She took mental stock. “Actually, yes.” She cupped his knee. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He waggled his eyebrows at her in a wave she hardly thought physically possible. A small smile bloomed, and her sense of humor awakened.
“But I’m still not going to sleep with you.”
“Story of my life, it looks like.” He palmed her knee. “But have I made my point?”
She blinked, bewildered.
“Somebody needs a vacation. And I know just the place.”
****
Though his arms were full of groceries, Beau held the elevator door open for her with his foot. “I’ll take care of this stuff, and then change. You call work and tell them you’re out today.”
“Lie? Sadie always knows.” At the name, his smile faded.
“Tell—that one—that I’m a complete wreck, and you are very worried about me. I’m going to need round-the-clock babysitting if I’m going to make it to their damned dinner party.”
May watched him unload the boxes of coffee, yogurt, and potato chips. He certainly didn’t look like she should be worrying about him. He looked over his shoulder and caught her staring, and then wiggled his too-buff ass.
Heat spilled across her face and rushed down to pool in her belly. No, she shouldn’t be worried about him at all.
He mimed the sign for “phone” and then headed down the hall to his room. May made the call. Too bad she couldn’t text.
“Sadie. How’s our man?”
“He’s a wreck.”
“Was afraid of that. Man, I had no idea. He’s nothing like what Jane described.”
“I think I need to stay with him. Not come to work.”
“Agree. He’s not suicidal, right?”
“Mostly he’s just drunk, or sleeping off the last drunk.” Well, that would have been true for her, May thought.
“Sounds about right. Another problem: Can you get him here tomorrow around noon? Markus wants to meet him before the party.”
“They’ve never met?”
“We did the pitches over VoiP. So no, they’ve never been in the same room together.”
“And you’re worried?”
“As long as we’re both there to deflect, it should go well.”
“Should?”
“Well, we’ve kind of glossed over Markus’s political opinions. And some other things.”
May sank onto the sofa and closed her eyes. “I think I’ll need a long vacation after this assignment.”
“You and me both.”
Soon after, they were at the front of the hotel. The taxi driver held the door, and May and Beau slid in. The weather had held another day, high sun and low humidity. May wasn’t sure she wasn’t in some parallel-universe DC, but she wasn’t complaining.
“National Gallery,” Beau told the driver.
“You like art?”
“Of course. I expect you’ve been there, though?”
“It’s as familiar as my living room. And it was my second art library when I attended classes at the Corcoran.”
“Then you can show me all your favorites.”
The driver left them at the East Gallery. “It’s so beautiful out. We should go to the sculpture garden, but first, this way.” She took his hand without thinking. He twined his fingers among hers, locking their hands together.
Through the doors and past security, May tugged him past the stone garden and over to her favorite bronzed family portrait.
“This one.”
“The shapes, mathematical and also organic. How square it is, and yet there is flow. And I love the squished dog.”
“What’s it called?”
“Capricorn.”
He leaned around the big sculpture. A wide man, a king, made of squares and triangles, and a skinny queen, round and long. The king held a talking stick in one hand, a small version of the queen in the other. That arm rested on a sort of yappy dog, the roundest part of the bronze. “Max Ernst.”
“The splatter-paint guy?”
She nodded. “I love his colors, but I also love that this one is all one color.”
“Like your painting.”
Pain shot across her forehead. She frowned. “Not really.”
He squeezed her hand. “Not at all. Do you want to go see the paintings?”
“Not especially.” She tried to explain. “That feels like work to me. But sculpture, or music, that’s just fun. And it gives me more ideas for my work.”
He nodded, though she could tell he didn’t understand. “It’s like this. You see a fantastic painting, a fantastic app, and it could inspire you, but in another mood it could depress you. And then you see a not-fantastic painting, like something the artist just tossed off, but because he’s a famous artist they bought it, and here it is. And it’s crap! And you think, ‘he’s taking up my space here; there’s no room for me.’ ”
He looked at her a moment. “You have a good imagination. But there will always be space for genius. Space for you.”
She blushed, right there in her so-called professional milieu. From his mouth to God’s ears.
They walked under the great Calder mobile, and down the stairs to the passageway between East and West wings so she could show him the water feature. They emerged and exited immediately into the sculptures outside.
He pointed to a giant brown wheel with a metal gear attached to it and metal phalanges caught forever in the act of flailing. “What is that?”
“You’ve never seen one? It’s a typewriter eraser, only really big. The brown is the eraser part, and the brush is to brush away the erasings.”
“And that’s art?”
“Made you stop and think, didn’t it? Filled you with wonder.”
“I’d swap that one out for one of your pieces any day.”
“Bad idea.” She smiled. “Mine aren’t so weatherproof.”
They admired the spider and bird, posed alongside the hare aping the famous Thinker statue, and almost got in trouble for sitting in Burton’s Six-Part Seating.
“Ready for a snack? There’s a little café there by the Metro sign.”
They ordered, and he waited for the food while she went to claim a table. She watched him move from the counter to the condiment shelf and back. He held his shoulders like a gymnast would. In blue slacks and a black golf shirt with a penguin logo instead of a polo player, he looked the part of the tourist, but that stance gave him away. And nothing could disguise the commanding look in his eyes. He was a power player.
“Checking out the merchandise?” He set their tray down.
“I didn’t know they made those pants in anything but tan or khaki.”
“Blue’s not much of a stretch, but I did want to be a bit different.”
“And still a white Oxford shirt, but at least it has those tiny red stripes. It almost looks pink at a distance.”
“It does not look pink.”
“You’re pinking!”
“I do not pink. Drink your coffee, or I will.” She did, and felt again the welcome space in her mind, that heavy sadness from the past few months had loosened this morning. Part of it had simply slipped away. She willed the rest of it to follow.
“Miss May?”
“Mr. Kurck?”
“You are grinning. Art agrees with you?”
“Life agrees with me. Again.” At last.
His knee brushed hers, and then returned to stay. She slid down in the metal chair, pressing more of her leg against him. He adjusted himself in the seat, and her grin grew even wider.
“How about we hop across to the Hirschorn, and then grab dinner at the Native American?”
“Eat at a museum?”
“It has the best food. It closes early, but that’s OK because you have to be in bed so soon, right? Oh, and we have to go into the office tomorrow noon.”
She felt him stiffen and move back in his seat, leaving her. “Why?”
“Don’t you want to meet Markus Edmonson before t
he big announcement? I would.”
He looked at her shrewdly. “Would you?”
Now it was her turn to blush. “He’s kind of a bear, but that’s because he’s passionate about his work. You’ve got to respect that.”
“I suppose. What is the plan? The schedule for the expedition,” he said to her blank look.
“Don’t you know?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know the dates. It depends on the weather, right? The plan is a big expedition, maybe a video, and some maps. I get to do the maps.” She tried to sound enthusiastic.
“You wanted to do more?”
“More videos, a series. And why not animated films? Or some animation, at least? Cartoons can appeal to adults, too. And, really, we should be targeting kids, anyway, if we want the penguins’ lands protected for many generations.” She heard the strident tones in her voice and stopped talking.
“Sounds like someone else has some passion.” He reached around and draped his arm on her shoulder, not looking at her. Together, they looked out at the Metro sign, the multicolored tourists, the greens and browns of early summer. May could have sat like this all day.
After a while, he stirred and started rubbing her shoulders where they met her neck. “Ever considered curating?”
“Sure. Not much of a market for curators.”
“I’ve been thinking. Joki needs to be more involved with the arts. Maybe create a gallery, not here of course. But the collector, she could live anywhere, really.” He tugged the bottom of her ear, and she shivered. “Know anyone?”
She laughed. “Very funny. Joki is shooting its wad at the Antarctic already. I’d say wait until you have three more hit games under your belt before you start up another money-soaking venture.”
He brushed her hair as he stood. “Money-soaking?” She flashed panic that he’d go back on the expedition funding, but he was smiling down at her. His teeth were perfect. He was perfect.
He held out a hand and helped her rise. They cleared the table, and hands entwined, strolled off across the Mall.
By the time they got back to the hotel flat, May was emotionally and physically spent. Beau looked to be, as well. But he still held her hand as she went to put her leftovers in the fridge. She leaned against the counter. She needed to.
“I don’t think I’ve wanted to go to bed at seven since I was a baby.”
“It’s three a.m. in Scandinavia. Maybe you’re going native.” He lifted their entwined hands and kissed her knuckles. His eyes were warm and open, watching her. Wanting her.
Something had changed, between last night and now. She could read him better, and he certainly could read her. Deliciously scary.
She wanted this. Sure, he’d be gone in three days, but that just made it safer, right? Although it was a rather generous reading of Sadie’s order to make him happy and get him to the party on time. She pulled their hands closer and rested them on her shoulder. She watched his mouth, his most expressive feature. It opened slightly, closed, and that dimple appeared in the corner. He loosened his fingers from hers and spread them across her shoulder. Tension she didn’t even know she was carrying flowed away.
She wanted more. She reached for his hip, and guided him closer. He took the hint, putting his other hand on her hip. His touch pushed waves of delicious warmth through her abdomen, waking up her sleeping libido.
She traced his lower lip with her index finger. It wasn’t perfectly even, a shade wider on the left, but that just made it more delectable. His breath hitched, and his mouth opened a little. Hers matched it in anticipation.
Then it closed, as if in hesitation. She leaned in and kissed the wider edge, pulling his lip to open it again.
It worked. He took her lips full-on, his kiss hungry. She followed his lead, anticipated him, really, as if they’d been kissing for years. His lips felt as velvety good as they looked. When his tongue flicked hers, introducing itself, she melted. His hands, still on her shoulder and at her side, clamped on tighter, as if he’d never let her go. Good.
They had to come up for air. But instead of kissing her again, like she wanted, like she needed, he spoke.
“May, beautiful, fragile May.” The tone was wrong.
“No, I want this.” She sounded desperate. Well, that’s how she felt.
He pushed a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face. “It’s been a long day, and we’ve weathered some stormy seas. Remember this morning?”
She frowned. She didn’t want to remember this morning. “You helped me feel better.” Help me some more, she wanted to say, but that would be needy.
“Don’t frown. It’s beautiful, but it hurts me.”
“You don’t want me?”
He groaned and pressed his forehead into hers. “How could I not want you? Of course I do.”
“But.” She wouldn’t look into his eyes. She could still see the sigh-smile grow across his lips. His underused lips.
“But I’m tired, and so are you. I want you to be sure, not regret anything. I never want you to feel like it was a mistake.”
“You think I’m so fragile?”
“I think I am. What if I can’t perform? I want you to think I’m perfect, but I can barely keep my eyes open. You don’t want that, do you?”
She kind of did. He could read her face, his smile said. He pressed his lips into hers again, too briefly.
“If we feel the same in the morning, look out.”
****
When May woke, rested but restless, the clock read just short of five in the morning. Then she remembered. They’d gone to bed at eight at night. She brushed her hair and teeth and wrapped herself in her terry robe before emerging from her bedroom.
Beau was pacing, occasionally stopping in front of one of the three touch screens arrayed together or the netbook they surrounded. He was talking out loud, so he must be on a call. Although what he was saying didn’t make much sense.
“They don’t. I know they don’t. Does no one even have a laptop? Google the zoo!”
She tried to make no sound, but he saw her on the way to the fridge and waved her over. She grabbed a glass of orange juice and joined him.
He swiped an illustration of a bird off the netbook and onto one of the bigger screens, enlarging it, and swept a different image onto another screen. “Which one is better?”
“For what?”
“For a penguin!”
She frowned. “They’re both wrong. They have tails.”
He threw up his hands and turned away from her. “They can, too, tell the difference. I just ran a field test with two subjects, and they both know it’s wrong. Fix it.” There was a pause. “So be it. Get me Meri on the phone.” He pressed his ear, disconnecting the call. “Meri is in India, with the secondary artists. The ones who have never seen a penguin.”
“This is the new addition to the game?”
“Supposed to be. Guess we’ll be going with ‘unexpected delays’ at the cons this month.”
She looked at the images again. “It shouldn’t be that hard a fix.”
He looked past her, to the clock on the wall. “Still an hour before they’ll bring us breakfast. You should go back to bed.”
She looked at him steadily. “My thoughts and feelings haven’t changed.”
Suddenly, all his attention was directed at her. Even his gaze alone could make her hot.
“Mine either.” He took the half-full glass from her hand and downed the rest of the juice.
“That’s mine.”
“Then come take it back.” He raised his eyebrows in clear challenge.
She rose to it. Scooping her hand up and over his belt, she pulled him close. Their lips met, their tongues, and it was last night all over again. Except better.
She tugged at his shirt, and it slipped free of his slacks. Finally, her palms touched skin, and she thrilled to the shiver they touched off in him.
His mouth possessed hers, and she gave him what he wanted, ever
ything, willingly, wantonly. Excitement built behind her closed eyes and down her spine. Just kissing him made her wet.
He slid a palm over her hip, under the shirt of her pajamas, and her knees buckled. They sank slowly, him supporting her, to the plush carpet. The angle was wrong, and her mouth fell away from his.
His eyes were dark and large, his mouth so mobile, his breaths heavy. She’d done that. She smiled, despite her own heavy breathing.
“Miss Reed, might I show you my etchings? I have them there in my bedroom.”
“You mean your condoms?”
“Those, too. May I?”
She nodded, and he swept her into his arms. Careful of her head, he carried her down the short hall and kicked open the bedroom door. The room looked as if no one had stayed in it.
“You make your own bed?”
“It’s nothing,” he said, tipping her to her feet by the bed so he could pull the covers away. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her to face him between his legs. “You’re sure?”
“You have to ask?” He couldn’t see?
“I need to be sure. I don’t usually do this, and I don’t think you do, either. I don’t want to be something you regret.”
She’d regret if they didn’t move on with the program right now. “I’m sure.”
“Good.” His mouth softened in relief. “I’m so hungry for you.” He pushed off the terry robe and touched one of the toucans patterning May’s pajamas. “Yours?”
“My college roommate worked in fabrics. We collaborated.”
“She has good taste in fabric.” He traced the curve of her breast through the fabric. “So soft.” She arched into his touch. He made short work of the buttons holding the shirt together in the front. First his palm, and then his tongue took her in as his other palm warmed her other breast.
His tongue was magic, and she was hungry, too. She tried to lift his shirt over his head, but he had to leave her breast to do it, and she groaned. He took her mouth, hard. As her breasts touched his bare chest, she could have sworn she felt sparks, a chilled heat.
He tugged her hips, not breaking the kiss, and she crawled onto his lap. Too eager, they tipped back onto the bed, her kneeling on top of him. He lifted a leg and locked his knee behind her rear to hold her there. Her hands explored his chest, his sides, his neck, his hair. His ears were ticklish, and as he wriggled he slid his hand over her ass, gripping, pushing, grinding her into him.
Babysitting the Billionaire Page 5