by M. Leighton
“Trust you,” I mutter.
“Yes. Is that such an impossible request?”
I raise one brow, hoping he can see it. It is an answer in and of itself.
“Fine, then come with me on a quick trip to the coast so I can earn it. I can’t earn your trust if I’m not around you.”
I say nothing to that, but before the silence can stretch on and I can think of more reasons to say no, Levi pushes my resistance an inch past its breaking point.
He leans in, his hard body fitting itself to the softer contours of my own, and he presses his lips to the corner of mine. “Please,” he whispers.
He’s so close, and so warm, and he feels so good. Smells so good. And I want him so, so much. Everything in me yearns to take the plunge, to risk it all for this man and the promise of what could be happening between us.
And just like that, my defenses crumble. That quickly, that easily, I’m putty in his hands.
“Okay,” I say, equally quietly.
He jerks back. “Say that again, only louder. Not all of us have super hearing.”
I smile. “I said ‘okay’.”
Levi places a smacking kiss on my mouth and then wraps his arms around me to lift me off my feet. I cling to his broad shoulders.
“I didn’t realize hearing me say ‘okay’ was tantamount to winning the lottery,” I tease of his reaction.
“Maybe, to me, it is. And who says ‘tantamount’?”
“Nobody. Ever. Anywhere. I just always wanted to.”
“Well, I’ll see how many ‘always wanted to’ things I can help you cross off your list. Did I hear you say you’d always wanted to have hot wax dribbled on your thighs? Because I know a guy who makes these candles…”
My mouth drops open, and I hear Levi’s rumbling laugh as much as feel it, vibrating from his chest into mine.
“This is gonna be fun,” he says, lowering me until my feet touch the floor. Before he releases me, he leans in to mutter into my ear, “Also, you probably didn’t know this, but your shirt is practically transparent.”
With that, Levi slaps me—hard—on the ass and walks out the door, whistling something that sounds a little bit like “Paradise City,” no doubt an homage to the band on my shirt.
I’m glad he’s not around to see my cheeks burst into flame. Or the world’s biggest smile wreath my face.
CHAPTER 10
LEVI
WHEN I get back to my hotel, the concierge stops me on my way through the lobby.
“We have a fairly large delivery for you, Mr. Michaelson.”
It takes me a minute to figure out what I was expecting that might warrant this kind of attention. Then it dawns on me.
“Can you have someone bring it up to my room?”
The short, balding guy nods graciously. “Of course. I’ll send someone up straight away.”
“Thank you.”
He nods again, waiting until I walk away before he starts off toward his place to the left of the front desk.
I head for the elevator.
I’m thinking to myself that this day just keeps getting better and better until a slim, French-manicured hand slips in to stop the elevator doors from closing. I frown when I look up to see Julianne wiggle her way into the car with me. She’s in a skintight black dress that barely brushes her knees and heels that bring her nearly eye level with me.
“Going down?” she asks, one auburn brow twitching up in invitation.
“Definitely not,” I growl in agitation. Not on her anyway.
“Pity,” she sulks, her full, red-stained lips drawing into a pout.
“What do you want, Julianne?”
She clucks her tongue at me. “Why the bad mood? Not getting enough of something…specific in your diet?”
“My diet is fine. What do you want?” I repeat testily.
“I came to apologize. I didn’t mean to run you off. I…I just wasn’t expecting to see you with someone else, and I really didn’t handle it very well.”
“No, you certainly didn’t,” I agree, pressing the button for the top floor.
“Give me another chance. We’ve been friends a long time. I don’t want something like this to come between us.”
I narrow my eyes on her. She sounds sincere, but I’ve known Julianne long enough to know she can be quite deceptive and cunning when she wants to be. That’s part of her appeal.
Or at least it was.
I used to sort of admire her tenacity, her determination to get what she wanted and not let anything stand in her way. She also had this way of looking at things. Very pragmatic, level-headed, not overly emotional like most women. It made her a bit of a mystery to me before, but now…now I’m just not biting. These days, I find that I’m much more interested in overly-honest blondes with sharp tongues, sharper wits, and quick smiles.
“I’m not used to feeling jealous,” she confesses candidly, staring at the mirrored door rather than meeting my eye.
I don’t doubt that’s a thousand percent true. As far as I know, Julianne has never lost. She’s always gotten what she wanted. Eventually.
One way or another.
And I’m sure she thought she’d get the same outcome with me if she hung in there long enough. Maybe she’s finally figured out she was wrong.
“Our relationship has never been exclusive,” I remind her tersely.
“No, but the possibility of ‘us’ was always out there. There wasn’t an ‘end’ in sight. Not until now. Not until I saw the way you look at her. Like you’re seeing the ocean for the first time.” Julianne shifts her eyes over to mine. She looks into them intently for a few seconds. What she’s hoping to find, I have no idea. “Is this serious?”
My kneejerk response is to say yes. Because as unstable and unlike me as it sounds, I want it to be. But I don’t tell Julianne that. Hell, I barely even want to admit it to myself. It’s ludicrous.
Even though it doesn’t feel ludicrous.
I settle on a mild, bored, “I hardly know her, Julianne.”
She pushes away from the elevator wall and steps toward me, not stopping until her front is plastered to mine. I inhale, recognizing the scent she’s wearing. It’s French and exotic. It’s my favorite, and she knows it. But even as I smell it, I find myself preferring the clean, simple scent of orange blossoms instead.
“If it’s not serious, then you wouldn’t mind some afternoon delight, huh, slugger?”
She lays her palms against my chest and moves them slowly down my stomach. Her bent knee brushes gently along the inside of my thigh, toward my crotch.
“Sorry. Can’t. I’m expecting a delivery.”
She draws a line across my lips with the tip of her tongue before suggesting, “They can leave it at the front desk.”
“It’s too big. That’s what I was discussing with the concierge.”
Pressing her breasts against my chest, she leans in further to purr at the shell of my ear, “It’s not too big for me.”
Her right hand slips down over the front of my jeans, finding its way to my dick. I feel her squeeze tentatively. And then squeeze again. I hold perfectly still, just waiting for the moment she realizes that she’s not making me hard.
At all.
Julianne jerks away from me like she’s been burned, her smooth brow wrinkling in confusion. This, too, is probably a first for her. I’d say most men get hard at ten paces just looking at her.
But not me.
Not this time.
Not anymore.
Feeling how unaffected I am by her touch does what my words could not.
“So it’s like that,” she says quietly. She’s wounded. And it’s more than just her pride.
I’ve known for a while now that she wanted more. A lot more. I guess it was wrong of me to let her think there was the potential for something serious between us when there was never a chance of that happening. I guess I always thought that, deep down, she knew.
The look on her face promises me she d
id not.
Guilt sets in.
I never meant to hurt her.
“Look, I…I was an asshole for letting it go on this long. You knew I didn’t want anything serious, and I knew that you did. I should’ve stopped this before now. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“Don’t,” she says, holding up her hand and turning her face away. “Just…don’t.”
“We’ve been friends a long time, Jules,” I remind her, calling her the name I used in better days. “We don’t have to be enemies just because we aren’t sleeping together.”
“No, we don’t have to.”
A “but” is left hanging at the end, telling me all I need to know about how this is going to go down.
Not well.
Possibly even ugly.
This is Julianne declaring war. And I really do hate that it’s going to end this way.
The door opens on the top floor, but I don’t get out immediately. “I really am sorry.” I inject as much sincerity as I can into my voice.
“Yeah, me, too,” she says, bitterness already flooding hers.
I move past her to step out. When I look back, her lips are pinched tight and she’s looking down at the buttons. She reaches out to stab the one that will send her back to the lobby, and when she raises her eyes to mine, I see nothing but the red-hot flash of hatred.
I hold her gaze until the door shuts and I’m left in the hall alone.
I stand, considering what I just did to one of my oldest friends, when the ding of another car sounds right. A bellhop emerges with a large, paper-wrapped square.
I smile.
“Mr. Michaelson?”
“That’s me.”
“Where would you like me to put this, sir?”
“This way.”
I turn to walk down the hall toward my room, thoughts of Julianne already forgotten in my enthusiasm to see the painting again.
Minutes later, I’m alone in my hotel room, gazing at the most beautiful portrait I’ve ever seen. I had to have it, and now I know why.
There’s something so deeply personal about this piece. I knew it the moment I saw it after meeting Evie. There’s a pain caught in this version of her face, an agony that cuts all the way through me. She painted her classically beautiful features with muted browns and grays and blacks. All dull, lifeless colors, but it’s the eyes—those incredible deep brown eyes that I’d recognize anywhere—that show it best. I can almost feel her anguish when I look at them.
But that’s not why I had to have this picture.
Surrounding that face, like a halo of brilliance, are the intensely bright, vibrant colors Evie’s known for. It’s as though, even during her pain, she couldn’t exclude the hope and determination that are such an integral part of her personality. Even in her darkest times, she was already seeing better days ahead.
This painting is resilience. It’s courage. It’s bold and chaotic and savagely beautiful.
It’s Evie.
That is why I had to have it.
Even now, just looking at it fills me with an odd sense of contentment, something I’ve never really experienced. I’ve spent my entire life either fighting my father and his obsessive need to control everyone and everything, or trying to build something of my own, far apart from all that my family’s name represents. Since puberty, since I was old enough to understand what went on around me, I never felt content.
Until now.
Until Evie.
As audacious as her colorful paintings are, as vivacious as her witty personality is, she brings a peace, a tranquility to my soul that I’ve never had. Just being around her makes me feel…
Jesus H. Christ! I think as I drag a hand through my hair and turn away from the portrait.
What the hell is happening to me?
I’m standing in my hotel room, all by myself, staring at a painting, waxing eloquent like some sort of demented poet from the 1800s. This is not like me. This is not like me at all.
I head for the bathroom to splash water onto my face, but within seconds of grabbing the towel to dry my skin, my mind is straying back to Evie and how the only thing I want out of today is to see her again. To hear her laugh, to watch her smile, to see the world through her eyes.
I know I hurt Julianne, and I truly didn’t want that, but I still made the right choice. Julianne never made me feel this way. No woman has. I know as sure as I’m standing here, back in the living area, staring at this damn painting again, that I can’t go back.
No. After Evie, there will be no going back.
CHAPTER 11
EVIE
AFTER LEVI left, I dove even more energetically into the canvas that will soon represent how I see him. I painted furiously, adding slashes of bright color, adding the passion that’s still coursing through my veins. Apple red, flame orange, blackest black, and, of course, Levi’s blue.
I’m short of breath as I work. I wanted him to touch me. Everywhere. I know he didn’t want to stop, and with one word…with the slightest encouragement on my part, things could’ve gone differently.
But that one little part of me kept insisting it was too soon, too soon, too soon.
I’m lost in thought, in emotion, so once again, I jump when a voice sounds at the door. “Evie?”
“Shit, you scared me,” I tell Cherelyn.
“Sorry. I thought you heard me. You have a visitor.”
My stomach doesn’t twist with anticipation. Something about her voice told me immediately that it’s not Levi. “Who is it?”
I hear the abrupt snap of heels as a woman begins a rapid, purposeful walk. Across the living room, down the hall, closer, closer. Then, seconds later, “Excuse me, but I asked you to wait. I told you I’d bring her to you,” Cherelyn bites frigidly.
My hackles prickle as I come to my feet.
“Hello?” I ask of the visitor, who I know, who I can feel is in the room with us now.
The clicking resumes as the woman approaches me, stepping into my most private place. My first thought is of Levi, where he rests behind me, living and breathing on a canvas.
I have the inexplicable urge to cover up my painting, only I can’t. Instead, I put my body between it and this woman, whoever she is.
“Can I help you?” I ask when she doesn’t speak.
In the silence before she responds, I get a whiff of her perfume. My gut winds into a knot of apprehension. I know exactly who it is that’s standing in my makeshift studio.
Julianne Pine.
Protectiveness washes through me. I feel territorial, possessive. She’s the lioness stepping onto my plain. The viper invading my den. The enemy infiltrating my inner sanctum.
She is anything but welcome.
If I had claws, they’d be bared. If I had fangs, they’d be dripping with venom.
“This is…unexpected, Ms. Pine,” I say, moving toward her rather than away.
I can almost hear her pause. It tends to take people by surprise when I recognize things they believe only sighted people should be able to recognize. What few understand is that the remaining senses of a blind person are so sharply honed, it’s sometimes more difficult to hide things from us than from people who can see.
“You are good,” she concedes. “And so is this.”
I don’t have to see her to know she’s referring to my painting.
“It’s nowhere near complete.”
“That doesn’t matter. The likeness is…amazing.” The awe in her tone is grudging.
“It looks like him?” There’s no way to ever really know if what I picture in my head is accurate, but this tells me that I’m not far off.
“The features aren’t exactly right, but you’ve captured something about him that I’ve never noticed.”
“What’s that?”
“Heart. The Levi Michaelson I know doesn’t have much of one. Never has.”
“Maybe I see a different side of him.”
Her laugh is soft yet decidedly bitter. “You see what he wa
nts you to see. In fact, that’s what I came to talk to you about. I’d be very careful with him if I were you.”
“Why is that?”
“There are things you don’t know about Levi, things that would most assuredly change the way you view him.”
“Such as?”
“Well, I’m not one to tattle, but let’s just say he’s not who you think he is.”
“Then who is he?”
“Someone who will hurt you if given the chance. Someone who is already hurting you.”
My emotions rise like tidal waves, conflicting, crashing against one another. Anger surges, anger that she has the nerve to show up here, unannounced and uninvited. Suspicion heaves, suspicion that she’s only here to come between me and the man she wants. Unease swells, unease because her accusation seems…genuine.
The turbulence leaves me feeling off balance, confused, defensive.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a nauseating sense of trepidation, too.
Because I do.
I have trust issues anyway, and I have to admit that Levi does seem a little too good to be true. When I agreed to the four dates, however, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. To risk it. To risk him. Maybe that was a mistake, but I’ve come too far to turn back now. Especially at the word of a vicious woman like this one. This could all be part of a plan to get me out of his life, for all I know. But she’s gonna have to do better than this if she expects me to just walk away.
I jack up my chin, tossing her what I hope is a withering look. “I appreciate the warning, but I’m a grown woman. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. I think I’ll get along just fine without your help now.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s up to you, of course. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Neither of us speaks for a few seconds before I hear a muted hissing sound fill the room. It’s the scrub of the sole of her shoe quietly scuffing the hardwood as she turns on her heel.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for stopping by.” I hope she can hear the derision in my tone.