The brush makes one final pass, swirling between my legs, and words are falling out of me without reason, abstract art formed of my breath, cries, and desire. I am coming undone, the sheets beneath me a Jackson Pollock, streaked and dripping with water instead of paint.
He’s driving into me now, the brush abandoned, as I rake my shaking fingers across his back.
“Fuck me harder.” The words sound savage and true as my lips release them.
He lifts my left leg up to his right shoulder and bears down deeper. Everything is simplified to the sensation of him powerfully filling me again and again. Now, together, we are a Robert Motherwell painting—a thick black streak of passion against the bright white sheets.
I open my eyes and find his shut, his face twisted in exquisite agony in those final moments before release. He’s growling and sweating, fiercely aroused, and he holds me protectively as I shatter. Only when I take my first breath and open my awestruck eyes does he join me.
I probably would have slept straight into the evening if Max hadn’t gently coaxed me awake from our nap. His hair’s dancing a wild rumba, and he looks bewildered, but happily content, as he drags me into the shower. We don’t have a lot of time, so we get ready quickly before we go to the television station.
We’re prepped and on camera so fast that I don’t have time to get nervous. Luckily, the reporter speaks perfect English and she’s charming, so it goes smoothly. They will translate the interview before it airs in the morning. Most of the questions are for Max, and I delight to watch him in action; he projects his intelligence and how serious he is about his work, but his charisma is undeniable. I’m in awe to know that this magnificent man made love to me only hours ago, and now the world is watching him.
Paloma then preps us before being interviewed by the lead Barcelona newspaper in the studio green room. The minute it finishes, she whisks us to the book-signing event. We’re both surprised to see a long line of people waiting outside the bookstore. I smirk, noting that most of the line consists of young eager women or gay men.
Am I dating a rock star or an artist? Does Max realize the effect he has on people? The whole experience of people fawning over him over him as we greet people and sign books is extraordinary. They cut off the event at eight, so we can head to the museum dinner.
Just as Max had his emotional moment at La Sagrada Familia, I have mine when we see the museum gallery full of Max’s work. My eyes fill with tears, and I look at him, trying to tell him everything without saying a word. I want to grab him and kiss him and tell him how incredibly proud I am of him. Instead, I have to act cool and professional while my heart is ready to burst.
“Wow, Max . . . just wow,” I sigh.
His eyes move from painting to painting and then to me. “I can’t believe this, Ava.”
We’re ushered to the back gallery, which ironically displays the paintings Max had once scrawled my name across in a fit of rage. The repaired paintings are a blatant reminder of how far we’ve come. And as introductions begin to the elite group of museum patrons and benefactors, I realize just how far all of this can go. Max is famous, and there are a lot of people who want a piece of his art or a piece of him. I’m a bit startled as I realize the truth of this fact before we are led to our seats. In the gallery, they have set up a long dining table that is elegantly set for our special catered dinner.
I’m seated between Diego and a dashing prince of some place I’ve never heard of, while Max is sandwiched between Paloma and an elegant woman who seems to be one of the leaders of the group. After toasts are made, the six-course dinner begins, and I do my best to make conversation, despite the fact that Max is watching me. After a few rounds of wine, provocative Paloma doesn’t help the situation by proclaiming rather loudly that she can’t imagine how someone as stunning as me is single. I consider correcting her by alluding to a boyfriend, but the idea of yelling across the table horrifies me. With this pause, I miss my moment. I can almost sense the testosterone peaking from several spots in the room, and Max is silently fuming.
Before the evening is over, I have an offer to go yachting with the prince and a young heir invites me to his estate just outside of town to watch a polo match and see his impressive art collection. I explain we are only here for two more days with a packed promotional schedule before Diego whisks me away to safety.
“I must keep an eye on you, Miss Ava,” he says smiling. “A number of these men want to take you home, and we have an early morning of interviews.”
“What about Max?” I throw back. “It looks like some of these women want him for their very own play toy.”
“Yes, he could have his choice tonight, but he seems more interested in what’s going on with you.” He raises one eyebrow and waits for my reaction. “I wonder what his girlfriend would think about that.” Spanish men are so direct, and Diego is clearly testing me.
I shake my head and laugh semi-convincingly. “He just knows that I’m out of my element, and he’s a bit protective of me. As for his girlfriend—she adores me.”
“I’m sure she does.” Diego rolls his eyes and decides not to press any further. Instead, he takes me by the elbow and leads me to a slight man in a dapper suit with a long ponytail. Evidently, he’s one of Spain’s leading fashion designers and wants me to wear one of his creations for the opening tomorrow night.
Paloma joins the discussion, and we agree to attempt a fitting at our hotel after the morning interviews. I finally decide I can’t stand being separated from Max anymore, and I look for him. But he’s trapped in the corner by two wealthy looking women, so I decide to let him fend for himself. Paloma brushes up to me.
“It’s been a long day, yes? You look tired, beautiful Ava.” She sweeps her fingers along my cheek.
I’m getting used to her overly affectionate mannerisms, so I don’t even flinch, just nod. “I think I have a bit of jet lag. Do you think we can go soon? We have an early morning.”
“Of course. She takes me by the elbow and leads me out of the room. I’ll get you a car.”
“What about Max?”
“I’ll let him know you’re headed back to the hotel.”
Damn. This stupid façade is going to blow up in my face if I leave without Max. But what can I say without revealing the farce?
As we wait for the car in the front of the museum, Paloma slowly rubs my back as I think about a convincing excuse to go get Max. The jet lag has slowed my normally quick responses.
“Do you want me to come back with you?”
Why does she think I need hand-holding? “No, I’m fine . . . the driver knows where he’s going, and I’m going straight to my room.”
She smiles warmly. “Yes, you go straight to bed when you get back. We have a big day tomorrow.”
Yes, Mom. This woman seems to have no boundaries.
“What the hell is going on?”
Paloma and I turn around to see a very angry Max behind us.
Paloma speaks up immediately. “I’m sending Ava back to the hotel. Look how tired she is, Max.”
He glares at her hand still rubbing my back, and she immediately drops it.
I’m silent because I have no idea what to say in front of Paloma to diffuse his anger.
“Don’t worry, Max, I’ll get you a separate car when you want to go,” Paloma says quickly, trying to appease him, just as the car pulls up.
“I’m leaving too,” he barks. As the driver opens up my door, Max walks around to the other side and gets in the car.
I shrug at Paloma, and she does the double kiss thing and whispers “sorry” in my ear before I slide into the car.
We are two blocks away before I can’t take the silence or suspense anymore. I turn to him. He stares straight ahead and the tension in his angular jaw is apparent.
“What?” I demand.
He slowly looks at me with scary eyes, and then slowly turns back.
Nothing. Two more blocks of silence.
“Will you please
just talk to me, Max? What are you so upset about?”
After a long moment, he finally responds. “You know why.”
“Well, I have an idea, but why don’t you tell me so I’ll know if I’m right.”
“Here, I’ll count off why I’m mad.” He holds up his hand and wiggles his index finger. “Number one, the prince of whatever the fuck practically ate you for dessert.”
Okay, here we go.
Another finger goes up. “Number two, if that fucker Diego touches you one more time, I’m going to break his fingers one by one.”
Yeah, the man is a bit touchy.
The next finger snaps forward. “You can only imagine how much I loved that Rico Suave waiter fawning over you. That wasn’t an accident when he brushed against your breast when he served your salad.”
Wow, stalker boyfriend didn’t miss a detail tonight.
“And really, Ava, did you have to talk to that collector guy so long? At that point, I started to think you were trying to provoke me.”
And he doesn’t even know about my invitation to the estate to watch the polo match.
He waves his hand theatrically. “And last, but not least, the Spanish chili pepper gives you a rubdown like she has her own plans for you before you sneak out without me.”
What kind of plans? Could Max be right about her or is she really touchy and affectionate by nature?
He folds his arms tightly over his chest and gives me a searing look.
“You know, none of that shit would’ve happened if everyone knew you were with me. This charade is complete bullshit, and I’m done with it.”
Damn, he’s so hot when he’s mad. I bite my lower lip and consider my response.
I lean toward him and speak in a low voice. “Does this mean we’re having angry sex when we get back to the hotel?”
His fingers dig into the leather upholstery.
“Ava.” His voice is dark and dangerous, and it makes me burn for him.
“I didn’t like the attention either, Max. I hate this stupid situation too, and despite what you think, I really don’t like guys fawning over me. You’re the only one I want fawning from.”
His expression lightens slightly.
I grab his thigh right before the car pulls up to the hotel. He doesn’t appear to mind, so I inch along up his leg, squeezing along the way.
“Besides, do you think I liked all those women crowding around you, imagining what they’d like to do with you? Now that we’re discussing it, I’m angry too.”
“Don’t start with me, Ava. I’m the one with the right to be angry here. I never wanted this fucking professional arrangement.”
“How angry are you?” I slide my hand toward his inner thigh.
He growls and his head falls back on the headrest. “Very angry.”
He presses my hand between his legs over his hard cock, and I tighten my fingers around him.
I smile and whisper in his ear. “So the idea of angry sex turns you on? I’ll tell you what . . . I may not be cooperative, so you may need to take control when we get upstairs.” I give him a wink.
His eyes flash with wicked delight, and the corners of his mouth curl up just enough so that I know I’ve won this battle. I remove my hand right before the driver opens the door.
Max places his hand on my ass and pushes. “Get out of the car, Ava. We have some business to attend to upstairs.”
Chapter Six / Friends and Lovers
Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.
~Pablo Picasso
Thank God for wake up calls. I vaguely remember setting the alarm on my phone, but I have no memory of turning it off. We jump up and get ready quickly for our busy day.
“Do you want to help with the dress fitting?” I tease, as we get in the car after our first interviews of the day.
“If it could be just you and me . . . although my strength is in taking off the dresses, not putting them on.”
I laugh and quickly change the subject before Paloma joins us.
She scans through messages on her phone. “Bueno, they are in your suite waiting for us, Ava. I’m sure he’ll have something fabulous and sexy for you.”
Max gives me a dark look that could mean a lot of things. I choose to ignore him as I cross my legs and look out the window.
I’d already brought my chocolate brown dress to wear, but if they want me to wear something for the home team, I’m more than willing . . . as long as I look good.
Max will wear a tuxedo, and I need to look like I belong next to him. Even if no one here knows we’re together, I do, and I want him to be proud that I’m his girl.
We part when the elevator stops on our floor. Paloma ushers me into the scene unfolding in my room. Antonio yells into his cell phone. I understand a fair amount of Spanish, but he’s speaking too quickly for me to follow what he’s saying. It can’t be good. Two assistants unpack the garments hanging on the metal rolling rack. As soon as Antonio sees us, he shuts off his phone and embraces us warmly.
“Ava! Isn’t this exciting? We brought some wonderful choices, yes?” He points to the rack, where several beautiful dresses have been unwrapped.
“Yes, I’m very excited! Thank you for doing this.”
“Antonio, yo quiero este!” Paloma purrs, holding up a low-cut fitted floral gown.
“I’ll take care of you later, my love. This is Ava’s moment.”
“Well, try that one on first. I think it’s gorgeous.” She nods to me.
I look around. Are they expecting me to disrobe in front of everyone?
Paloma says, “Here, let’s go into the bedroom for privacy. I’ll help you.” She busies herself unzipping the gown while I disrobe. I lift up my arms to slide the dress over my head, but she shakes her head.
“No bra.”
Okay then. This is awkward, but it isn’t the time to be modest, so I take off my bra and lift my arms up. Her eyes linger on my breasts a little long for my taste. What is it with women always checking each other out? I wonder about Max’s comment regarding Paloma paying me too much attention last night.
Yes, they’re real, Ms. Paloma.
I shimmy the dress down my sides and she carefully zips it up. The floral design has a soft feel of colors blending . . . almost like an O’Keeffe painting.
I turn to the mirror. The dress fits like a second skin, and my breasts are just barely covered. I’m not comfortable with it, nor will Max appreciate me sharing my assets so blatantly. The dress’s narrow bottom makes it hard to walk as we return to the sitting room.
“Guapa, Ole! . . . Gorgeous!” exclaims Antonio. “Your body is so beautiful, perfect for this dress. He turns me around. “And your ass . . . Lindo! . . . Every man will want you!” I look in the mirror above the couch. My ass does look pretty great.
Paloma nods as I turn. “What do you think, Ava?”
“I love this dress! It’s amazing, but I’m worried it’s a bit sexy for me. I’m not used to showing off my breasts this much.”
“You should show those off,” she says with an arched brow.
Antonio waves his hand, walks to the rack, and pulls out dress number two. “I want to see this one on you.” He caresses it lovingly.
We head back to the bedroom to try it on. As Paloma undoes the second dress, she looks up at me. “I got a call this morning from Senor Travis.” She purses her lips as she fiddles with the zipper.
“ArtOneWorld Travis?” I ask.
She nods. “He had so many questions about the events . . . such a curious man.”
“Really?” Mr. Thorough strikes again.
She arches an eyebrow. “And even more questions about you.”
Perhaps it’s time for a “What’s really going on here?” talk with the curious Senor Travis.
I’m deep in thought until she opens the dress for me to step into.
“He even asked how you and Max were together.”
“Hmm, what did you tell him?”
�
��The truth—that you are very professional.”
I smile inwardly. If she only knew how not professional we are behind closed doors.
“You know, Senor Travis has a handsome voice—so sexy. Is he a beautiful man?” she asks.
I shrug as I pull the bodice of the dress up my waist. “I don’t know. I don’t look much at beautiful men.” . . . And I haven’t since I fell in love with Max, I think to myself with a smile.
Paloma has a big grin, but before we can talk more, Antonio calls for us. We walk into the living room so I can model the dress.
This one is fascinating in that it’s a tight-fitting short sheath, but attached to it is a long flowing skirt of floral chiffon cascading from the waist. The material is sheer, so you can see my legs through the fabric. A floral shawl of the same pattern drapes low over my shoulder and is sewn to the bodice.
When I near Antonio, his face lights up. “Ahh . . . I love it!”
I twirl around dramatically. “I love it too.”
“Yes, let me see. Come here, beautiful.” He slowly turns me, checking the fit. “Even the length is perfect!”
“It’s just a bit tight here.” I run my fingers along the top of the bodice, where my breasts are threatening to spill out.
“Yes, we can let that out a bit.” He waves for the assistant and shows her where to alter it.
“We’re doing hair and makeup at five. Will it be done by then?” Paloma asks.
He waves his hand again. “No problem. Five it is.”
As soon as everyone leaves, I go to my real room. Max is lying across the bed, fully dressed, and to my great surprise, he’s watching a Spanish soap opera. He’s abandoned his drawing supplies and sketchpad on the table.
I join him on the bed and curl up under his arm.
“Don’t feel like drawing, handsome?”
“No, I wasn’t feeling inspired. I’m a little tired.” He points to the TV. “But this shit is great. You’ve got to watch this. I mean, I can’t follow most of the dialogue, but the emotion, the passion, the crying—it’s so entertaining.”
Work of Art ~ the Collection Page 55
