The Naughty One: A Doctor’s Christmas Romance (Season of Desire Book 2)

by Michelle Love

  Hmm, what to do now, she thought. There was a home painting project due in her class next week that she foolishly hadn’t even started yet. Her medium of choice had always been oil paint, the texture, and depth it provided was unmatched, but it was infamous for its incredibly long dry time. She’d have to do a quick drying base background layer in acrylic, then layer the wetter paint on top in order to finish it.

  Once her easel was set up, over a tarp to prevent staining the floor, Aullie selected a medium-sized canvas from her stockpile. Often, she took advantage of art sales, she usually bought tons of them at a time and never seemed to be out of them, which suited her just fine.

  The theme of this painting was structural abstract, which meant a lot of free reign. She thought back to her recent deer drawing; if she kept it more vague, let the missing legs fade into a colorful background, that could work.

  Standing back, considering the canvas, Aullie considered how she felt. A color came to her, and then two. Yellowy green and a warm relaxing blue. Before long a pallet was mixed and the oceanic colors faded into one another, the bleak white surface coming to life in full color. The plastic-like scent of the acrylic paint infected the air, she was really on a roll.

  An entire hour passed before the creative spell was broken, she had done what she could. Probably the most frustrating part of creating art was the dry time, when the inspiration and drive to bring a vision to life needed to be halted for hours or days at a time.

  Just gone two hours, and still no call.

  Slightly disappointed, but sure there had to be a valid explanation, Aullie accepted she probably wasn’t going to see him that day. ‘He’s probably busy with his big billionaire job’, she thought bitterly.

  However, just as she began to get herself worked up with doubt, her phone began to ring. There he was. Feeling stupid, she swiped the screen to answer with a polite, “Hello?”

  “Hey Aullie,” he said, his accented voice punctuated by heavy breaths, “Sorry to call so late in the day. I hope you haven’t given up on me and made other plans.”

  ‘So he’s beautiful and psychic’, she mentally mused. “No, not yet,” she teased.

  “Good, glad to hear it.” Aullie could hear the smile in his voice.

  “So… What are we doing then?” she asked, uncertain little butterflies beginning to prickle in her stomach.

  “Well, I have a surprise for you if you’re up for it.”

  Aullie hated surprises, but at least he was trying. “Sure, what time?”

  “How close to now can you be ready?” he asked.

  “Probably about…” she trailed off, considering her un-showered state. She still wasn’t totally sure about the whole thing and decided it wasn’t worth washing her hair for. “Half an hour?”

  “Great, the bug and I will see you then.”

  Aullie smiled. “Okay. Bye.”

  After she hung up, she sprayed dry shampoo into her roots and brushed it through. As Aullie weaved her short bangs into a tight braid, she considered the decisions she was subconsciously making. She was choosing to show him her whole face, to see him at less than her best so early in their relationship. It was almost as if she were daring him to change his mind, to break whatever spell she had on him.

  She decided that she was okay with it.

  Chapter 5

  Aullie dropped herself onto the rustic old seat in the bug. Weston smiled at her from the driver’s seat, hair casually swept back, hazel eyes adoring, and very un-British straight white teeth. Even in a red and white raglan t-shirt and jeans, he looked like a million bucks. ‘Or a billion, I guess’, she thought.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “Yep,” she replied, doing her best to keep her nerves and uncertainty out of her voice.

  Weston fumbled with the gear shift, and the rattly old bug lurched and groaned as they rolled away. The heater clicked and whirred loudly, filling the car with hot, dry air.

  The small talk between them, as he drove, was generic and somewhat awkward. The weather was indeed getting colder, winter was on its way, it was outrageous how early some places put out Christmas decorations, and yes, all the sounds the bug made were pretty much normal.

  As they approached downtown, Aullie couldn’t wait anymore. “Where are we going, Weston?”

  “Well, I might as well tell you. There’s a touring Wassily Kandinsky exhibit, and according to Wikipedia, he’s credited as being the first real abstract painter and a genius art theorist who revolutionized expressive art. I don’t have any idea what any of that means, so I figured you could teach me.”

  Aullie was suddenly overcome with excitement. Kandinsky was one of her all-time favorite painters, one of her biggest inspirations, and when she and her friends from class had tried to get tickets to the exhibit they had all been almost instantly sold out. She should probably wonder how he got them, but she was truly too excited to care.

  “Are you serious?”

  There was that devilish smile again. “Yes, I’m serious.”

  He pulled the bug into a parking spot outside the art museum. The gray clouds, and the silvery sunlight that broke through them reflected off the beautiful mirrored building. It was such a unique building, specially crafted by an edgy, modern architect, the work of art itself was the perfect place to house other masterpieces.

  Still bubbling, Aullie resisted the urge to jiggle restlessly as they waited to have their tickets checked. Once they had, she secured a tiny square museum pass sticker under the left lapel of her burgundy cotton button up shirt.

  “Where would you like to go first?” Weston asked, standing close. Their shoulders almost brushed each other, but Aullie didn’t feel invaded.

  “Well, you were the one asking for a lesson, so why don’t we hit the exhibit first and then I can show you around some more since I do come here a lot.”

  “I can imagine you would,” he said with an endearing smile. “Lead the way.”

  Aullie was almost sure her leader status was just so he could walk behind her. She wore a pair of dark, hip hugging jeans and she had printed a pair of wide, white eagle’s wings across the back pockets, almost like a tramp stamp. Suffice to say she had gotten compliments on them before, she felt his eyes on her lower half and added a little more sway to her step. The desire she was almost sure he felt, that sexual power she had established over him, boosted her confidence and she became significantly more relaxed.

  The temporary exhibits were on the third floor, and they hustled up the three flights of stairs together under a rain of silvery things dangling from the ceiling. The stark white stairs glittered with reflections of cool sunlight off the mirrored adornments, it almost felt as if they were in a snow globe. It really was beautiful.

  “Here we are,” Aullie said, pushing on the door to the traveling exhibit. Right in front, there was a huge picture of Wassily Kandinsky, in an aged sepia. A plain looking man with a narrow chin, round wire spectacles and an expressionless face. Underneath, in a neat typewriter font, was a short biography detailing the life of the Russian artist.

  The first painting on display, frameless against a beige wall, a single soft light illuminating it from above, was a four by three grid of square shapes with circles of descending size in various colors.

  “This one’s interesting,” Weston commented, though he sounded unsure.

  “Hilariously enough, it’s actually just called Square in Concentric Circles,” Aullie replied.

  “What a fitting, clever name,” he joked.

  Most of the other visitors in the exhibit were elderly women in semi-formal dress which quickly changed Aullie’s mind about her jeans. Discreetly keeping her hands over her butt, the two moved through the maze of walls art museums always built to maximize the surface area of the room. Keeping their voices and giggles low as to not disturb the ladies, they stopped in front of a new painting, an interesting piece of geometric-esque shapes on an off-white background. It was titled The Rider, and Aullie pointed ou
t the vague shapes in the middle that represent a horse’s head and the jockey riding him.

  “It’s really amazing,” Weston said, a tone of wonder in his voice. “I mean I have no artistic ability, none, so it always amazes me to see things like this. To see the way that other people see the world.”

  “That’s why I love it so much,” Aullie gushed. “So many different views, so many different ideas and visions and mistakes and passion. Like, here.” She pointed to a dark, brownish abstract that was alive with colored streaks. “Composition 6. There’s no structure here, no subject. These colors, these patterns, the way this all fits together is one hundred percent emotion. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  “Yes,” Weston said, eyes not on the painting but firmly on her. “It really is.”

  Oh, how that voice got to her. Aullie blushed and dropped her eyes, almost wishing she’d left her bangs down so that she could hide behind them. Slowly, gently, Weston stepped closer and slipped an arm around her waist. She stiffened at his touch initially, but eventually she softened into his side. He was warm, so tall the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, and his dark, musky scent was exceptionally heady. She didn’t know what it was about him but she was beginning to feel like he had said before: bewitched. Almost as if a spell had been cast upon them.

  The pair wandered through the rest of the Kandinsky exhibit, Aullie exceptionally moved by his work and Weston extremely moved by her passion. The strange young bond between them became even stronger, even more magnetic. By the time they’d finished, their fingers were loosely entwined, and Aullie felt surprisingly comfortable and happy.

  They made their way back down the stairs, taking time on each floor to appreciate different exhibits; bold Native American art done in earthy colors, bright expressionist classics, and gigantic rooms packed with portraits that were hundreds of years old. The conversation flowed between them, light and easy until Weston rolled up his sleeve.

  For a few moments, Aullie had been able to distance herself from her trepidations, but the chunky Rolex adorning his wrist was a quick reality check she wasn’t expecting. Almost involuntarily, she let her fingers drop and became quiet and resigned.

  Weston wasn’t stupid, she had to give him that. He picked up on her shift in behavior right away and tracked her gaze to his watch.

  “Shit,” he grumbled, rolling his sleeve down to cover the gaudy timepiece. “I forgot I had this on. I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for, it’s fine,” she lied. The mood was broken, even though she really wished it wasn’t.

  “This whole money thing is really going to be an issue, isn’t it?” Weston asked, disappointment shining in his goldish eyes.

  “I don’t know,” she said, exasperated under the pressure of his sad expression. “I don’t want it to be, but I guess I have some pretty deep-rooted biases. And, if I’m being honest, your money is really intimidating. I’m an artist. The chances that I’ll ever see a small fraction of your wealth are so low…”

  He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, his eyes meeting hers. The pull between them was so magnetic, and Aullie wished it was an easy thing to ignore.

  “I don’t care about any of that,” he said.

  “You don’t have to,” she shrugged, “because I do.”

  Aullie wanted to turn away from him, to walk away again, but he was her ride and it was a long walk from the museum. She wasn’t sure what to do.

  “Can we at least try?” Weston asked, gently tilting her head up.

  Before she could respond, he put his mouth to hers. The kiss started soft but quickly intensified. As the heat built between them, Aullie was almost embarrassed to be experiencing such a passionate moment in public. He pulled her body close to his; his size, his warmth, his smell engulfed her and made her feel safe.

  Weston pulled away. Aullie leaned forward, involuntarily guided by her lips that weren’t quite ready to break the kiss yet.

  “Want to get out of here?” he asked. “You’ve given me quite a lesson today, now I’d actually like to see some of your art.”

  Still dazed, she said, “Yeah, sure.”

  Chapter 6

  By the time the bug was parked in front of her building, Aullie was drowning in panic. Sure, she shared her art with her friends, her mother, her brother, but rarely with guys that she was dating. They usually didn’t care, and she was ok with that. Especially after her flop at the last art show, her confidence in her work was wavering and her confidence in her place was even less.

  Had she put all her mugs in the sink? Or were they littered throughout the tiny apartment like Easter eggs, like they usually were? She knew she hadn’t made her bed. Her easel was even out.

  Dammit, she thought. All Aullie wanted was an excuse to keep him out of her space, to keep the super-rich, super-gorgeous man away from the shoebox of an apartment where she lived. Nothing came to her, though, they were already there, and what could she really say? Well, she convinced herself, you wanted to see if he wanted the real you. Here’s the first real test.

  Weston opened her door for her, with a perfect, charming grin. Aullie hoped the smile she gave in return didn’t look as strained as it felt as he gently gripped her hand and helped her out of the low seat.

  “Lead the way,” he said, gesturing at the squat concrete building. Aullie walked ahead of him, around the side of the front buildings.

  She lived in the far left building in the back, in the back corner on the second floor. The walk felt as though it took forever, as her involuntary shame built up with each step. The metal stairs rattled noisily as the pair climbed, a testament to their lack of quality and cheap construction.

  “Well,” she said, taking a deep breath as she jiggled her key in the lock on the weathered door. “Here we are.”

  Weston looked happily expectant, almost excited, as she pushed the squeaky door open and they entered her colorful, personal little world. Just as she had dreaded, Aullie’s place was a mess. Her eccentric mugs were scattered all over every surface, her work jeans were pooled on the floor where she had stepped out of them the night before, and her crazy patterned comforter hung off the side of her lofted bed. Little red dots of embarrassment and shame bloomed on her cheeks as Weston followed her inside.

  “It’s very, um… colorful.” His eyes tracked up and down the art covered walls. “Are these all yours?”

  “Yeah,” Aullie replied. “Some of them are school projects, some of them are my own stuff. I’ve tried to sell them at shows, but for now, they just live here.”

  “They’re beautiful,” he remarked, awestruck. “I can’t believe you really did all of these. Why haven’t any of them sold?”

  His question slid like a knife into her gut. Aullie tried to keep her face passive and shrugged. “Don’t know,” she answered, curtly.

  Weston was oblivious to her reaction, his gaze trailing up and down the walls. His eyes were wide and he at least seemed to be genuinely admiring the paintings. “I love your place too, it’s really interesting.

  That’s one way to describe it, Aullie thought. Her entire place was probably the size of his bedroom. Her entire place technically was her bedroom since she couldn’t even afford a place with walls. What had she been thinking bringing him there? Why let him see again what completely different leagues they were in, what completely different lives they led?

  When Weston turned to face her, Aullie’s arms were crossed loosely over her chest self-consciously. Her face must’ve betrayed her inner turmoil because his brows furrowed and he asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said, shrugging again with a non-committal gesture.

  He didn’t buy it. Weston came closer to her and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, bending to meet her downcast eyes. “What?” he asked again.

  “Just the same things,” she said, shaking her head. “This place must look ridiculous to you. My entire apartment could probably fit in your closet. Plus all my cheap, crazy, co
lorful crap…”

  “Hey,” he said, looping his arms gently around her waist. She had to admit it felt good, though she still felt the urge to shy away from him. “First of all, none of that matters to me. It really doesn’t. And secondly, how big do you think my closet is?”

  His joke made her laugh.

  “Plus, I like you. You. And this place is very perfectly you.”

  His hazel eyes were warm, his voice was so silky, and his smile was so sexy. When he leaned down to kiss her, Aullie reached up and met him halfway.

  He had said all the right things, everything she needed to hear, and she was happy to put her lips on his. Weston pulled her tighter around her waist and Aullie looped her arms around his neck as the kiss intensified, an impressive heat built between them. Their bodies moved together, almost swaying in a slow seductive dance. His hands ventured lower, cupping her perky little butt in his wide hands and she rocked her hips and ground against him.

  It was so different, she realized, to be kissing him in a more intimate setting than it was in public as their previous kisses had been. His body was solid, he definitely spent some time in the gym, and Aullie trailed her hands down his firm, swollen pecs. His tongue explored her mouth in slow, sensuous strokes.

  When he broke away, she sighed. Aullie wasn’t ready, but when his mouth pressed to her neck, her knees practically buckled. Things heated up even quicker as his kiss trailed down to her collarbone. Weston’s hands roamed back up to her waist, where he lifted her shirt.

  When his lips brushed her stomach, just above the waistband of her jeans, she felt a flutter a little lower. It was so overwhelmingly erotic, she couldn’t restrain the tiny moan that escaped her lips. Aullie bent over him, securing her fingers in his dark golden hair. He kissed her once more, before pulling away suddenly.

  The rush of blood and endorphins to Aullie’s head left her dizzy and disoriented. All she could think was, where are you going and why?

  He stood, casting his eyes away from her and adjusting the waistband of his jeans, hopefully, to hide his mutual excitement.