Champagne Bubbles & Lipstick Stains: An Erotic Romance (Book 1)

by Janae Keyes

  “You seem like a Nate, plus it is less constricted and formal, don’t you think?” I asked him.

  “Less constricted and formal?” he questioned out loud as if in deep thought. Instantly, my body warmed and beads of sweat appeared on my forehead, I may have crossed a line. I was trying to lighten the mood, but in the bigger picture, he was royalty after all. There was a significant chance I’d made some wonderful blunder and would lose my job in an instant and possibly be banned from the country, I was certain the Queen was on his speed dial for moments such as these.

  “Then Nate it is,” he mused out. I let out the breath I’d been holding in sharply, maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. “And we have arrived,” he announced.

  I looked up to find we were driving through a large open iron gate. As the car lazily made its way up the lane, I looked around at my surroundings. The land was filled with lush foliage and gorgeous colorful flowers. The moment we came over a small hill, I was greeted with the biggest house I’d ever seen, this was no manor, this was a castle. I’d only seen places like this on TV and in movies, and I was to live here for the time being.

  SIX

  THE CAR PULLED around a statuesque fountain that sat perfectly in the center of the round driveway. Coming to a stop, Langston turned off the engine and quickly exited the car first and opened the door for me.

  I stepped out of the car and onto the cobblestone of the driveway. I was standing right at the steps of the manor, my mouth hanging open in pure awe of the home. Everything about this home screamed fairy tales and royalty. The stones that the walls were constructed of were a fawn color. The opening of the home was round and went up to a perfect tower. There were two other towers at the end of each wing.

  “It was built in the 17th century,” Nate’s voice came interrupting me from my thoughts. I turned to him as he stood not far behind me. His olive eyes seemed to smile at me before I quickly turned back to face the home. “There are 15 bedrooms and 17 bathrooms, a ballroom, a grand dining room, as well as a smaller dining room, and so much more.”

  “Wow,” I said in a single breath.

  “Langston will take your things inside, and the lorry is to arrive later with your supplies,” Nate informed me. I nodded in response, still captivated with everything. “Come with me.”

  At once, his hand was on the small of my back. I allowed him to lead me up the stairs, his hand on me, strong and forceful. Inside of the front door, I was greeted with a grand marble staircase that led to the second floor. Looking up, above my head hung an enormous crystal chandelier that left sparkling reflections upon the walls with the sunlight shining into a large window toward the top of the center tower.

  “It’s all so pretty,” I whispered out.

  “Through that way is the drawing room, library, office, and other parlors,” Nate mentioned pointing to a doorway on the right side of the entranceway. “Going around the staircase, you will enter the ballroom and through the ballroom, you may access the kitchen and dining areas. Over there.” He pointed to an entryway on the left side of the staircase. “You can go through to the greenhouse, gardens, the terrace, lake, and there is a pool. Now follow me.”

  Nate’s hand stayed firmly in its place on the small of my back, I tried to deny it, but I wanted to lean in further into his touch. He started us up the stairs. Once we reached the top of the staircase he paused.

  “That is the East Wing,” he said firmly as he pointed to the left. “My room and private offices are down there, you are not, I repeat, not allowed to enter the East Wing. Is that clear?” He was firm in his speaking and the casual man I’d spent the last few minutes with was gone. My heart was pounding. “I asked you a question, Taylor.” I gulped.

  “Yes ... umm ... yes, it is clear,” I answered, my voice shaking at his sudden change in demeanor.

  “Good, now your room is in the West Wing, here comes Langston now. He will show you to your room,” he instructed as Langston joined us from the hall that led toward the West Wing of the manor.

  “I’ve delivered your things to your room, and I will show you there,” Langston informed me. I gave the kind man a weak smile as I was still reeling from Nate’s change of attitude toward me. I turned to say a farewell of sorts to Nate, but he’d already left my side and was deep into the hall of the East Wing. I let out a sigh and went to follow Langston.

  Walking up the hall behind Langston, I should have been taking in the elegant things around me, the hangings on the walls and the molding, but I could only think of Nate and how quickly his attitude toward me had changed. I didn’t know why I’d found myself so caught in my feelings, but I was caught, I was trapped there.

  “Here we are,” Langston’s voice sang out as we stopped at the very end of the hall. He pushed open the door, and I was presented with my room, the ultimate room.

  It was immediately apparent that my room was located in the tower of the West Wing. The entire room was round, the walls covered in a delicate soft blush wallpaper that was etched with depictions of flowers. The drapes at the window were ivory, and the furniture appeared to be all handmade just like in the bedroom in London.

  The bed was another canopy bed, the head of it pushed against one of the walls. The drapes of the canopy were a crisp white as well as the blankets on the bed. The pillows were a mix of white and pink.

  I spotted my hot pink suitcase next to the wardrobe and my backpack over the back of the chair that sat at the vanity. If anything was to make up for the hot and cold behavior of Nate, it was this gorgeous room.

  “I will leave you to unpack. Right across the hall is the room that has been allocated for you to use as a studio,” Langston said. Intrigue caught me, I had to see the place where I would be making masterpieces come to life.

  I turned out of the room and found myself in the hall. There was a door directly across from my room. I glanced back at Langston, who gave me a nod of approval. I pushed it open to find myself in the most sterile place possible. There was no furniture in the room, and the walls, as well as the floor, were covered in plastic. I wrinkled my nose.

  “Lord Branagan is not a fan of mess, he wanted to make sure any messes would be easy to clean,” Langston said. I turned away and rolled my eyes. Nate was a control freak, there was no doubt about that, but if he wanted me to paint him something that would give him the light and edge he was looking for, he was going to have to let go of that control for just a moment and allow me to work the way I wanted to.

  Across the room, was a large glass door. I went to it and unlocked it easily. I pulled the French doors open, and a slight breeze hit me, I inhaled the crisp country air as I stepped outside of the door and onto a balcony. This was more like it. I looked off into the distance at the land around the home, I’d never seen so much green in my life. Below I spotted the terrace and the pool along with the gardens and sprawling land.

  “There is a phone in your room. If you dial 1, it will connect you to Anne, the head of the house. She is only here in the house from 6 AM until 7 PM, but can take care of all of your needs during that time. You also have my card,” Langston explained to me.

  “What about Lord Branagan?” I questioned, thinking about Nate.

  “He can be contacted by dialing 02, but he does not like to be disturbed unless it is an emergency,” Langston warned. “I’m going home to see my family, but will return when the lorry is ready to deliver your supplies. Lunch will be served soon in the dining room.”

  “Okay, thank you,” I said, trying to not allow disappointment to enter my voice. I was being left alone, yet again. My only hope was that my supplies would arrive soon, I could get to work and not think too much about Nate.

  AFTER UNPACKING MY things, I wandered from my bedroom and down the hall. When I reached the grand staircase, I glanced in the direction of the East Wing. Everything on that side of the house seemed quiet and undisturbed. Maybe Nate was already at lunch, where I was headed. I did need some information from him, like where did he wa
nt these paintings to go. It would be good to get a feel for the rooms I would be painting for.

  Stepping down the stairs, my fuchsia dress swished around. It was hard to not pretend that I was a princess, walking down the staircase to join the ball being thrown in my honor. I giggled to myself as I reached the bottom.

  Following Nate’s words from earlier, I walked around the staircase where I was greeted with the entrance to a grand ballroom. The coat of arms that I’d seen before was the centerpiece on the floor. Looking up, this room also held a chandelier that took my breath away. I felt my stomach grumble. With a sigh, I went off to find where lunch was being served. I would have plenty of time to explore the house and all it had to offer.

  I wandered through another doorway and found a grand dining room. The table had to seat at least thirty people. I walked around the table wondering where I could possibly find someone to learn which direction I needed to go. I was presented with another doorway that took me to a small hall.

  From the hall, I could hear what sounded like dishware, and I knew I had to be going in the right direction. There was another door, and I walked right inside. A woman let out a scream, and I jumped back.

  Standing at a smaller dining table, was an older woman, she was short and plump with silver hair. Her hand was on her chest as it heaved up and down. Clearly, she was alarmed by my arrival.

  “Aye, you must be Ms. Walker. I’m Anne, I run the house,” she introduced herself to me in a very thick Scottish accent.

  “Hi,” I bubbled out happy to have found someone. “You can call me Taylor, please.”

  “I was just finishing getting your place together, Taylor,” she informed me. I gave her a soft smile of approval, but then I noted that the table was just as it had been in London, only one place setting.

  “I’m eating alone,” I noted out loud.

  “Yes, dear, Young, Nathaniel normally eats in his wing,” she said kindly.

  “You’ve known him long?” I questioned as she allowed me to take a seat at the table.

  “Since he was a wee lad,” she gushed out. I tried to imagine Nate as a little boy. I wondered where everything changed for him, what made him such a recluse or was he always that way. When he spoke of University, he seemed as if then he was outgoing and fun natured, where had that part of him gone and why?

  “What would you like to drink my dear?” Anne asked me.

  “Water is fine,” I informed her kindly.

  Anne left me alone in the dining room. I looked around the room, it was on the back end of the house, the windows looked out at the terrace and the pool. I cursed myself for not bringing a swimsuit with me.

  While staring out at the rolling hills, that continued the property, I allowed my mind to wander with ideas of what to paint. This house and the land around it had an abundance of ideas to lend me. I wanted to use them all in the unique ways that I felt set my art aside from others. I wanted to show Nate that he hired me for a reason and that I was going to deliver no matter his crabby attitude.

  Anne returned back to me with a glass of water and a delicious looking salad. She told me about the chef that Nate hired from France. Nate was also apparently very picky and liked things done in a specific order. He spent most of the year at Branagan Manor and occasionally traveled for work and family matters.

  When I finished my lunch, I was full and happy. I hoped the food would be just as good as it was at the London house and it was. I also really enjoyed Anne’s company, she was a talker and had a lot of stories to tell. She started with the Branagan family as a nanny for Nate and his sisters, but worked her way up to run the house. She had four children of her own and ten grandchildren. Her husband died early, and she stayed a widow. She was an open book, I liked that about her.

  I said my goodbyes for the moment to Anne and sauntered up the stairs with a full belly. I was restless and wanted to get to know more about the house. As much as I knew I shouldn’t go into the East Wing, I wasn’t much of a rule follower anyway. What fun was life if you didn’t color outside of the lines at least a little bit?

  I started out slowly into the hall. It looked much like my end of the hall. I peeked into a couple doors, one was a bedroom all adorned in red, and the other was storage, filled with furniture. I observed the molding on the walls, it was crafted beautifully. I ran my fingers along the intricate pattern gilded in gold.

  “Why are you down here?” growled a voice which I knew very well belonged to Nate.

  I took my time as I lifted my eyes to meet his. His olive irises pierced me directly in the soul with his intense gaze. I was captivated and intrigued.

  “I said, why are you down here?” he raised his voice an octave higher in an attempt to get his point across to me.

  “Why can’t I be?” I questioned back in defiance. He looked immediately taken aback at my return of attitude. Though I appeared to come across as strong and defiant, my heart was pounding through my chest. I worked to keep my breathing steady and not allow him to see how nervous I was.

  He didn’t say a word to me as he approached me. He stood over me, practically towering. I hadn’t realized his height until that moment. I swallowed as I worked to keep our eye contact. He didn’t seem as angry as he sounded, but slightly amused and a little worried that he may have frightened me. I wanted to show him that he wasn’t going to boss me around and treat me how he decided to, I was demanding respect, the same respect I was willing to give him.

  “This wing is off limits, I’ve already told you,” he hissed, his hot breath on my face. I didn’t budge. His hand went to the wall, I was caged in between him and the detailed wallpaper, his body heat radiating toward me. I worked to keep my breath steady and slow. I wasn’t intimidated by him only intrigued. I peered at his lips, they were hard to make out under his rough beard. I wondered more about the man under the scruff.

  “I wanted to check the place out, get ideas for paintings. You hired me to fill your house with my work. Is my work going to be excluded from this wing?” I held firm to my resolve.

  “Some will go in this wing,” he answered.

  “Then I’d like to get a feel for it. I’m an artist, remember?”

  He let out a huff at my answer and took his hand away from the wall, I was no longer trapped. I wanted to grin to myself, but I kept my face void of emotion. His hand landed on my arm, I shivered instantly at the strength he presented in just a single touch. I couldn’t exactly explain it, but warmth spread through my core, causing me to yearn for more of his touches, it was burning through me like a rising fire. I vanished those thoughts away as best I could. He was technically my boss, and I was being inappropriate, yet being inappropriate was alluring.

  “You don’t eat in the dining room. I was looking forward to speaking with you during lunch. I’d like to not just see the house, but know more about you as these paintings are for you,” I explained to him as we stood there unmoving. Noticeably, he shifted on his feet.

  “I was working, I work through most of my mealtimes,” he answered.

  “You work too hard,” I said without thinking. He studied me with his eyes at me and frowned.

  “Hard work yields results.”

  “So does a little play,” I said sweetly before slipping away from his touch. I stepped back before turning away from him and walking down the hall toward the staircase.

  “Please, don’t come down here without permission,” he called out after me, a smirk barely gracing the edge of his lips.

  “Okay,” I called without looking back in his direction.

  I didn’t know what was up with me. He wasn’t my type. He was scruffy, I wasn’t a fan of facial hair, and his was so messy it took away from his face. He was also demanding and controlling, I liked to beat to my own drum and let the colors flow, he was bland and somewhere along the way he lost his joy. As much as I could find every reason to despise that man, he drew me in like a moth to a flame.

  SEVEN

  ONCE ALL OF my supplie
s arrived, I went straight to work. Instead of working in the stuffy room that Nate had set up for me, I took my easel out onto the balcony. I preferred the fresh air and not feeling constrained by the room or Nate’s rules. If he wanted me to create beautiful pieces of art for him, he was going to have to give me the working conditions I needed.

  I looked out at the land in front of me, the hills rolling as far off as they could into the horizon and the lush green that covered them. Below in the gardens, the flowers came in every color imaginable.

  I’d been working on this piece for the last couple days, and it was nearly finished. I took my inspiration from the sunset I watched on my first evening here at the manor. There was something about the soft orange glow that captivated me and pulled me in, it stayed with me.

  I ran my brush across the canvas when I heard the sound of a clearing throat. I turned to see Nate standing not far behind me. He was in dark gray slacks with a white button up, even in his own home he didn’t seem to relax. The only thing relaxed about him was the fact that his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. I studied his forearms for a moment, they were toned, and it was clear he worked out. His olive eyes were not on me, but on my painting. I was proud of it and considered it one of my best ones.

  “I do not like this,” he grumbled out. I couldn’t believe my ears, how could he not like it, it was elegant yet fun. “It’s too ... I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

  “Are you going to do this with all my paintings?” I asked him, a hand on my hip.

  “What do you mean?” he questioned innocently. He damn well was not innocent and knew exactly what I meant by the question. I hadn’t seen him since that afternoon in his hall, and now he wanted to come and criticize the art I was making for him.