Quilla drew in a deep breath. “Look, come back to my apartment, take a hot bath. On the way back, there’ll be some tourist shops. We can skip in, get you some clean clothes. You need food, warmth, and someone to talk to. You’re not a homicidal maniac, are you?”
She asked the question with a grin on her face but there was still a little bit of her that was wary—he was a stranger, after all.
“Not lately,” he said, “Although there was that time I got stuck in an elevator listening to Justin Bieber.”
Quilla laughed, relaxing. “Completely understandable. Come on, then.”
She crushed the garlic cloves and added them to the pan. If there was one thing she loved in this world as much as art and books, it was cooking. And here, in this city, she had access to the farmer’s markets selling ripe and luscious fruit and vegetables and endless little delicatessens where they sold every kind of meat and cheese. It was nice, she reflected now, to have someone to cook for. A simple tomato and basil pasta dish it might be, but with crusty bread and a good red wine, and the sounds of the Venetian nightlife drifting up through the large open windows, it was a perfect evening. As the sauce bubbled away on the stove, Quilla leaned out of the window to see the lights of the city.
“Beautiful.”
She started. She hadn’t heard the tub drain or the bathroom door open. Jakob Mallory was grinning at her from the doorway, dressed in the light cotton T-shirt and shorts they’d managed to get from a tourist shop. They showed off his long, long legs and well-muscled calves. The T-shirt fit loosely on his big frame and the khaki reflected his eye color. Those eyes, still troubled, still so sad, met hers, and crinkled wonderfully at the edges as he smiled. “The food, it smells beautiful.”
Quilla rolled her eyes, blushing. “It’s just pasta.” But she was absurdly pleased. “Please, sit, it’s almost ready.”
She loaded his plate as he poured the wine, looking around her apartment. It was shabby, rustic, and she loved every inch of it. All spare surfaces were laden with her books, her paints, papers and pencils. At the end of the long kitchen table, there was a pile of books and he picked up the top one.
“The Story of Art. Huh, Gombrich. You’d get along with my pa.”
Quilla, balancing two plates laden with food, tottered to the table. She placed one in front of Jakob with a shy smile.
“Enjoy. Simple, but I think it’ll do you good. If nothing else, the garlic will be enough to kill any bacteria we might have picked up in the Lagoon.” She grimaced and he grinned.
“Sorry about that and … thanks. For the food, for saving my life, for your kindness.”
Quilla, flushing again, shoved a forkful of pasta into her mouth. “So...”
“Why did I try and kill myself?”
Quilla swallowed her food. “Not that it’s any of my business. You don’t have to talk to me about that … we can talk about something else.”
Jakob nodded, appearing to consider her words. After a pause, he attacked his food again. “This is damn good, Quilla. So tell me—do you live here?”
Quilla told him about the scholarship. “I never, in a million years, thought I’d ever come here. It’s like a dream.”
“Where are you from?”
“Seattle.”
Jakob put his fork down. “You have to be kidding.”
Quilla frowned. “No … why?”
Jakob grinned. “My family, all of them, live and works in Seattle. Born and bred.”
Something was ticking over in her brain but she couldn’t quite get there. “Your family?”
Mallory. Mallory. Something in that name …
Jakob looked vaguely uneasy. “My dad is Randall Mallory.”
Holy. Fuck. Balls. Quilla gaped at him. “There’s no way—you’re making this up.”
Jakob, still smiling, got up and went to grab her iPad, handing it to her. “The name of your scholarship award is...”
“… The Ran Mallory Award for Excellence in Art.” Quilla typed Jakob’s name into the search engine and a second later, her screen filled with images of the man sitting across from her. “This is too much … your dad is a legend. He came to talk at my graduation … damn, Jakob … this is too weird.” She shoved the iPad onto the table like it burned her to touch it. She narrowed her eyes at a laughing Jakob. “Was this a test? I get the grant, so ...” She immediately regretted her words as a shadow passed over his face. “God, I’m sorry, that was an idiotic thing to say.”
Jakob put a hand on hers. “Don’t worry. So, we’re both Washington natives then?”
Quilla smiled at him, grateful. “Looks like. Well, now I know you’re a Mallory, which kind of negates any questions about what you do … although I suppose I could ask which branch of the billion-dollar conglomerate you run.”
He grinned at the dubious amazement in her voice. “Sadly, not art. That’s my dad and my youngest brother Grady’s domain.”
“You have another brother, right?”
“Two. Kit’s the one you’re thinking of, actor, model, and major pain in the ass. His twin brother Joel coaches tennis, mostly his kid ...”
“Skandar Mallory!” she said, suddenly making the connection. “Wow. My best friend and I always go see him play when he’s playing in Washington.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Schoolgirl crush?”
“No,” she said, but she grinned, “So he’s your nephew, huh?”
Jakob laughed. “I feel so old right now.”
Quilla started to apologize but he held his hand up. “Please, I was kidding … though, do you mind if I ask?”
“Twenty-four.”
He looked her up and down. “Twenty-four, maybe five-five in your bare feet, and yet you dragged a two hundred pound, six-foot-five man out of a canal.”
“Adrenaline,” she said quickly. “Plus, you know, mad skills.”
He laughed. “You know, Quilla Chen, I’m not sure I’ve met anyone quite like you.”
“Good job. You’d need therapy.” There I go again, Miss Foot-in-Mouth. “Sorry, I have very little filter and clearly no tact.”
“I was lost,” he said suddenly. “I forgot what it was to have fun, to laugh, to enjoy anything. For months now. At that moment, I just thought … so quick, so easy.”
Quilla leaned on her elbows and studied him. “But you flew here with no luggage, on a whim?”
“Not exactly … I had a layover to Paris. My luggage is probably enjoying a trip to the Eiffel Tower right now. I thought I’d come into the city and waste a few hours, then ...” He trailed off. Quilla was sure he was keeping something back but she bit her tongue. He drew in a deep breath. “What about you? Family? Husband?”
“Neither. Just me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I have friends, good friends, amazing friends. And I’m good at being alone.”
He smiled at that but didn’t say anything. Quilla toyed with the stem of her wine glass.
“Jakob?”
“Yes?”
“Would you like some more food? More wine?”
“No, thank you. It was beyond delicious, but I couldn’t eat anything else. If it’s not too much to ask, I just want your company for the evening.”
“Of course. Let’s go sit on the balcony—and I’m bringing the wine, no matter what you say.”
“Alcoholic.”
“Shut up.”
She was amazed how easily they could talk—he must be a good ten, fifteen years older than her, maybe more, but she didn’t feel the age gap at all. They seemed kindred spirits, talking about music, Italy, books, food. It was nearly midnight before Quilla suddenly yawned.
“Sorry.”
Jakob looked amused. “It’s late.”
“It is.” Suddenly there was a little tension in the air. “Look,” she said eventually, “you’re a big guy and my couch is tiny. I’ll sleep on that; you take my bed.” She was blushing furiously but she didn’t know why. Bullshit, she said to hers
elf, you’re attracted to him, is all.
Jakob shook his head. “No way. You’ve done far too much for me already. Do you have a sheet I could borrow?”
She pulled some sheets and a pillow from her cupboard and gestured towards the kitchen, suddenly so bashful she couldn’t meet his eye. “Help yourself to anything you want. Oh ...” She disappeared into the bathroom, then came out waving a toothbrush still in its packaging. “Lucky I just picked this up.”
Jakob took it from her. “I really can’t thank you enough, Quilla, I mean it.”
“It’s really okay. It’s been an unexpectedly lovely evening.”
Jakob lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, wondering how he got here. He hadn’t planned on seeing this night or any other. But that tiny girl in the next room … damn, when he’d felt her small hand pulling at his arm, her body pressing him up against the side of the canal, yelling with all her might for someone to help save him, he’d almost wanted to push her away and tell her he wasn’t worth it. Then he’d seen her face. Her ethereal beauty had sent a jolt through his soul, her soft smile, the dark hair hanging in bedraggled strands around the most exquisite face, the flush in her cheeks from the exertion—from saving his life. Jesus … his frazzled, delirious mind hadn’t known anything but that he would do whatever she asked.
And when he’d calmed himself, talked himself out of the hole, he’d found something new—a new friend, a chance at a new life.
… If it wasn’t for the millions of bugs crawling under his skin right now, scratching and clawing at his nerves, screaming for their medicine. Cocaine was an evil, insidious mistress and over the last year, he’d succumbed. Slowly it became a necessity, rather than a pleasure; something he thought that he could control. When it became clear it couldn’t …
He’d walked out of the lounge at Venice Airport, leaving his luggage and his flight to Paris, where his brother Grady was waiting for him. He should call him; let him know he was staying here for a few …
Wait, what? He pushed aside the sheet that covered him and sat up. Green eyes, pink lips, that smile … He didn’t even know the woman who had saved him, not longer than one day, and now he was what, planning on staying and dragging her into his fucked-up life? Shit, no …
He got up and went to check on his clothes, clean and drying on the balcony. Dry. He took them inside and dressed, shaking his head. The hell was he thinking? He glanced around for paper, a pen.
Sweet Quilla, there are no words to tell you how thankful I am to have met you tonight, for you being so brave and selfless. Allow me to be the same by not dragging you into my mess, but know I will never, ever forget you. Jakob.
He ignored the sadness pounding at his heart and left the note on the kitchen table. Unable to resist, he pushed her bedroom door open a crack and looked in. She lay on her stomach, her dark hair clouded around her on the pillow, her dark lashes resting on her cheek.
Brave, smart, funny, and beautiful, Jakob thought as he closed her door, feeling bad for intruding. He slowly padded to the door and stopped. No key. The door was old, no deadbolts, just a good old-fashioned lock and key. He glanced around for the missing key, felt above the lintel, moved some papers around on the cabinet by the side of the door. Nothing.
He checked the kitchen and now his pulse quickened. Quilla’s apartment was on the third floor, so he couldn’t get out via the balcony. Suddenly all the adrenaline came flooding back into his body, and he was desperate, needing to go find a fix from somewhere. He had people he could call who would know where to go here in Venice, but it was useless if he couldn’t even get out of …
“Looking for this?”
He spun around to find Quilla standing at her bedroom door. In her hand, the key. Jakob met her gaze, all ready to make up a story, but then she smiled sadly.
“What is it? Vicodin? Coke? I know it’s not heroin. You don’t have any track marks, at least from what I could see.”
She walked towards him, slightly unsteady from sleep, and handed him the key. “You can have this; you can go, get high, get depressed, and jump in the canal. If that’s what you want. Or you can stay here with me for a few days, get straight, and get some space, just chill out. I’ll help you through withdrawal; I’ve done it before for someone. It would be easy for us to just say goodbye now—we don’t know each other. So, I’ll leave it up to you. I’m going back to bed. If you’re here in the morning, I’ll be delighted. If not, well, you made your bed. Goodnight, Jakob.”
She turned and walked back into her bedroom and closed the door. Jakob, the key cold in his hand, stared after her with only one thought on his mind.
I’m going to marry that girl.
“Come on, faster.”
“God, I hate you ...”
Jakob grinned at her as she panted for air. “This was your idea, remember.”
Quilla squinted up at him.
“I said “let’s go for a stroll in the cool Venice evening, not, hey, let’s race across the city in hundred-degree heat’.”
Jakob laughed, handing her a bottle of water from his backpack. “Hush your grumbling.” Quilla stuck her tongue out at him, tilting her head back to drain the bottle in one go.
It had been a week since she’d pulled him out of the lagoon and Jakob could hardly believe the change that had come over him. In that week, Quilla had become his friend, his confidant, his challenger, his rock. Jakob Mallory had reached the age of forty-seven without forming any serious attachments beyond his brothers and a few friends. Probably why his closest relationship up to now had been his business partner Gregor, an ambitious Harvard grad. Gregor had been the one who shared his ‘secret’ with Jakob, the way he found the energy to work eighty-hour work weeks and still screw his way through the A-list of Seattle’s elite.
Still, Jakob thought now, all that was going to change. This tiny Asian American woman in front of him had changed all of that. When she’d come back into the living room the morning after they’d met and seen him still there, his long body cramped up on her couch, the smile on her lovely face had been all he had needed to know his decision to stay was the right one. That day, he’d called the airport to find out his luggage had been taken off the plane when he hadn’t checked in. Then, on the way to get it, he’d called Grady in Paris and said three words. “Met a girl.” Grady had laughed in his gruff way. “Hey, man, go for it. About damn time.”
Quilla blew out her cheeks. “God … I need a shower.”
Jakob shook his head. “Not yet, wise one. I’ve just seen a gelato cart over there.” He smiled as she looked excited. Food had been one of the highlights of this past week—she had taught him to cook with fresh ingredients and he had taken her out to some of Venice’s most high-end restaurants. They would sit at the outdoor tables long into the evening, talking about their lives. On the days he hadn’t been able to leave the apartment, the comedown from the coke fever too much, she had kept him cool, distracted him, and at one point, as his body became wracked with shivers, wrapped her arms around him to keep him from thrashing about.
That had been a bad night, with the delirium that came with withdrawal agony. He’d sweated and spasmed until finally falling asleep on the floor, in Quilla’s arms. When he had awoken, the fever had passed, and they were entangled on the floor, Quilla still asleep. Gently, he had laid back down next to her and studied her face, so peaceful when she was asleep. God, he had wanted to kiss her, that gorgeous, blush-pink mouth.
Jakob Mallory had never been in love—and he didn’t even know if this was love—but damn it, it felt good. Despite the difference in their ages, they connected on so many levels. This was all going through his head when Quilla had awoken herself with a gigantic sneeze, taken one look at him and dissolved into such infectious giggles that he could not help but laugh. It broke the tension. She had pulled him to his feet and sent him to shower while she made coffee.
The gelato guy grinned at him approvingly as Quilla debated over which flavor to have. “Pis
tachio,” she finally decided and Jakob nodded.
Carrying the over-filled cones away, they started to stroll back toward Quilla’s apartment. Casually, Jakob let his hand brush hers, then he took it, not glancing down at her to see her reaction. She didn’t pull her hand away. He risked a sideways look and saw a flush on her cheeks—which could be from running, he told himself—but she seemed very concentrated on the ice cream, all of a sudden. They walked slowly back through the tiny streets, over the bridges, stopping to watch the tiny boats and gondolas that traversed the canal system.
Jakob brushed his thumb over the back of her hand as he held it and he felt her squeeze his fingers just briefly. He looked down at her and she smiled at him, their eyes locking, a moment of understanding passing between them. As the streets grew quieter and night fell, Jakob saw a dimly lit street to the side of them. He glanced at Quilla.
“Adventure?” he said, his voice low, seductive. He saw her breathing quicken, the blush deepen, and she nodded once. He led her down the street, silent, with the noises of the city far away. A light breeze blew along the narrow street, washing over their hot bodies, giving some relief to the sultry evening. They walked slowly, taking their time before Jakob could bear it no longer and stopped, slipping his hands onto her waist.
Quilla looked up at him, her eyes almost shy, but as he bent his head to kiss her, he felt her relax into the embrace. Her lips moved against his, slowly at first, then as his big hand fisted her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, he heard her give a soft moan of desire. His cock was hard against the fabric of his shorts and as Quilla pressed her body against his, he could feel her trembling. As they broke away from the kiss, breathless, he stroked her face.
“Quilla … are you sure you want this?”
She leaned into his touch, nodding. “I’m sure I want you...”
He grabbed her hand and they were running then, back to her apartment. Tumbling in the door, they were kissing and tearing their clothes off.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Quilla said, putting her hands against his chest, “I seriously need a shower first or ...”
As Jakob swept her up into his arms, she shrieked with laughter as he carried her into the bathroom.
Filthy Commitments: A Submissives’ Secrets Novel Page 23