The cab’s engine was loud in the courtyard outside her mews house. A curtain twitched, because an area couldn’t claim to have a village vibe without at least one nosey neighbour.
After five minutes in the cab, Eva leaned between the front seats to speak to the driver.
“Are there diversions in town? Only, I’m not sure this is the right way.”
“This is the address I was given,” the driver told her. “We’re nearly there.”
“But—”
But this was the Brighton promenade, a row of Georgian town houses, not secluded art deco palaces by the sea.
“This is you,” the driver announced, brakes squeaking as they pulled up outside a hotel. “The fare’s taken care of.”
He glanced into his rear-view mirror and she saw a glimmer of humour in his eyes. “All I know is, this is you. Have a good afternoon.”
“Are you absolutely certain? There hasn’t been a mix-up at the cab office?” Eva glanced at her phone. It was infuriatingly silent, with no calls or texts from Daniel.
He pressed a few buttons on the mobile phone that sat in a cradle on his dashboard and peered at the screen.
“You’re Ms Catesby?”
Eva nodded. “Yes.”
“Booked and paid for, pick up, drop off at The Mallard.” He peered through the windscreen at the white double-fronted building. “Do you want me to drive you back to the pick-up point?”
A hotel. How very Daniel Scott—and what a saucy trick to play. “No, it’s fine… I thought I was going to a different hotel, that’s why I was confused. Thanks.”
Eva climbed out of the taxi. As it merged with the traffic, she realised why the driver had been smiling.
He must think I’m an escort!
In a way, she was, summoned by desire.
A couple emerged from the hotel, dressed as though they had just stepped out of a roadside diner in the heartland of 1950s America. The young man held the door open for Eva, waiting for her to enter.
Eva thanked him and went in. The hotel was lavish and clearly expensive, and a hush fell over Eva as soon as she entered. But there was something else, too, a definite frisson in the air, the unavoidable impression that wildness went on behind its respectable façade. Otherwise, why else would Daniel have chosen the place?
“Good afternoon!” The too polished woman behind the desk greeted her with a grin as bright as her red hair. “Can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m looking for—” Eva stopped herself before she said his name. Surely he wouldn’t have booked in under Daniel Scott? “A friend. I’m sure you know what I mean.”
The woman’s smile confirmed everything that Eva had suspected about this place. She turned away from the computer screen and instead opened a large paper diary, then tapped her manicured nail against the page.
“Mr Carswell’s guest.” She closed the diary with a thud of finality. “Let me show you up.”
Carswell? The name seemed familiar, but Eva couldn’t place it. It was probably a pompous gallery owner or a fatuous curator who had dared to cross the enfant terrible. And he was here, somewhere in this building, and the thought of it seared her with desire.
“Can I take your bag?” The receptionist emerged from behind the desk, her gait assured despite the sky-scraping heels on her patent shoes. She held out her hand expectantly, the smile never wavering.
It was clearly not an overnight bag, but Eva suspected that the receptionist would have been surprised if it had been. Then the bag was taken from her and the woman led Eva from the foyer and into a corridor, its walls decorated with rococo swirls in silver and turquoise that continued up the sweeping staircase they climbed, past rooms on which large numbers had been painted in gold. It was undeniably chic and undeniably decadent.
It was very Daniel Scott—or Mr Carswell, as he was today.
They climbed a second flight, and though the stairs continued on upwards, the women did not. There was only one room on this floor, its cold number identifying it as 7. Here the receptionist turned to hand back the bag. She didn’t knock on the white door but instead broke that immaculate smile to say, “Enjoy your stay.”
She didn’t look back as she descended the stairs.
Eva’s heart thudded in anticipation. The video call earlier had only stoked her lusts, not slaked them, and as soon as the receptionist had disappeared around the angle of the stairs, Eva knocked.
She didn’t know whether Daniel would make her wait and she didn’t have time to wonder, because the door opened less than a minute later.
And of course he was wearing sunglasses.
Eva threw her arms around him, her lips already on his before the door had shut behind her. She dropped her bag to the ground and ran both hands through his hair. “A hotel, you utter sod.” She laughed.
He silenced her laughter with a kiss, his answering embrace pushing Eva back against the door as it closed. The kiss went on as his body pressed to hers, his clothed erection already hard against her. Daniel didn’t speak until he broke the kiss so they could breathe and he murmured, “That’s why you want me.”
“There’s another reason, too.” Eva slid her hands down to rest on his buttocks. “This fabulous body you flashed at me earlier.”
“It’s all yours,” he breathed. Then he pressed a kiss to her throat and whispered, “Champagne?”
“No Prosecco for Daniel Scott! I mean—Mr Carswell.” Eva gently ran her hand down his chest. A bed this time, not a desk. Not five minutes stolen from an evening. Oh, the fun we could have. “Yes, please, to champers.”
“The mysterious Mr Carswell.” He took her hand and drew her into the airy room. It was stunning, as stunning as her companion, though only one of them was all in black. The bed was vast, piled with bright pillows and covered in crisp white linen that seemed to glow in the light of the three windows that reached from floor to ceiling, overlooking the promenade and ocean far below. In front of those windows was a large bath, perhaps promising even more possibilities later, whilst a sofa and chairs in bright turquoise surrounded a coffee table on which there was a champagne bucket and two glasses.
Only as they crossed to the table did Eva realise that Daniel, resplendent in his black suit and sunglasses, was still barefoot. Paint still spattered his exposed skin and she recalled again the sight of him naked, relaxing on the lounger, just for her.
Eva unfastened the clasp on her cape and let it fall to the ground, revealing her blouse and what lay beneath the gauzy fabric. She felt the heat in Daniel’s gaze as it swept over her, lingering for just a moment at her breasts before he turned to retrieve the bottle of champagne from its cocoon of ice.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” Daniel admitted.
Eva perched on the edge of the bed and kicked off her shoes. She rubbed her bare toes against his ankle. “And what were you thinking? That bloody woman telling me to up my game!”
“I was thinking of how it felt when you wrapped your legs around me.” Daniel tore off the gold foil and threw it onto the table. “And how much I wanted to fuck you again. And how much thinking about that was getting in the way of my work.”
Eva’s gaze shifted away from Daniel. How on Earth had that happened? A world-renowned artist distracted by a one-night stand with her? Surely the world was full of women willing to be bedded by Daniel Scott.
“Should I apologise because you find me irresistible?” It sounded like one of his lines, but Eva was in a cheeky mood and she wanted to see how he would react.
“I’m getting you out of my system,” he replied, but she saw a quirk of humour touch the corner of his mouth. Then he took the cork in his fist and popped it from the neck of the bottle. “Once and for all.”
Eva lay back against the pile of pillows as if she was posing for a painting as an odalisque, her arm arched behind her head because she knew it would make her breasts pert beneath the thin blouse. “And I fully intend to work you out of mine.”
“You’ll have to work
hard,” he told her with a hint of mischief. Then he filled the two glasses and approached the bed so that Eva could see herself reflected back in the lenses of his sunglasses.
“Oh, very hard. I imagine I’ll work up quite a sweat.”
“That’s why we have the bath.” Daniel held out a glass of champagne. “And nobody to disturb us.”
Eva closed her hand around the glass and kept her eyes on the lenses of his sunglasses as she drank. Then she held up her champagne. “This is good stuff. You have excellent taste, Mr Carswell.”
“Which is precisely why you’re here,” he replied smoothly. Then he sank to the bed to sit beside Eva and bent lower to kiss her. She tasted the champagne on his lips and caught the scent of his cologne in the air, every sense wonderfully alive.
Eva tangled her fingers in his hair, capturing him. “My very own bad boy for the evening. Aren’t I a lucky girl? Do you intend to be bad, Daniel? Very, very bad, I hope.”
“For my loudest critic?” He kissed her again. “Very bad indeed.”
Eva’s breath hitched. The memory of him inside her came back to her so strongly that her hips involuntarily shifted towards him. “I want you. I’m ready for you. Touch me.”
He reached out and set his glass down on the bedside table. His fingers were on her skirt, teasing it higher as his leg slipped between hers. Eva knew that he would take his time, because this was their dance, and the more he knew that she wanted him, the more he would tease her.
Eva sighed deeply, trying to master her impatience for his touch. She tugged the hem of his shirt out of his trousers, unfastening the lowest button with an unsteady hand. Eva would tease him too. His breath caught and she felt the slightest jerk of his hips towards her before he mastered himself, his fingers stroking the soft skin of her thigh. Eva arched into his touch as she twisted open another button on his shirt then touched his stomach as it was revealed.
“I didn’t think you’d want to see me again,” she whispered against his neck.
“Why?”
“Because you’re you.” Eva stroked her way from his stomach to his back and ran her fingertip up his spine. “There must be any number of women flinging themselves at the famous bad boy artist.”
“Naturally,” he deadpanned, caressing her thigh in answer to her touch. “Didn’t you?”
A tremble ran up Eva’s leg and she moaned. Once her body had stilled again, she murmured, “I threw myself at the man who pursued me.”
“The man who kept your card.” He dipped his head to nuzzle against her throat again, grazing with his teeth. “The respectable Mr Carswell, sending out for a girl to share his champagne.”
Eva sighed with desire, tipping her head back against the satin and velvet cushions. “And to fuck, I hope, Mr Carswell?”
He gave a murmur of agreement and slid his hand a little higher, just enough to brush his fingers over her body. All the time his lips were softly roaming Eva’s neck, the tip of his tongue tracing lines of heat over her racing pulse.
She brought her hands away from inside his shirt and trailed them over the front of his trousers, his erection obvious to her touch. But she wasn’t going to unfasten him. Not yet. Her touch was so light that it was almost a breath, but she knew it was teasing him to distraction.
Eva sensed rather than heard Daniel’s sigh of anticipation. She had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t used to being made to wait, that the women in Daniel Scott’s life were probably happy just to be allowed past the black suit and the attitude, but she wasn’t going to be one of those women, one of what might be many. Sometimes, a man had to face a challenge.
“Is that infuriating, Daniel?” She traced her fingers up from his trousers and unfastened another button on his shirt. He replied with another kiss to her throat and another stroke from his fingers. It was the action of a man who was assured of victory, merely indulging her in her little fancies.
“I wonder…” Eva caught her reflection in his sunglasses, an expression of amused arousal. “Is there anything you wouldn’t do to make me unbutton you?”
“I could just please myself,” Daniel murmured, but she knew that he wouldn’t. Then he lifted his head and smiled. “But I like this game.”
“Do you now?” Eva caressed further beneath his shirt and brushed against his hardened nipple as she reached his toned chest. “What if we made a bargain?”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ll unfasten your trousers and admire that impressive cock of yours, if you…” Eva danced her fingertips down his body again, teasing over the hard shape in his trousers, then danced them away. “If you take off your sunglasses.”
Would he? Eva was no longer certain if he kept them on just to rile her, or if something more serious lay behind his game. A barrier deliberately set up between them.
“Are you serious?” Daniel’s voice was a whisper and his hand stilled on her body. “Why?”
Eva realised, too late, that she had overstepped the mark. But she tried to keep it light, and what she was about to say was the truth anyway. “Because as lovely as my reflection doubtlessly is, I would rather gaze at your eyes.”
He lifted the sunglasses for a second then dropped them down again. “Does that satisfy you?”
Eva shook her head. “No.”
At least he was being playful. But he might have a reason to hide his eyes, if he’d been at the coke again.
“What do you think you’ll see there?” He kissed her lips softly. “The real Mr Carswell trying to get out?”
“I want to see you. All of you.” Eva rubbed her thumb across his lip, her eyes going in and out of focus as she tried to look through his lenses. “Is that really such a terrible thing?”
“There’s nobody there,” Daniel whispered.
“There is.”
He’d become a brand and people read their own pain into his art. The creator vanished, inconsequential as a leaf in autumn. That was what he meant, surely. Eva had known that feeling herself. All artists did. But there was something dark in his tone, and the opulent room seemed to fall away. Crowding in on them were his paintings. Sometimes bleak, sometimes frightening, tense with anger and fear.
The Daniel Scott Method.
Daniel swallowed. She saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. Then he asked, “And if I say no?”
“To our bargain?” Eva stroked his cheek. “Well, I can’t be blamed if they accidentally get knocked off, can I?”
“I’ll make you a bargain,” Daniel murmured, nuzzling against her cheek. “Are you the negotiating type?”
Caution whispered in Eva’s ear, but she ignored it. She passed her hand teasingly over his erection again. “Go on, then…let’s negotiate.”
“I want to paint you.”
Although he was an artist, of all the things he could have said, Eva hadn’t expected that. Her cheeks heated into a blush. “Really? I’d love to pose for you.”
“I’ve never painted from life,” Daniel admitted, still nuzzling kisses to her cheek and lips. Of course he hadn’t—she couldn’t conceive of any living thing like those strange shapes that lumbered across his canvases. “Nothing real, nothing I can touch.”
As the last word left his mouth, he slid his fingers against Eva’s body again, just teasing a inside her.
Eva lay there, enthralled by his touch, kissing his hair as he nuzzled her. He was being so gentle, but Eva wasn’t convinced that it was only a tease. “Have you ever posed for an artist before?”
“Never.” He sighed against her skin, then whispered, “I’m not a suitable subject.”
“Would you let me try?” Eva gasped as her desire rallied to his touch. “I’d even let you keep your sunglasses on…”
“No.” He kissed her with a fierce heat, clearly intent on distracting her from pursuing the topic. And his sunglasses were still on, despite their so-called bargain. Daniel pressed his body closer to her, his free hand cupping her breast through the flimsy blouse, caressing gently.
<
br /> Eva sighed his name, and in a haze of building pleasure caressed him through his clothes. “How long can you bear to tease? I want you…” she breathed. She hadn’t anticipated his next move as the hand on her breast slid higher until he lifted his sunglasses, pushing them up into his dark hair. He blinked down at her as his lips met hers again, holding her gaze into the kiss.
The intense blaze she had seen in Daniel’s eyes before was softened now. By desire, of course. Answering her side of the bargain, Eva gave him one last teasing touch through his clothes, then unfastened him. She sighed into their kiss as she took his erection in her hand, its heat and hardness promising bliss.
His hand found her breast again through the light fabric and he whispered, “I need to get this out of my system.” Then he slipped his finger deep into her body, exploring tenderly.
Eva pressed her mouth to his ear as she moved against his finger. “Do you think you ever will?”
“Not if I paint you. We’re bound together.” She moaned as his second finger pressed against her, joining the first. “Do you really want that?”
Eva gazed at him, at the gentleness she saw in a face that had been disguised with arrogance. “Perhaps,” she whispered. “Would you?”
“I’ll leave that for my instinct to decide.” Daniel circled Eva’s nipple with the pad of his thumb. “But right now the answer’s yes.”
“I somehow thought you’d say that.” Still stroking his erection, Eva unfastened the remaining buttons on his shirt and caressed his torso in long strokes, from his throat down to the base of his cock and back again. “How will you pose me?”
“Something like this,” Daniel decided, sweeping his gaze over her. “You recline like an empress, presiding over nations. You caught my eye in the gallery, but this is perfect. This is you.”
A nervous tremble went through Eva. She was surprised that Daniel Scott of all people would say such a thing about her. But he wasn’t Daniel Scott, the bad boy she’d seen in the press anymore. He was Daniel Scott, her lover. “How else could I pose on a big heap of cushions, with a handsome man pleasuring me? And will I be a nude, or will you drape me in something diaphanous?”
The Colour of Mermaids Page 5
