Duched (Duched #1)

by Xavier Neal

  “You didn't have too. Only a complete idiot wouldn't have picked up on that.”

  She finally turns to me and snips, “Which you're trying to prove you're not?”

  The fire in her toffee colored eyes expands my grin. “I was trying to understand why you're here if you hate him.” Her lack of an answer pushes me to prod. “Here to see if maybe his work wasn't as amazing as it used to be?”

  “You think it's amazing?”

  “I think it's rubbish, but in all honesty, I think that way about all art in general.”

  Confusion coats her expression at the same time she folds her arms. “All art?”

  “Well art in this form. Paintings. Portraits. Sculptures. Things of that nature.”

  “We're talking the classics too?”

  “Yeah. I don't really get the point.” I shrug my indifference. “Why pay homage and thousands of dollars to people who simply threw colors together? Then there's the fact quite often those colors don't even create an actual picture, just stains stupidly placed on a canvas.”

  Her jaw drops in what appears to be appall.

  Okay. So we're back to not having fun. I know you're thinking I really should find the blonde again, but this view is much better even if the conversation is painful. Just look at her soft, full lips. The tiny mole right above them. Wonder how amazing they would look wrapped around my cock? How effortlessly they would graze my shaft while my hand grips the back of her hair to help keep her in place?

  Suddenly, she snaps, “First off, stop thinking about me naked.”

  Taken off guard, my own mouth cracks open.

  Of course she is naked in the scenario. Why would she be clothed? How bloody vanilla are your fantasies that you would assume she'd be clothed?

  “Second, art of this medium, isn't about the pictures you may or may not see. Art, and I mean all art, not just paintings and sculptures, but music and literature and theater, are reflections of the soul. They're products of passion. They're humanities way of whispering through a medium to ignite, or reignite, those little sparks that set your spirit on fire. Maybe the reason you don't get it is simply because you have yet to see one that speaks to you.” Her speech shuts my mouth, which is when she finishes with, “Hope you find it soon because I'm done talking to you.”

  She turns and heads away from me once more, except this time I'm not certain if I'm following her just because of the physical attraction or an uncontrollable need to argue with her.

  It's not like I've never met a woman not interested in me. Albeit it's rare, but it happens. And it's not as if she's the first woman to snap back or push during a conversation. I don't know exactly what it is that has me trailing after her like a lost puppy she needs to take home, but I have every intention on finding out.

  Her movements stop sooner than expected.

  I give the canvas covered in four blue dots a glance.

  “Now this is just crap,” she mutters under her breath.

  I chortle, “Oh? Doesn't speak to your soul?”

  She tosses me a sarcastic glare and bites, “Why won't you go away?”

  “Because you don't want me too.”

  Her ring less left hand lands on her hip.

  No wedding rings. Good sign.

  “And what exactly gives you that impression? Was it when I walked away the first time? When I told you I wasn't interested? Or perhaps...it was when I told you I was done speaking to you?”

  “Yet you continue to engage me in conversation every opportunity presented.”

  By the way she's trying not to smile, I think it's safe to assume she finds my logic valid.

  Obviously, you agree.

  “Look, while you've got the whole gorgeous Paul Walker in his prime thing going for you-”

  “Thank you.”

  “I've...got a boyfriend, so you should just move on now.”

  She's not a very good liar. Oddly enough it's a relief. Most of the women I surround myself with are professionals, like deception is an Olympic sport. At least when she says something to me I don't feel compelled to immediately question if there is a self-serving ulterior motive. Hey, remind me to grab her name. Can't believe I've yet to do that.

  I try not to smile. “A boyfriend?”

  “That's right.”

  “Is he here with you?”

  “Yup.”

  “Where?”

  “He's right over there.” She motions her hand behind her. “The guy by the far wall with backwards black baseball cap.”

  My eyes immediately cut that direction. As soon as I spot him, I nod. “You mean the one making out with the chick who is also wearing a little black dress?” Her head spins around to check and I chuckle, “Though I must say I find yours more enjoyable. I appreciate the angled cut in front playing peek a boo with the idea of what's underneath.”

  Still facing the couple making out, she grumbles, “Seriously? It's like they have magnets in their mouths.”

  “It's charming.”

  “It's disgusting.” On a heavy sigh, she turns back around to face me with a scowl. “Fine. I don't really have a boyfriend, but I have no interest in joining what I can only assume is a very long list of one night stands.”

  The instant rejection isn't surprising.

  Did you really expect anything else?

  “Kellan!” Dana's voice calls my name with such excitement it causes my eyebrows to lower. “Oh my God, Kellan!” The moment I look over my shoulder, she points at the painting we're in front of. “He sold it to me! Can you believe it?”

  Disbelief drops my jaw.

  She can't possibly be serious. What on Earth could this possibly 'say' to her? Shall I use this in my argument with the gorgeous girl whose name I still don't know?

  “No thanks to you,” Hugh huffs from behind her. “All you had to do was stand there long enough to be bait and somehow you managed to fuck that up. If we hadn't bumped into Treme's agent while having a smoke, you would be buying that painting from whoever beat her to it as an apology.”

  No...Probably not.

  I roll my eyes at his irritation and turn back to where the reason I was distracted to begin with should still be standing. Disappointment and aggravation fill my chest at her disappearance. Refusing to instantly give up, I let my eyes search the direction her friends were kissing to see that they've vanished as well.

  Of course she's gone. She's used every out offered just as she's used every invitation presented. She is exactly like her attire. Though after having actually spoken with her, I believe my original assumption was wrong. She's not indecisive. Quite the opposite. She, like her dress I wish would've ended up on my hotel room floor, is a conflicting urge to remain greatly guarded and wildly wicked. The idea of a woman willing to be naughty just for me has an unexpected appeal. Hm. I like unexpected. It's where the real fun truly begins...

  Brie

  The vibrating next to my ear causes me to groan.

  Damn it. Did I really fall asleep studying at the kitchen table?

  On another low grunt, I struggle to sit up in the wooden chair just as the vibrating stops. I grab my phone and swipe to open the new message waiting for me.

  Dad: Sorry to cancel last minute. Needed at the store. Marissa called in. Love you.

  A heavy sigh of irritation escapes me.

  It's not like he works at a top-secret facility that can't function without him. He works for a grocery store chain that has at least four other managers they could call when one decides they don't feel like showing up. But who do they always call first because they know he won't say no? That's right. My dad. Ugh. This sucks. I'm not even pissed about the fact I'll basically be throwing money away by us not going. I'm pissed I'm not gonna get to spend time with him. Again. Between our schedules it's something that's crossing the very thin line into impossible unlike my mother on the other hand who rarely ever seems unavailable. She's often a little too available if you catch my drift. A benefit of being a paid hair magician I suppose. H
er hours are hers to do with and reschedule as she pleases.

  A light knocking on the front door drags my attention away from the disappointing text.

  Who the hell could that be? Jovi would've texted if she left her keys and Merrick...well as much as I hate to say this out loud, that asshole has his own key. I swear sometimes it's like he already lives here.

  The knocking persists and I stare at the door from across the room wondering how long it will continue before they give up.

  Not a huge fan of answering the door. Period. Truthfully, the only person who tends to knock at this time is our bitchy downstairs neighbor who thinks she has an elephant parade living above her.

  The knocking suddenly gets a louder and sharper, almost impatient. Curiosity yanks me onto my feet and towards the demanding presence waiting on the other side. I attempt to flatten my wavy hair that had been doubling as a pillow and wipe away any possible drool that proves you can't really learn the answers to a test through osmosis.

  Believe me. After almost ten years of cramming for tests, if it hasn't worked by now, it's never going to.

  I unlock the door and crack it open to see someone I have no reason to.

  What the hell? Are you seeing this?

  The blonde model from the art showing flashes me the same arrogant grin he was flaunting last night.

  What? No. I don't know his name and don't technically know that he's really a model, but come on. Teeth that white? Eyes that bright? Face that flawless? Build that...bicepy? He's either a goddamn model or the gene pool lottery winner of the millennium.

  “Latte?”

  Without hesitation I shut the door and lock it again.

  “Not a morning person?”

  “No. I'm not a stalking person.”

  “I'm not stalking you.”

  “The fact you're on my front door step would be a valid argument against that.” Leaning my body slightly against the door, I snip, “And I don't know about whatever country you cruised over from, but stalking in the United States is very much illegal.”

  I refuse to admit how sexy his accent is. Wait. Shit. I just did, huh?

  “Illegal in Doctenn as well,” he states matter of fact. “Fairly certain stalking is illegal in all countries.”

  “Yet here you are.”

  A long moment of silence falls, but I'm not remotely convinced he's given up.

  Come on. What kinda guy would go through all this effort into finding you then give up the minute you told him too?

  I lift myself onto the tips of my toes to peer through the peephole.

  Like a know it all, he lifts one of the cups in front of it, and repeats, “Latte?”

  “You mean the coffee you poisoned so you could rape and molest me?”

  “Doesn't rape cover molesting?”

  Glaring at him through the tiny hole, I grunt, “Semantics? Really? You're a complete stranger on my door step, stalking me and offering me a drugged beverage yet you wanna argue sexual semantics?”

  The blonde chortles and shakes his head. “Not a complete stranger. We met last night.”

  “You stalked me then too...”

  “My name is Kellan. Kellan Kenningston.” After the statement, he lifts the cup he had been offering me, has a sip, and smiles. “Not drugged.” As if can see his victory, he asks, “Now, do you mind inviting me in to finish this conversation? It's a bit frigid outside.”

  I lower myself back to my feet and reluctantly open the door.

  You better be prepared to tell the cops everything that happened here if this goes bad. I mean everything. Make sure to emphasize how he harassed me and not how hot he is.

  “My roommate's dad is a cop.” I inform immediately. “And not just like a run of the mill cop either. He's a Police Commissioner. So if you hurt me, she'll make sure he hunts you down and gives you a cellmate who will appreciate your gorgeous mouth in a way you probably won't enjoy.”

  Kellan steps inside past me. “I think your mouth is gorgeous too.”

  That....That backfired a little. It's not what I meant! I mean yeah, he's got an incredible pair of lips. Lips that could probably pay my body the devotion it hasn't received in a very long time...

  “Now who's thinking about who naked?”

  Well of course he would be naked while his mouth is exploring parts of me! Otherwise that would just be a wasted fantasy! Wait. Why am I fantasizing about a stranger? A hot British stranger? Not British. Doctenn. They're like cousins or close enough, right?

  He expands his smirk as he offers me the cup once more. “Latte?”

  “How did you find me?” I take the beverage. “I didn't even give you my name.”

  “For the right price there are very few things that cannot be found or covered up, Brie.”

  “How very double o annoying of you to say.” Bracing my back against the door again, I have a sip. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

  Kellan leans his muscular frame against the backside of the couch. “Go out with me.”

  “No.”

  “I'm only in town for a week.”

  “You're looking for a fling,” I declare.

  He instantly questions, “When's the last time you've been flung?”

  Not important...

  Sensing his assumption is probably correct, he continues in an unexpected kind voice, “One date. That's all I'm asking.”

  “Let me get this straight. You cashed in one of your Bond like favors to hunt down my name and address just to ask me out?”

  “It's romantic.”

  “It's creepy,” I counter and move his direction. “And a lie. You could've easily got my phone number and asked that way. Less invasive.”

  “What can I say?” His body migrates towards mine. “I'm harder to deny in person.”

  Only because his goddamn eyes and smile twinkle like some weird Pixar animation trick.

  “Not that hard.” I wink.

  “Is that a no?”

  “That's a hell no,” the reply is followed with me moving backwards towards my bedroom. “Now thank you for the coffee, but I have class I'll be late for if I keep wasting my time arguing with you.”

  Kellan nods slowly as if he doesn't believe he's been completely defeated.

  Which he has. 110% defeated. I'm not going out with some hot accented stranger who brought me coffee, even if it is the most romance I've had in my life over the past two years.

  “Can I walk you there?”

  Now in the doorway of my room, I give him a puzzled look. “It's a ten minute drive on a good day. No way am I walking to campus.”

  “To your car then?”

  “You're a little needy for someone so pretty.”

  The smirk I hate to admit I enjoy seeing appears again. “Persistent.”

  “Back to stalking territory,” I tease before adding, “and I'm locking my door, so don't think about trying to open it to confirm whether or not my measurements are accurate in your fantasies.”

  Lord knows I'm wondering if his are....

  Quickly, I slip out of my pajamas bottom and into a pair of jeans. While the first part of my wardrobe change is always the easiest, the inevitable hunt for my favorite sweatshirt and paint stained chucks often has me jogging to class to prevent being late during winter.

  It's what I practically hibernate in all season.

  Once I've completely changed, brushed my teeth, and managed to put all my hair into a frizzy high ponytail, I swipe the beverage from my dresser and exit to the living room where Kellan is patiently waiting.

  “Not as impressive as the little number you had on last night, but nonetheless sexy in a bang me in my dorm room sort of way.”

  His comment receives an eye roll as I make my way to the kitchen table to repack my bag. “Keep dreaming...”

  “You said you started at Ashwin the same year as Treme?”

  “I never said Ashwin.”

  “It's the only university within ten minutes of here.”

  Dam
n it. Why do I keep letting information slip to him?

  “Are you at least close to graduating?”

  After shutting the book I fell asleep on, I reply, “Beginning of June is when I should walk across the stage.”

  “Last semester.”

  “Yeah.” I shove it in my notebook, close the shoulder bag, and grab my phone. “But don't worry. I won't bore you with details of my degree.”