Xavier had chosen to stay on Earth, but Cat was clearly meant for the stars.
Her eyes widened. She looked up and immediately found Xavier, as though he’d called her name. Her smile magnified. It lit her entire body and fought with the radiance of that dress.
She began to move toward him, a slow process made all the more agonizing by his anticipation. She stopped just outside the reach of his arms. He had no idea what to do now, what was appropriate or what she wanted. Vaguely he felt several pairs of eyes on them—one of them assuredly Michael’s—but couldn’t bring himself to care. He could see every freckle on her face.
“You came,” she said on an exhale.
“I did.”
“I’ve missed you,” she said. “I would have called, but I don’t know your number and I know how you hate the phone. And we’ve both been so busy…”
And he missed her. The feeling shot through his gut, hard and swift as a bullet, then circled back and hit him again, this time a straight shot to his heart.
“Come here.”
She teetered forward the same moment he opened his arms. He still held his damn coat and could only grasp her with one arm, but just that was almost more than he could handle.
Her dress was backless.
The shock of warm, smooth skin underneath his palm sent bolts of lust straight to his dick. He groaned, then bit it back. Suddenly he was acutely aware of the condition of his hands: the dryness and scratchiness from washing them so much during the day, the way he didn’t trim his nails so much as rip off the rough edges with his teeth. The knife-cut scabs that just seemed to rotate locations every week.
Before he let her go—and before the Burned Man’s hissing laughter escalated into something he couldn’t ignore—he let his cheek brush the silk of her hair.
As he stepped back, he realized he hadn’t had to fold himself in half to hold her. “Did you grow over the past three days?”
Holy shit, he’d done it again. Made her laugh. She pointed at her feet and the shoes that exactly matched the shade of her tanned legs. “Ridiculous heels.” Her grin faded. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
“So was I.” She nodded in understanding, and he pushed back his hair. “I was watching you before, talking to people. You’re amazing, Cat. You don’t need me.”
That’s when he saw her break. Her cheeks cracked; worry and nervousness seeped into the lines at the corners of her eyes and made her husky voice quiver. “This is much scarier than I ever thought. I definitely need you.”
He would give anything to possess the ability to not wear every single emotion on a sign around his neck. She did it so beautifully, like art itself. And she’d shown it to him and him alone.
Maybe she saw him in a similar way to how he saw her. Maybe they were each other’s keys, meant to open a door to something new, but then disappear after they’d each passed through and into someplace else. By the way she regarded him now, head tilted, long hair swishing across her chest and shoulder, it seemed she might be thinking the same thing.
Helen’s voice boomed through the gallery. In the corner, standing on a riser, the curator spoke into a microphone perched on a long stem, welcoming everyone. Midnight. The “big reveal,” Cat had called it. Helen was talking about Michael Ebrecht and how he’d discovered this new artist, and how if Cat moved to New York or L.A., her prices were sure to go up. Xavier barely listened. He studied Cat’s face. How easily and smoothly she erased any doubt or nervousness from her smile. How she threw back her shoulders and seemed to meet the eyes of everyone in the room, simultaneously. She gave the crowd a little bow, palms pressed together as if in prayer.
Then Helen went to the wall edge, where she lifted the tasseled end of a purple rope and gave it a good yank. In a coordinated, almost wavelike movement, the white curtains lining the wall swished apart, gracefully sailing into the corners, revealing Cat’s art.
The room burst into applause, underscored by several audible gasps.
Xavier knew she painted water. Had prepared himself for the moment when he saw how she viewed the element that had caused him so much pain. He just hadn’t expected to love the paintings so much.
The crowd ambled closer to the walls, leaving Xavier and Cat in a widening space in the center of the room. He turned in a slow circle, taking in each body of water. Her paintings were grand in scale, most taller than her. Three on one wall, two on another, and a great, wide one—of an ambling river under moonlight that reminded him of a stripe of glittering stars—taking up the whole wall just to the right of the entrance.
It might have been the only time Xavier would ever agree with Michael. Cat’s passion was evident, and even though Xavier knew nothing about art, it was clear she was a star.
“What do you think?” Now that they were essentially alone, her voice came out so small, so unsure.
He ripped his eyes from the one whose pale turquoise waves brought him instant, conflicting feelings of serenity and agitation. How on earth had she done that?
“Cat, they’re…magical.”
He didn’t know where that word came from, and even though it hurt him a little bit to use it, it made her beam.
The paintings were wonderful and enigmatic and emotional, but they just reinforced the fact that the two of them were destined to be separate. Because in his heart, he didn’t know how he could manage to stay with someone who continually reminded him of all that he’d escaped. In a way, it almost made their time together feel less frightening. She would leave, and her inexplicable relationship with water would make it a hell of a lot easier to let her go.
Except that he didn’t want to.
“You are,” he told Cat, and paused incredibly long because there were simply too many ways to end that thought, “very talented.”
He couldn’t say anything more, because his throat had closed and a terrible pressure settled in his chest.
“Thank you.”
Some guests shook their heads at the art, and Cat took it like a champ, choosing to look elsewhere. But many others came over to talk to her, and Xavier stood to the side, listening and watching. She may not have had real magic, but she had something.
Then Michael stepped in. His whiskey glass barely held two drops. “Helen wants you to meet a buyer. I’m sorry. Did I interrupt something?”
“No.” Cat shook her head, but took a long time to look away from Xavier. “A buyer already?”
Michael grinned, and it owned an inordinate amount of personal pleasure. “They’ve been primed well. All they needed was the store to open.”
One hand rose to her chest. She looked a little pale. “Which one?”
“Ocean #16.” He nodded toward the prominent painting near the window. “An agent and his wife. I guess they just won some sort of bidding war.”
“Great.” Cat smiled like a jewel but Xavier noted the wistfulness as she gazed at the painting in question.
“They’re leaving soon.” Michael pinned Xavier with a direct stare. Xavier wouldn’t rise to it. Not again. This was no competition for Cat. Clearly that’s exactly what Michael wanted, and if Xavier made it out to be one, it’s what the Burned Man wanted to see, too. He wouldn’t do it. This was Cat’s night.
“That’s my cue,” Xavier said to her.
“No. Don’t go.” She touched his chest. “Not yet.”
“Go do what you have to do. I’m glad I got here in time to see the curtains come down.”
“Cat.” Michael reached out and grabbed her elbow, but she yanked it away.
Xavier bent down and said, just for her, “I’m not running away again.”
It didn’t matter what her response might be. It felt fucking amazing to say.
She drew in a breath and blew it out through the O of her shiny lips. He wondered how different they’d taste with that stuff on them.
She said good-bye, then Michael steered her away.
Xavier got his first look at her back, the way the sparkling orange dress pr
essed against her skin, displayed the expanse of her shoulders and the brown line of her spine. Those shoes showed off the high, tight muscles of her calves.
They’d parted without further promise. He walked home with icy wind and trepidation and virginal fear rattling his bones, and still felt better for it.
FOURTEEN
The last two guests left the gallery at 1:46 a.m. Suddenly the overhead lights burned too brightly. The adrenaline had begun its crash, the consistent need to smile and nod dropping away. Cat longed for dark, for quiet.
For Xavier.
Helen was in the back gallery with Alissa the assistant, giving instructions to the catering company employees who looked as beat-up as Cat felt. She remained exactly where she and Xavier had stood as the drapes had fallen.
“Nine.” Michael locked the gallery door and turned to her wearing a Cheshire grin wet with whiskey. “Nine paintings. Look how far you’ve risen. A good night’s work, wouldn’t you say?”
He crossed the floor toward her. He looked at her differently, like she’d suddenly become a new person, changed before his eyes.
“For you?” she asked. “Or me?”
He stopped. “What does that mean?”
She hadn’t meant to start this tonight. But she was tired, wrung out, and the ups and downs of this past week had erased her filters. “Michael.” She kept her voice even. Very few people managed to hold his attention, but she seemed to be one of them, and she used it to her advantage. “It’s become very clear to me what you’ve been doing this week.”
Long pause. “And what’s that?”
“Parading me around.”
“I made introductions.” He enunciated every syllable. “You think you would’ve sold tonight if I hadn’t done that?”
Her mouth dropped open. Is that what he actually thought?
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That came out wrong.”
“Wow, Michael. Do you even like my work? You’ve bought enough of it.”
His hand dropped. He hit her with a steel stare, one she felt in every vertebrae. “I love it, Cat. It’s special. You are special.” She’d never heard his voice dip so low. It unnerved her in more ways than one.
“What is this about?” He came even closer. “I helped you make more money tonight than three months bartending. And it’s only the first day.”
“You did, yes.” He’d always been very good at this, twisting conversations to hit points he wanted to hit. “And I’m grateful to you. Really, I am. I hope you realize that my art means more to me than money.”
“So what’s really going on?” Clever deflection away from the money angle. He threw out his arms, assuming a stance of impatience, one that was trying to make her feel wrong before she actually made her argument. It wasn’t going to work.
She crossed her arms. “Tom Bridger, for one. Who isn’t here. Who’d never intended to come.”
He twisted his watch around his wrist. Once, twice. Looked down at it. Looked back up at her. “He’s an artistic person. So are you. I thought you two would get along. You’re very charming.”
Goose bumps popped out along her bare legs and back. She rubbed her arms and shook her head. “Don’t you ever, ever do that again, Michael.”
“Do what?”
“Going in to that lunch you made me believe Tom was a buyer. He’s a wonderful person, yes, but now I know you brought me there to help you accomplish something on your own personal agenda. I don’t appreciate being used like that.”
“Everything okay up there?” came Helen’s singsong voice from the back, followed by a wineglass shattering on the wood floor.
Cat stared at Michael.
“Tell her yes,” he said, leaning closer. “This is our conversation.”
He was right about that. Helen didn’t belong anywhere near this. The woman had been nothing but good to Cat, and she clearly loved Michael.
“Yeah, fine,” Cat called back to Helen. “Alissa, could you get me a cab?”
“I’ve never used you on purpose.” Michael actually looked aghast, but then, he was around actors every day and she had no idea if the reaction was genuine.
“If you wanted something from me, you should’ve asked. No tricks. I would’ve helped you, you know. I owe you a lot, but now I don’t know if I can trust you.”
His eyes flicked to the large front window, a sheet of black glass with crescents of snow tucked in the bottom corners. “I don’t apologize much, Cat.”
Much? Or ever?
His eyes swung back to her. “But I’m sorry for that.”
“Good.”
Was he actually sorry, or was he just saying that to end this conversation? He stared at her so hard she didn’t know what to make of it. Was he trying to intimidate, or to make her believe him?
She wanted to believe him. She sure as heck wasn’t going to let him intimidate her.
“And don’t pull me away from Xavier again.” Oh, she was opening a filthy, writhing can of worms with that one, but it had to be done. “It’s rude to him and disrespectful to me.”
Michael squinted. Was he actually trying to look confused, as though he couldn’t remember Xavier?
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t pretend.”
Michael smiled, but it carried a vicious taint. “I’m not pretending. I’m just trying to figure out what makes him special. Why you’d go for him.”
Having to work to peel back Xavier’s layers was exactly what made him special, but Michael would never comprehend that. Michael needed everything always within his reach, always perfectly understandable. If it wasn’t, he needed the people around him to be malleable, or he’d walk on. Which was why he’d thrown up a shield against her current attack. She was surprising him, and not in a good way.
His smile died fast. “He’s not for you.”
Now she was pissed off. “You have absolutely no say in that. You don’t know him at all. You barely know me.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders taut, chin raised. “Oh, I know you.”
The heat of his stare rubbed uncomfortably on all the bared parts of her skin. It was the thing that Xavier had warned her about, and now Michael no longer hid it.
“No,” she said. “You think you know me.”
But he was shaking his head. “I always know what I want. And then I get it.” He tapped his temple with two fingers. “I think about things. I analyze. I’m not impulsive. It takes time for me to find a goal, plan a course of action—”
“Oh, God. Don’t say it.”
“I saw you in that silly art fair. I saw you and I thought ‘what about her?,’ then I walked on, thinking about it some more. I circled around the fair, came back to you. Talked to you. I saw your resistance, how careful you were about talking to me. To men, in general, which appealed to me. I do love a good challenge. I get so few of them. And I saw your potential, how you were this pearl waiting for me to take you and show you to the world. I know what I want—”
“Stop right there. Please.”
“And I want you.”
Utter silence plummeted between them. She bristled under its weight.
“Why?” she finally managed to say. “We’re all wrong for each other.”
He pursed his lips. “I can make you right. I’ve already started.”
What? She shivered uncomfortably. “You have all those women, the ones who worship you, the ones who cling to you. I’ve seen you with them in the Keys. And you talk about that one all the time. What’s her name, Lea?”
Something shifted on his face. She couldn’t tell if it was anger or annoyance or something else entirely.
“Those women are what I have,” he said. “They’re not what I want. What I need.”
“You don’t need me.”
“That’s not for you to decide.”
He was creeping her out. A horrifying thought came to her. “So all this,” she swept out an arm, “was to get in my pants?”
“Don’t reduce this to
sex.”
She hated that Xavier had told her almost the exact same thing.
“You only want me because you can’t have me,” she said, then turned to go get her coat from Helen’s office. She said good-bye to Helen and told her they’d touch base tomorrow.
On her way out, Cat’s eyes shot to the wall near the front door, covered by River #2. It was where she’d first seen Xavier that evening—him clearly feeling out of his element but trying his best not to show his discomfort. She could still see the look on his face when she walked toward him. Half-pained, half drowning in desire. And the gentle, worshipful hand on her bare back when they’d finally embraced. Even though he’d made her orgasm and had stolen her mind with pleasure, it was that single hand on her skin that now sent her blood racing and her heart soaring.
An indefinable distance still yawned between them. He still held back, even though he no longer wanted to. And she was being careful because she didn’t want to scare him away. So what came next?
A horn sounded outside. Her cab was here.
Michael still stood in the center of the gallery, watching her askance. She walked right past him, heading for the door. The brand-new nude pumps had destroyed her feet during the evening. The bite of blisters tore into her heels and the stiff patent leather sides had rubbed her skin raw.
“Wait.” The ugly command in Michael’s voice made her turn. He’d never talked to her like that. Never with such aggravation. He bit his lower lip then added, calmer, “Don’t leave like this. Please.”
“It’s late. I’m done here.” She swung her coat over her dress, fully aware of how silly the green parka looked over such fabulous sparkling material. She pulled the red hat over the hair that had taken almost forty-five minutes to straighten. “Michael, you and I are professional partners, nothing more. It will never be anything more.”
A Taste of Ice (The Elementals) Page 13
