciate the fact that I went home with one of her customers.
Anyway, I can see it’s too late to dance away from the truth now. Margot’s shrewd, almond-shaped eyes narrow on me.
“What’s this about, Avery? Why did you go?”
“I met someone. At the party.” I gesture to the area where we’re standing now. “I bumped into him—literally—right here in front of this painting. Turns out, we’d met before. Well, not exactly met, but we’d seen each other a couple of nights earlier. Anyway, we started talking about art and . . . well, other things. Then we decided to leave together.”
“Leave together.” Margot’s brows arch high on her forehead. She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, even though we’re the only two people in this section of the gallery. “Are you telling me you went home with this man? As in, slept with him?”
My sheepish look is evidently enough of an answer.
“No wonder you have no interest in Jared!” Her face lights up with curiosity. “Do I know this mystery man? Tell me more about him. Like his name, for starters.”
“Nick,” I murmur, and it astonishes me that just the sound of his name on my tongue is enough to make me recall every delicious detail of our conversation that night at the gallery and the hours of skin-on-skin communication that followed at his place. “His name is Nick Baine.”
Her smile falters, but it’s so subtle I almost miss it. Almost.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry, it’s just . . .” She lifts her shoulders in a faint shrug. “It’s nothing. I mean, I don’t think you’re asking for my advice, right?”
That is so not what I want to hear. My stomach bottoms out at the cautious way she phrases her reply. The troubled flicker in her gaze doesn’t help either.
“So, you’re telling me you know Nick?”
“Of course, I know him.” Her voice is tentative, trailing off quietly. I spot tenderness in her eyes—the hesitance of a friend who’s reluctant to hurt me, yet who can’t stand by and watch me stumble. “Avery, I work for Dominic Baine. He owns this gallery.”
“Dominion belongs to him?” I hear the wooden quality of my voice. The confusion I’m unable to conceal.
Margot nods. “I’m guessing he didn’t tell you that.”
“No, he didn’t.”
I don’t know why I should be so surprised. Nick’s obviously incredibly wealthy, and well-versed in art. An admirer, so he told me himself. The fact that he would own a gallery shouldn’t make my temples pound and my breath constrict in my chest.
And it wouldn’t, if he owned any other gallery than this one.
If he wasn’t the reason my own pieces were pulled from display to make room for other, more deserving artists. Was he aware of that when we talked in front of Beauty? When we fucked most of the night and then again the next morning? Was he only pretending he didn’t know damn well who I was?
He’s a shrewdly intelligent man. I don’t imagine much of an
ything gets past him. Right now, I can hardly say the same for myself.
Humiliation burns my throat, but being played for a fool is only part of my disappointment. I’m angry too. For letting myself fall so easily into whatever game he thinks he’s playing. For letting him draw me so effortlessly into his bed.
Most of all, I’m furious that he’s lied to me—whether by omission or evasion. Can I trust anything he’s said or done? Now, I’ll never be sure.
And yes, I recognize the irony of my outrage. After all, I’ve given him little more than lies either.
I pull myself out of the dark spiral of my thoughts to glance at Margot. “If I did ask, what kind of advice would you give me about Nick?”
I’ve caught her off guard. She swallows, then licks her red-glossed lips and slowly shakes her head. “It’s not my place,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said anything at all.”
“Margot.” I reach out, placing my hand on her shoulder. “What do I need to know about him?”
She holds my stare for a long moment, indecision clouding her deep brown eyes. Finally, she blows out a long sigh. “Just . . . be careful, Avery. That’s all. Dominic Baine’s not like other men you may know. He’s not like Jared.”
“In what way?” I need to know, but I’m not sure she’ll give me the truth. I can practically feel her discomfort with this turn in the conversation. It’s in the wariness of her expression, the hitch of her shallow breaths. “Margot, please. Tell me.”
Her mouth compresses and gives a vague shake of her head. “He’s damaged, Avery. Deeply. I don’t know how or why. I don’t think anyone can say they really know him. He doesn’t allow it. Anyone I’ve seen try has been cut loose swiftly and banished from his life without a speck of remorse.”
As she speaks, I’m astonished to detect the traces of an old wound in her normally calm and cool gaze. I want to press her about what else she knows about Nick—and how—but I’m not sure I really care to know the answer.
Then she blinks and the illusion of pain I thought I saw in her eyes vanishes. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
