On the other hand, Hunter, unfortunately, seems like he’s now having an internal battle with himself. His pants are straining which means he wants in. I just don’t think that the brain up top agrees. When I watch his eyes dilate, the blackness of his pupils shining, that I know I’m in.
Yes.
“I’m sorry but I can’t.”
No!
“Why not?” I may have said that with a pout.
He steps forward, our personal space combining. He lifts his arm, his shaky hand brushing along my cheek. “Because I need to get to know you first. You’re different. You’re nothing like anyone I have ever met. And I know you deserve more than something only physical.”
Wha—huh?
“Wait, you just want to get to know me?” The last part of my question ends in a squeak. This is definitely a first for me. I am for sure being Punk’d or New Leaf is in on this and if that’s the case I’m going to kick her ass.
“Oh I want more. Way more. I hunger to do so many inappropriate things to you, God do I. But it is you I need to know first. You are not someone who deserves anything but the best and I need to learn what that is for you. And I believe when I do, I will use that as an advantage to convince you that something between us will not be anything but extraordinary.”
My lips slightly part as I fight to breath. Or swallow. China may have just heard my labored gulp.
“Are you with anyone Lexi? A boyfriend? An admirer?”
With my voice box dead and my uvula pretty much stuck to the roof of my mouth, I slowly shake my head.
“Good. Good.” He nods and offers me a small smile.
“Good,” I repeat. Like an idiot.
“Will you let me get to know you, Lexi?”
While I wait for the camera crew to jump out of the closet, my mind goes bonkers. First off, who is this gentleman and where did my grumpy artist go? Second, no one has ever asked me that. He wants to get to know me. Before…well, before all the good stuff. As in no touching or petting, until he learns how I take my coffee. I have to ask. “Did New Leaf put you up to this?” I lean in and whisper.
“Who?” Now he looks confused. Rightfully so.
“Nothing, never mind.” Okay so maybe New Leaf is right; I do deserve to be treated like every other girl. To be wooed and fancied. To be courted until the time is right. I deserve more than just the physical parts of a relationship. Maybe that’s the trick! Fine. I’ll let her win this time, because there is a little inkling of hope that this might be what I have been searching for.
“Okay. Fine you have a deal,” I reply. Mind made up.
He looks relieved, much to my surprise. “Good. Thank you.”
“Why are you thanking me?”
He steps forward, raising his hand and placing the top of it just under my chin lining. His voice soft, but gruff, he replies, “For giving me a chance.”
Okay, melt. I am melting. Or sweating. I have never in my twenty-seven year years of life had someone make such a simple offer. To want to get to know me for me. Sadly, a small tidbit of information taps me on the shoulder to remind me—
“You know I’m only here for a couple of day’s, right?”
His eyes, confident, stare straight into mine. “Who says I can’t work my way inside of you by then?”
My mouth drops.
His smile widens.
“Your head, Lexi. I want to get to know everything inside that head of yours.” He chuckles.
Whelp. “Okay then.”
“Good. Now, we’ve wasted too much time. We need to get back to work.” And poof, the moment broken, his expression back to serious. Welcome back, my grumpy artist. I'm not sure if I am intrigued or annoyed by his mood whiplash.
“Fine, yeah. Let’s get back to work,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders.
I expect him to get back to his supplies but his gaze lingers. “However, I need just a taste before we do.” Grabbing at the back of my neck, he slams my body into his. His mouth collides with mine and takes over, putting just the right amount of pressure behind his kiss. And as I sigh into his luscious mouth, I think to myself, this sure isn’t a bad start at getting to know one another.
LORD DOES THAT MAN know how to kiss. His up and down attitude needs some adjusting, but I am starting to enjoy his quirkiness. He seems to struggle with how to act around me, but I’m finding it kind of cute. One moment he is all business and Mr. Grumpy, while the next he is softly caressing my cheek and confessing his intentions with me. Then there was my favorite, his rough side, as he ravaged my very willing mouth. But none too soon, bam! Back to business.
Placing me where he wanted me, he sternly told me not to move. He made up for his bossiness by spreading soft slow kisses down my naked shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. We will ignore the fact that I used the word goosebumps at this time. Am I bummed that he turned down the sexual escapade? Hell yes. I am sporting some major female version of blue balls right now. Would it be blue lips? Blue labia? Blue bean? Okay enough. You get the point.
Anyway, New Leaf is proud of me. And I’m proud of me. I deserve this. I won’t lie and say it will be easy. The whole waitin’ to bone thing. But this will be good. New Leaf promises.
Painting takes skill. Concentration. The true art form of a brush stroke takes the mental stability and the passion inside one’s self to create something original. When I see a piece of art, I can sense exactly what that artist felt as he completed his work. When I look at the progress I’ve made with this portrait, I see a man filled with longing. One that is struggling not to stroke himself or the beautiful muse lying perfectly on the fur rug in front of him. It took everything in me to not take her up on her offer and fuck her raw against the wall-to-wall windowpane. But she deserves better. And dammit, I know I just met her, but I want to be the one to give it to her. That closed off part of me fears that I could never be enough for her. Could I make her happy? I almost slipped and told her about my scheme behind wanting to paint her nude. I wanted to just tell her everything.
I’ve only known her for just under twenty-four hours, but it feels like a hell of a lot longer. Feels more like years. With the way she easily smiles at me. The way her nose scrunches at my mood changes or when her throat trembles when she speaks. I kissed her again. I couldn’t restrain myself. I wanted to keep kissing her. It’s been so long since I have had this strong of a reaction to a woman, and with Lexi, all these raging sensations are boiling to the top, ready to boil over. I'm afraid I’ll scare her off with my intensity. Or lose her attention by my lack of experience. I want to please her. And pleasure her. I want to assault that perfect body until my marks are all over her.
Mark her as mine.
Shit.
This is happening too fast. I hope she doesn’t notice I'm barely painting. More like staring at the smooth indention of her back rise and fall as she breathes. The thought of her leaving soon makes me crazy. Two days won’t be enough time for me to get inside her head. Learn all her secrets. Her likes and dislikes. And then her body. I want to memorize every single part of her deep down to her soul.
“Everything okay back there?” Her perky voice breaks into my thoughts when I realize I snapped my paint brush in two.
“Yes, yes, just fine,” I reply keeping my tone flat. I’m sure it came off as a jerk response. But she is driving me mad.
“Man, we sure have been at this for a while.” She keeps hinting for a break, but I keep denying her. If we stop now, she will see the raging hard-on trying to rip through my jeans. I need to calm down before I allow us to stop. Which doesn’t seem to be happening any time soon.
“I mean… Oops.” A sound coming from her catches my attention and my ears perk. “Shit,” Lexi mumbles under her breath.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine. All good here!” The noise sounds again, my face erupting into a mischievous smile.
“Lexi, what is that sound?” I push trying not to laugh.
> “Oh, that wasn’t me.”
Again I hear it. “Lexi, are you farting?” I ask trying not to laugh, noticing her face has gone beet red.
“Oh my God! I am not farting!” she squeals, turning once again onto her back.
“I don’t know, it kind of sounds like you are letting out some gas.” I chuckle. I can’t help it but I explode into laughter.
“Hunter James, I am not letting out gas! That’s my stomach growling. I’m hungry.”
“Well then, Lexi Hall, let’s get you some food to quiet down that chatty stomach.”
I wink at her, and watch her cheeks blush even more, if possible. I jump off my chair, intent on feeding this woman anything her heart desires.
We’re sitting on the fur rug, me now wrapped up in an afghan throw blanket, while Hunter and I eat a late lunch. We laugh and talk about nothing and everything. For someone who can’t decide on what mood he wants to be in, he sure knows how to surprise me with his playful side. I am zero for two here with the dodgeballs he’s throwing at me. First the admission of us getting to know one another, and then the gas misunderstanding. Because clearly you will never see me blow air in front of any man. Unless I’m dead. And my body does it on its own. Because I’ve heard stories…
Moving on.
“So, explain to me again why people think you’re from France?” I start while allowing him to place a strawberry into my mouth.
“Well,” he hesitates, looking uncomfortable with the question. “Because I did live there for some time. It didn’t work out, so I moved back here.”
“How can it not work out living in France? They like practically eat and sleep wine. I want to die there!” I confess. He just shrugs it off. “It just didn’t. What about you? How did you end up at St. Markey?” he asks, turning the spotlight on me.
Now I feel myself tense up.. He couldn’t simply start with if I like my eggs scrambled or over easy? “Um well, nothing really great to tell. Typical socialite. Grew up in Washington, just outside of Seattle. In a city called Redmond.”
Hunter seems surprised by this. “You mean you’re not originally a California girl? You sure have the look.”
I chuckle at that. “Nope. Moved here when my dad’s firm went global. They needed him in San Francisco to deal with a lot of their high-profile accounts. He’s pretty much built an empire now in investing.”
He nods taking a bite of strawberry before feeding me some. “What about your mom?”
“My mom is your typical trophy wife turned stay-at-home mom…if that’s what you want to call it.” The last part comes out more bitter than I intend, but I can’t help it. “She was big in the pageant circuit, back in her day. She was Miss Washington. Competed for Miss USA. First runner up actually.”
Hunter’s eyebrows lift. “Wow, so you’re saying your mom is a hot piece of ass, just like you, huh?” His mischievous smirk tells me he’s joking, but I elbow him in the ribs all the same.
“Ow, damn it…that hurt!” he says, feigning to scoot away, before coming right back and settling in next to me.
“Teach you to run your mouth,” I say playfully. “Yes, my mother is very beautiful. Always has been. But with my father never being around, she got lonely. Desperate for attention. Soon after we moved to California, she was all about finding that attention wherever she could. And with whomever she could. She spent her days getting pampered by anyone and everyone. Including the pool boy. Lawn boy…”
“Doesn’t sound like a very healthy marriage,” comes Hunter’s low voice, a look of sympathy crossing his face. At my wrist, he begins to rub slow circles. Soothing me. Almost as if coaxing me to keep talking.
“Yeah well, I decided I needed to get away long before moving out here with them. My mom forced her pageant shit on me too. For years. It was my whole world for as long as I can remember.” Oh God. Why the hell am I going down this road with him? I chance a peek up at him, expecting that he is going to start making fun of me, but instead what I find is an open look of genuine curiosity.
“Did you compete? Because I can’t fathom you ever being runner up to anyone, if you did.”
I laugh-snort at that. “I did, in the teen circuit. I was Miss Washington Teen USA actually,” I say with an eye roll.
His slow smile is comforting. And if I am not mistaken, his face is an expression of pride.
“Anyway, so wasn’t my thing. I hated every minute of it. Once I made Miss Washington Teen, my mother would not leave me alone about completing for Miss USA. Thankfully, that was right at the time we relocated and I got out of there as soon as I could, landing some part-time gigs here and there.” I pause to take another delicious bite of the succulent strawberry. He moves in to wipe the juice running down my chin. I continue, “It wasn’t my plan to end up in the art industry. I just wanted something different. Something my own. It kind of just landed in my lap. I attended a showing with a boyfriend. Well, he wasn’t my boyfriend. More like a guy who needed some eye candy on his arm, and I was looking for a night of fun.” Hunter tenses at my revelation. I laugh at his sudden show of jealousy. “Calm down there, tiger. It was a night of drinking. Not sexual rendezvousing.” A slow nod confirms his understanding. Placing another strawberry to my lips, he asks, “So what happened?”
“Well, at first I was extremely bored and wanted to leave, but then I began chatting with some of the buyers. They asked me what I liked about the work and I just started rambling on about what I thought, not really knowing what I was saying. But they were so intrigued, they bought a ton of the artist’s work. Little did I know, the artist had been standing next to me the whole time. He invited me to his chateau and asked me to be his assistant. All I needed to do was walk around as I did, enjoy myself and when anyone asked about the art, give them my opinion.” I lift the crystal flute to my mouth taking a sip of my champagne.
“And then what?” Hunter asks, appearing totally engulfed in my story.
“I stayed with him about a year, until he decided to retire. The art wasn’t in him anymore. He referred me to Cornelius, who took me under his wing. And now, six years later, I am the Executive Art Director for St. Markey.” I stop there to ponder the fact that I’m where I am today because of Chrissy. Since she resigned from the position, it more or less pushed me into her old role. She had faith that I could shine just as bright in her shoes so her stipulation of staying partially on board was allowing me to take the lead. Not that I wanted it. I was doing just fine in a lower role, living it up with less grown up responsibilities on my plate. Either way, to me, it all related back to one thing, and that was Chrissy was leaving. Just thinking about her absence, makes me miss her. Despite how blissfully happy I know she is, a small part of me wishes I still had my best friend by my side.
“That all sounds pretty great. Sounds like you’ve accomplished a lot, all by yourself too. That’s pretty admirable. A lot of girls would have gone running to Daddy.”
I nod in agreement and shrug my shoulders. “Yeah.”
“Why the glum face then?” he asks, not letting my sudden mood change past him.
Feeling like a petulant teenager, I continue, “Well, just over a year ago, my best friend, Chrissy, she left the gallery. It was for a good reason, she found love and moved back home. It’s just been…I don’t know, kind of lonely without her. She was the closest person in my life for a long time.” I half shrug, feeling oddly vulnerable over admitting something I haven’t actually said out loud to anyone before.
“Does she know this?”
I stretch my legs out in front of me, causing him to have to shift to give me some room. With a shake of my head, I reply, “Why does it matter? She’s happy. And I'm happy for her. I wouldn’t tell her to move back, just so I wasn’t alone.”
“I don’t think you need to tell her to move back, but be honest with her. It sounds like this Chrissy means something to you, and her being away seems to make you sad,” he observes, nailing it right on its head.
“I am sooo no
t sad. I'm fine. I'm happy for her. It just gets…I don’t know, boring sometimes. You know, without her.” I lie. Because I miss her dearly. With the deteriorating relationship with my parents, Chrissy had been like a sister to me. We had each other’s back day and night. She was my partner in crime. Now, I feel like a third wheel bothering her every time I call. She has her family, and I feel like I’m interrupting that.
Taking my glass of champagne out of my hands, Hunter leans into me. “I need to kiss you right now. Is that okay Lexi?” Asking for permission. My voice goes MIA, so I nod instead. He wastes no time placing his mouth to mine. I taste the fruit on his lips, as he invites his tongue into my mouth. It doesn’t take much for me to moan my approval.
Pulling away I catch his scorching eyes as mine flutter back open.
“What?” I ask as he continues to stare at me.
“Nothing. I just wonder how anyone could ever leave you.”
His words silence me. I know he doesn’t mean them for real. He can’t. I have to remind myself that we barely know each other. But I can admit it to myself; they are comforting words to hear. True or not.
“I notice the difference you know,” he says catching me off guard. I slap a fake smile on my face. “What difference? What are you talking about?”
“You have two smiles,” he says, touching his finger to my lips. “This…generic smile you put up. It is different than the one from before.”
“How so?” I ask, embarrassed that I am being too transparent and giving myself away.
“Well when you spoke of your friend, you smiled. But when you speak of pretending you are happy with her absence, your smile never reaches your eyes.”
Third dodgeball of the day. His words hit home. “It’s just that…” I fail to come up with a rebuttal. Nothing I say will sound real at this point. Thankfully he doesn’t push me for answers, but instead presses his lips against mine again. Lightly, languid. Not seeming to be in a hurry for it to go anywhere farther than just this. The contact sends a shooting spark of desire straight to my toes. He pulls away to inspect my eyes. “See. There it is.”
Faking It (UnReal #1) Page 5