by Jinsey Reese
I glanced at the nudes on the floor. What if he’d been trying to fuck me out of his head with those models, as I’d been trying to do with random guys for the past three years? From the looks of the latest sketches, he hadn’t been able to.
Neither had I.
My heart pounded at that thought. Maybe all wasn’t lost. Perhaps I still had a chance.
When I walked into the kitchen, Dare was standing by the stove barefoot, his paint-splattered jeans hanging low off his hips. It was almost painful how amazing he looked, how desperately I wanted to just slip into his arms and slide back into his life. Knowing that he’d been thinking about me so much made the desire that much stronger and made it that much harder to stand there and not touch him.
Get a grip. Focus on getting through dinner. One thing at the time.
Dare had set several different cheeses on the counter next to a carton of milk and a couple of eggs. After he’d placed some fresh parsley and a knife on the cutting board, I realized exactly what he was making.
Macaroni and cheese.
Holy shit.
I stood there in stunned silence. This was a purposeful move, no doubt, but he was so hot and cold with me that I didn’t want to get my hopes up.
He noticed me then, and paused in his preparations, a hunger in his eyes that had nothing to do with food. I couldn’t breathe for the hope that filled my entire body in that moment.
“Can I…help?” I asked, and held my breath. Literally.
He stared a few beats more, then nodded toward the cheese. “You want to grate?”
“I’ll do anything,” I said, and his eyes flicked back to mine. I nodded, wanting him to know I wasn’t just talking about dinner.
He made room for me at the counter, and I started grating as he melted butter and mixed in some flour.
I picked up the second cheese. “These are different than what you used to use.”
“France has some pretty kickass cheese, so I’ve been experimenting,” he said, pouring milk into the pot. “Wait until you taste this. You’ll love it.”
Even more hope expanded in my chest, but I didn’t know whether to let it fill me or squash it down. Every beat of my heart was fueled by it. My hands shook a little and my breathing became shallow and quick.
I was terrified, I realized. What if I’d read something into this that wasn’t really here? What if Dare shot me down again? I wasn’t sure I could take it. I needed him like I needed air, like I needed my heart to beat.
He came over next to me and started chopping up the parsley. His arm brushed mine, sending shivers through me. I was suddenly hyper-conscious of the fact that I was practically naked, standing there next to him in the cramped kitchen. A soft layer of silk was the only thing covering me and it was held on by one loose tie. I wondered if Dare had noticed. His arm had stilled next to mine, but he hadn’t moved it, like he wanted to touch me as much I wanted to touch him.
I felt simultaneously weak with worry and totally turned on.
“What made you choose Paris?” Dare asked suddenly.
“Art. Sabine.” I wasn’t sure which had held more sway in the destination I’d chosen. “The fact that I could work for her here helped a lot. It was a way to dip my toes into the business while under the guidance of someone I trusted. Not to mention, it was also far away from…everything.”
“So you hadn’t heard…” His voice trailed off and at first I didn’t know what he was getting at.
“That you were here?” I shook my head. “How would I? You dropped off the radar completely.” I focused on grating again, debating whether to say it, and then decided I had nothing to lose at this point. “No, it was just a happy coincidence. If I’d known, I would have come sooner. Much sooner.”
Dare inhaled sharply. Fuck. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it.
He moved over to the stove and poured the pasta into the boiling water, and I went to sit on a barstool at the counter.
“What about Harvard?” he said as he started making the cheese sauce. “Wasn’t that the original plan?”
“That was my dad’s dream, not mine.”
His lips lifted into a half-smile. “How is the old mayor?”
“Pissed as hell, I’m sure. I haven’t spoken with him.”
Dare’s eyes snapped to mine, his gaze filled with an emotion I couldn’t quite identify. “You’re really not the same girl, are you.” It wasn’t a question, and it was said with…god, was it satisfaction?
“I sound stronger than I am.” I shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t have the guts to talk to him. Or my mother. I’m afraid they’d find ways to pull me back in.”
“You’re stronger than you think,” he said. “Don’t ever doubt that.”
My cheeks warmed. Though I wasn’t sure I believed him, I really liked that he’d said it.
“What about your dad? Is he…out?”
Dare stirred the sauce, didn’t respond. He poured the mixture over the pasta and slid the dish into the oven to bake. He set a timer, then came around to sit next to me. A hard lump settled into the pit of my stomach and even though the food smelled amazing, I didn’t know if I’d actually be able to eat a single bite. His sharp, angular jaw was tight. He was clearly pissed I’d asked about his dad. Probably because of my dad’s threat to release him from prison.
“Dare—”
“My dad’s an asshole,” he snapped. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
I shifted to look at him and my robe slipped open a little, exposing my legs. Dare’s gaze trailed down my bare skin and he clenched his fists as if fighting with his resolve to not reach out and touch me. My insides heated at his gaze, and my common sense dissolved. I could no longer help myself. I had to push it. Push him.
I uncrossed and re-crossed my legs, the robe slipping further. Dare watched my every move, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. The silence between us was charged. His gaze caressed my legs, slipping up my thighs, scorching me, making my skin tingle everywhere it touched.
I swiveled my body to face him, letting the robe slip completely open, exposing me from abdomen to ankle. Ever so slowly, I placed my legs on either side of his, totally bared to him as the spot between my legs pulsed with pure need.
I was playing with fire—I knew that—but I was much too drawn to the flame. I had to touch it. Even if that meant getting burned.
Dare’s gaze devoured me until something inside him broke free. He reached for me, running his fingers up one thigh, grazing my core, making me gasp, then trailing back down again. He leaned forward, tugged the tie of my robe so the garment slid off my shoulders, exposing me completely. Cupping my breasts in his hands, his thumbs circled my nipples, sending electric currents down to my clit.
Jesus. This was the Dare I knew. The man I remembered.
He pulled me toward him and crashed his mouth to mine, his kiss rough and insistent. I ran my hands over his back, feeling the muscles ripple. I needed to touch him. All of him. I grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head.
God, he was perfect. I let my hands run over his shoulders and down his sculpted arms, his skin warm and smooth under my touch. Then I trailed them down his chest and over those deliciously hard abs that felt as if they’d been carved out of stone.
With a deep, throaty moan, Dare wrapped both arms around me and crushed me against him. Lowering his head, he licked one breast, blazing a trail with his tongue up and around my nipple. Small whimpers escaped my lips as he possessed it with his warm, wet mouth. He licked and sucked, claiming it as his own, bringing me to the brink of madness as I surrendered to him. My nipples tightened, sending shockwaves of pleasure to my core and I was sure that if he kept doing what he was doing I would come undone at any moment. Just from his freaking mouth.
He moved to my other nipple, teasing it tight with his tongue, nipping the delicate flesh with his teeth. And that most sensitive spot between my legs ached for him with every raspy, gasping breath I drew. I clawed his b
ack, tore my fingers through his hair, needing him closer and closer still.
As if on cue, he stood up and seized my mouth with his. I welcomed him in, opening my lips to taste him. He leaned me back over the counter, his tongue demanding more, delving deeper like he was starved for me. His hand raked through my hair, fisting the locks, pulling me closer, tighter as his other slid between my legs. Two fingers delved deep into my heat as his thumb began to knead my swollen clit.
In this moment, every thought and emotion was filled to the brink with Dare. As he continued to devour every inch of me with unbridled, carnal hunger, I couldn’t hold back. I moaned his name. Over and over again.
He groaned when my hands gripped his waistband. One tug and the fly opened, and I sent up a thanks to the gods above for button-fly jeans. They slipped easily past his slim hips, puddling on the floor at his feet.
I bit my lip as I looked down at him.
God. He still went commando. And he was so fucking ready for me.
I took his length in my hands, relishing the feel of the velvet-soft skin of his hardness. He moaned into my mouth, then kissed me harder.
“God, I’ve missed you so much,” I whispered into his lips.
At those words, Dare froze. His body went rigid.
Oh, no.
He took a step back, taking in a shuddering breath and shaking his head.
No, no, no.
“Goddamn it,” he said, his face dark with equal parts torture and anger. “I can’t fucking go there with you again.” He tugged his jeans back up, grabbed his t-shirt, and pulled it on. “We’re not doing this,” he said, waving his hand back and forth between us. “You are my model and that’s all.” He looked at me with a pained, hard glare. “Get the fuck out of my head, Ree.”
He stalked out of the room, and a few seconds later I heard the front door slam.
I stood in his kitchen, completely naked, my heart shattering into a million pieces. A cold chill washed over my skin in place of Dare’s hands.
He’d called me Ree. That had to mean something.
But, he wanted Ree out. So what did that say about me? About us?
thirteen
The next few days between Dare and me were tense, cold, and business-like. We only saw each other when he needed to paint. If he didn’t have the upcoming show, and the impending visit from his siblings, I knew he would have just shown me the door.
But he needed me.
Even if he wouldn’t say it. Even if he couldn’t admit it. Dare needed me. And I was going to come through for him. This time, I would put his needs ahead of my fears.
I was working for La Période Bleue every day from nine to two, then heading home for a quick shower before going to Dare’s where we’d work from three until nine or ten at night. After that, I’d head home to research online for a few more hours. I was not only trying to find artists for Sabine, but I was looking for future talent for my own gallery, and trying to determine where I could afford to start one and whether the communities could support it.
With my limited funds I was looking at a small, humble beginning. If I’d had my father’s money behind me, I could have started up in New York or any other big city that had a thriving art community, but that wasn’t an option. Even if, by some miracle, he actually came around to approving my chosen career and offered, I still wouldn’t accept. My father’s money was tainted and always came with strings attached.
This was my dream. I had to achieve it on my own. I needed to know that I could.
Lucien had been getting a little too friendly again, but since I spent most of my time out on the streets, I tried to ignore him. However, every time I was in the gallery, he was right there—talking too close, touching me, asking me to dinner or dancing.
“I’m busy,” I kept saying, trying to be polite, stepping out of reach, only to have him step with me. “I’m working every night. I can’t.”
But he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
On Wednesday, I stopped by the shop a little after two, before heading home. I’d spent the morning going through a contract with Marie Ormonde, an artist I’d found and totally fallen for. Her paintings were abstracts in bright colors and bold strokes, and gave me that shivery feeling and heart-pounding high I got when I knew with certainty I’d found something great. A hidden talent. I couldn’t wait to see her paintings up on the walls at La Période Bleue.
I’d emailed pictures of her work to Sabine and she’d responded with a resounding Oui! demanding that I sign Marie on the spot. Looking through the paintings today had me itching to buy some myself, but I couldn’t afford to spend the money right now. I made sure to put her contact information in my phone for the future.
I called Sabine from the gallery to check in and let her know how the deal had gone.
“You did well, chérie!” she said, and I could hear her beaming at me over the phone. “You are a natural at this, just like I said. I am so proud of you, Reagan. The commission on this show will set you up for your own gallery.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are going to get your own commission and the gallery’s commission combined. I want you to reap the benefits of your hard work. And I want you to vivez votre rêve.” Live your dream. “Say oui to it!”
A lump rose in my throat and I couldn’t speak for a moment. When I did, my voice was choked. “Merci beaucoup, Sabine. Thank you so much. I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say oui à l’argent.” Yes to the money.
“Oui!” I laughed, even as a couple of tears slipped out. Her belief in me filled me with so much light at that moment that I was certain I could do anything. I would have my own gallery. I would live this life I wanted. I would do it.
We chatted for a few more minutes, catching up, then I said goodbye and hung up the phone. She was the one person in New York that I truly missed. I’d always thought of Archer as my only friend, but I was starting to see maybe that wasn’t the whole truth.
A warm, meaty hand grabbed my ass, and I whipped around to find Lucien. Again. Shit. I hadn’t even heard him come into the office.
He leaned toward me and I tried to step back but the chair kept me pinned in place. It hit the backs of my knees, knocking me off balance, causing me to fall into the seat. Lucien put his hands on the arm rests and loomed over me.
“Bonjour, ma belle,” he said, his stale coffee breath making my stomach churn. “Let us celebrate your first Parisian show tonight. Que vous et moi.” Just you and me. “I know the perfect way.” His gaze slid down my face and neck, and feasted on my chest.
It made my skin crawl.
“I can’t,” I said, trying to get up out of the chair, but he wouldn’t move out of the way.
He leaned even closer. “You must say oui à Lucien, too, chérie.”
Oh, my god. Had he been eavesdropping on my conversation with Sabine? There was another phone out in the gallery. He must have picked it up and listened in. That was so freaking creepy it chilled me to the bone.
“No,” I said, shivers running over my skin. He needed to take a step back and he needed to do it now. “No, I don’t. Now get out of my fucking way, Lucien.”
His eyes narrowed and he lifted one hand off the armrest as if he were going to grab me, but then the tones rang out in the gallery and a voice called out, “Bonjour!”
Lucien shot me a lecherous smile, smoothed back his hair, and walked out of the office to greet the new customer.
When I got to Dare’s it was almost five. My hair was still wet, my skin rubbed raw from scrubbing the feel of Lucien off of me.
And I was still shaking.
In the bathroom I’d stared at my bottle of pills. One swallow and I wouldn’t feel anything at all, but Dare would know. He’d see. And he’d be disgusted.
Three years ago, doctors had suggested a treatment center. You didn’t need a medical degree to know that the pills were just bandaids for deeper wounds that would not heal. But my mother wouldn’t hea
r of it. What would people think if gossip spread about a McKinley needing help? Her solution was more pills. How fucked up was that?
So instead, I had pulled the phoenix out of my purse and spread it out on the counter in front of me. THIS was true strength—the ability to recreate oneself. I was trying—good god, I was TRYING. But those fucking pills would make everything so much simpler. They called to me, my old friends.
However, Dare was so much more important. I couldn’t fuck this up. Without a doubt, I knew I’d never see him again if I walked over there high. My phoenix would just have to do. I folded the paper back up and put it in my pocket. Having it with me would help.
Hopefully.
“You’re late.” Dare didn’t bother to look at me, he just growled in my direction when I entered the studio and hurried over to the futon.
“I’m s—”
“Save it,” he said. “If you’re not going to be reliable, then I can’t use you. I’ll have to find someone else or…say fuck it to this show.” I stared at him, unspeaking. “Or I’ll just have to paint anyone because who gives a shit? A nude is a nude, right? No one fucking cares as long as they get to buy a painting of a naked woman.”
“You care.” My voice shook just a little and my eyes were stinging. “And I do, too.”
“The hell you do. We’ve lost a lot of light because you’re late. We can’t work on one of the paintings because of that. If you actually cared you’d be here on time.”
The shaking started again, no matter how hard I tried to hold it in, it wouldn’t stop. I put my hand in my pocket and held on to the phoenix.
I turned away from him, not sure what to do. Did he not want me here? I didn’t want to go back to my apartment by myself, not after today. I couldn’t stand to be alone. I wasn’t sure I would be able to resist the pills if left on my own.
Because I didn’t want to feel this way—I didn’t want to feel anything.
Dare was quiet for a moment, then I heard the scrape of his stool and footsteps across the floor. I blinked my eyes furiously, willing them to stay dry. I did not want to fall apart, but I couldn’t seem to stop it from happening.