I squeeze Max’s hand as Maurice slowly looks up with admiration in his eyes.
A provocative girl, who I decide to name Lolita, approaches us. She ignores me and flirts shamelessly with Max, but his extensive experience with flirty women keeps her at arm’s length without too much of a fuss.
As much as I hate to admit it, her documentary photographs of quinceañeras show both the sensuality and wonder of the rite of passage pageantry for Latin-American girls. Lolita has managed to be both photographer and protagonist in her work.
Max takes the time to introduce me to each student and show me his or her art. A tall, plain, red-headed girl taps him on the arm and points to a large canvas. He smiles as he approaches it and runs his hand over the right side of the painting. “Wow, Sadie. Did you do this after we talked?”
She nods, nervously waiting for his reaction.
“I love it. It’s so much stronger now, don’t you think?”
Pure joy moves across her face.
He takes my arm and pulls me closer. “Ava, this is Sadie, my abstract girl. What do you think?”
I take my time and study her painting, so my answer doesn’t come off as flippant. Her use of color and layering is reminiscent of Max. She’s obviously been influenced by his work, but there’s real talent there. With time, she’ll hopefully find her own voice.
“I like it very much, Sadie. Creating compelling abstract art is more difficult than people realize. You’ve got real talent.”
She smiles, looking so hopeful.
Our final stop is with Raphael, the teacher who brought Max into this program known for nurturing the most talented young artists from all over L.A. He shakes my hand warmly and speaks of what Max has given to the kids. The time he’s spent there has had a profound effect on them.
Max has the power to give hope with only a handful of words to kids who’ve never known it. I’m proud of him, humbled to see his magic at work, and I fall fiercely in love all over again.
Back in my apartment, we silently walk hand in hand to the bedroom. With only the moonlight to guide us, we slowly undress each other, stroking and kissing tenderly.
I feel a subtle shift in my heart. Max acting as a mentor paints a new range of vibrant colors in my heart that unfurls through me. We’re the passion of color and light rendered in strokes of paint and surrounded by an elaborately carved frame that barely contains us.
Is it possible to keep falling deeper into love—to want someone so much that it edges your every breath and echoes in every heartbeat?
He lowers me onto the bed and stands over me. Gazing with dark eyes, he lightly runs his fingertips up my inner thighs until I slowly part my legs. Once I’m completely open, I reach for him as he joins me on the bed, his tongue replacing his fingertips.
He tastes and teases me slowly, but I need him inside of me. Is he going to make me ask for what I want? I get an idea of what it must be like to be bound and touched everywhere except deep in my dark place where I need it most.
“Please,” I beg.
He rises up on his knees between my legs. As he tears open the condom foil, my fire flares from my explosive desire and his arousal, but mostly from the simple act of him touching himself as he rolls the condom on. He watches me squirm.
“I want you so much, Ava. Are you ready?” His eyes are stormy, as if he’s about to devour me.
“Yes,” I whisper, as I arch my back and spread open further, holding on to my last thread of control.
Right before I resort to groveling, he sinks all the way into me with one fluid stroke, and the tight fullness is glorious.
I wrap my legs around him as he builds a rhythm. Every thrust is a declaration . . . a surrender, a step forward and back. I score my nails down his back, then dig into his ass so that he takes me deeper. We moan as we tangle up together. His torso bows and his mouth meets my breast—teasing my nipples as I beg for more . . . and he gives and gives.
God, I love this man.
His skin is hot, his expression fierce. Our eyes meet and I glimpse his soul and the depth of his passion.
“Ava,” he whispers with reverence and so much love.
I start to fall away from the real world.
Our kingdom extends beyond this room, far past the moat that surrounds our bed. I am his queen, splayed out on the royal bed as he fucks me soft, loves me hard, and turns me inside out.
His devotion undoes me as we face the bright light, gathering stars in my hair as his fingers caress me . . . the wind at our feet, pushing us along.
Our climax is a crash in reverse, all the broken pieces falling together.
He is mine, he is mine . . . I am his.
Chapter Twenty-One / This is the Hunger
They sicken of the calm who know the storm.
~ Dorothy Parker
“I’ve heard you’re a special guest at the party ArtOneWorld is throwing for the launch of their new network,” Dylan says on the phone, after going over the travel details for Barcelona.
“I don’t know about special guest, but I think it’s cool they invited me. I’ve been hearing good things about their cable channel. I love that it’s all about art, right?”
“Yes, it’s fantastic for all of us. It creates all kinds of opportunities. They want you to attend this party. Max is invited as well, but you may not want to go together.”
I feel a shiver of nerves run up my back. “Why not?”
“Weren’t you guys supposed to be low-key about your relationship in the interview so they wouldn’t ask questions? I heard you weren’t low-key at all.”
“No, we weren’t low-key. They kept pushing me to tease him and make it fun. Maybe I shouldn’t have let it get so flirty, since we wanted the focus to be on the art.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Ava. I know they loved the footage. It positions Max in an interesting way. But attending a party is something else.”
“Yes, it is. Why can’t we just be real at the party?”
“Look, I’ll be honest . . . if you’re trying to establish yourself and have people take you seriously as a professional, I think it’ll look better if you guys aren’t openly involved on the heels of Unspoken Truths and all the time you spent together.”
“So, now we have to pretend? He kissed me in front of everyone at Art Santa Fe. I think the cat’s already out of the bag.”
“But the ArtOneWorld team is a different group, and they’re watching you very closely right now. You won’t have to be low-key forever. But certainly through Barcelona.”
“Ugh! That’ll be torture . . . to be in Barcelona together and not be together.”
“Well, for the record Max is furious that I even suggested this. He doesn’t know I’m talking to you about it, because he wants the world to know he’s in love. But it’s not his reputation at stake, it’s yours, and he doesn’t seem to get that.”
I’m quiet as I ponder what he’s told me. “All right, let me talk to Max first and then Adam—one hurdle at a time.”
“Okay. I’m sorry I’m making things difficult.”
“It’s all right. You have my best interests at heart.”
I’m nervous to discuss Friday’s logistics with Max, and as predicted, he’s furious about the idea of going to the party separately.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and pounds his fist on the table. “I want everyone to know I’m with you . . . and you’re with me.”
“I know, but Dylan has a point. This is a crucial moment in my career. Between my screw up with Jonathan—who I was working for—and falling in love with you, I don’t look professional. It’s like I’m the harlot of art publishing, one or two steps above art slut.”
“I’m going to kill that asshole. I told Dylan not to talk to you about this. But did he listen?”
“Max, do you want me to be successful?”
“Of course.”
“Then you need to help me with this. It’s only for a couple of months, a few public events.”
“So, this includes when we’ll be in Barcelona?”
“Yes, if I can go to Barcelona. I haven’t spoken to Adam yet.”
“Look, I’ll agree to play it cool this Friday, as much as it pisses me off. But the rest of it, I’ll have to think about. I just don’t like it.”
“Okay, Friday’s a start. Thank you, my love.”
When I pull up to the valet Friday evening, I notice that Max’s car is parked up front, and a surge of longing to know he’s at the party already fills me. This is going to be harder than I thought.
I give the woman handling the check-in list my name and she looks up.
“Yes, Ava Jacobs. Mr. Williamson asked me personally to let you know that his flight was delayed this afternoon, and he’ll be a bit late. He’s hoping you’ll stay until he gets here.”
My eyes grow wide. This guy really wants to meet me. “Yes, of course.”
She smiles as she fastens the band around my wrist and directs me to the entrance. “Enjoy!”
When I enter the sound stage, music is playing, and large screens are suspended high on the walls, showing footage from, what I presume to be, some of their network shows. There’s a ton of people attending, and the bar and hors d’oeuvres servers are in full swing.
I scan the room until I see Max. He’s cornered by a woman—typical—but at least she looks like a network executive and not an art groupie. She’s sophisticated and attractive . . . and middle-aged. I breathe a sigh of relief.
As I wait in line at the bar, a young guy approaches me. He has curly longer hair and a small gold hoop in one of his ears.
“Ava, right?”
He looks familiar and it hits me. “You were the camera man on Max Caswell’s interview, right? I almost didn’t recognize you without all your gear.”
He shakes my hand, smiling. “Yeah, I’m Zach. Nice to see you again. By the way, you did a great job on that shoot. Is it true it was your first?” He has an open, friendly face with huge brown eyes.
“Yeah.” I’m embarrassed to admit I’m such a newbie.
“Well, you’re a natural, and I’m not just being polite. I do this stuff all day long, so I’ve learned how to recognize natural talent.”
It’s my turn at the bar, so I order a glass of wine and Zach a beer. Once we get our drinks we step off to the side.
“Really? I freak out just getting my picture taken. So I can’t imagine anything natural about me in front of the camera.”
“Why would you freak out? Take it from me, you’re very photogenic.”
I’m a little uncomfortable with all this flattery. I certainly don’t want to lead him on or make Max jealous.
Max is still talking to the executive lady, but he’s staring at me as I talk to Zach. To say that he doesn’t look happy is an understatement.
I twist my earring before refocusing on my conversation.
Zach eyes me and offers to introduce me to some of the executives at the event.
“You know, Ava, I overheard my producer talking about you on the phone. He suggested you for another project. It isn’t my place to say what, but things could happen quickly for you. This business is crazy in that way,” he says, as I follow him to the other side of the room.
My heart skips a beat. I can’t believe what he’s telling me.
“Anyway, if it does, we’ll get to work together again, and that would be cool.”
We approach a group of people, including the director from my shoot, who immediately takes my arm and introduces me to several producers and network people, but no Travis.
I feel like a fish out of water, but I do my best to sound intelligent and worldlier than I actually feel. One severe-looking woman tells me she often works with Nick Castallani, and he told her about the Andrea Altman project I’m working on.
Wow, this really is a small world.
At one point, Zach takes my empty glass and steps away, returning later to the conversation with new drinks for both of us.
When the group gradually breaks apart, he turns to me. “See? What did I tell you?”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re all watching you. This is how it starts.”
He looks to my right, and I turn to see Max approaching.
“Hey, man. Good to see you again.” Zach shakes Max’s hand.
“Yes, Zach from the shoot, right?” Max asks as he smiles.
Max seems friendly enough, but I have my suspicions.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s someone who wants to meet you, Ava. Do you mind if I borrow her, Zach?”
“Of course not.” He turns to me. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay, Ava?”
“Sure.” I smile warmly and follow Max.
I walk a half step behind him as we navigate the crowd. I’m not sure where he’s taking me, and I’m nervous. I haven’t done anything wrong, but I know him well. He has a sixth sense about other men paying attention to me, and it makes him crazy.
He walks right out the front door and onto a makeshift patio behind a hedge. He finally stops and turns around, his face twisted in a strange blend of anger and distress.
“What?”
“Do you know what it’s like to stand back and watch men ogle you? And I can’t do a damn thing!”
I’m not surprised, knowing his jealous tendency, but it’s aggravating, and I’m not in the mood for it tonight.
“Men watching me? Oh, please, you’re just being dramatic.”
“I can’t do this.” He gasps and steps back, running his hands through his hair.
“Can’t do what?” I fold my arms across my chest. I don’t like the sound of this.
“Stand off to the side and pretend you aren’t mine. When I’m at a goddamn event like this, I want you by my side and my arm around you. I want the world to know you’re with me.”
“Is this about that cameraman? You want Zach to know I’m with you.”
His voice deepens and gets louder. “No, not just Jack . . . Zach . . . or whoever the fuck he is . . .” Fury flashes in his eyes, and he takes a deep breath. “I want every fucking man in that sound stage to know.”
“You know I didn’t go all postal on you when I saw you with that woman who had you cornered forever.”
“She was old enough to be my mom. It’s not the same.”
“Don’t tell me I can’t feel anything when an attractive woman looks at you that way.”
He throws his hands in the air. “Well, this bullshit plan of Dylan’s sure is working out great. I should’ve never agreed to it.”
“You aren’t even trying, Max. Damn.”
I brush my hair away from my face and set my wine glass down on the table next to us.
“You know what? This is an important business event for me. Do you really expect me not to speak to any men tonight, so you won’t be jealous? Do you even understand how ridiculous that is?”
He doesn’t speak, but his jaw flexes as he clenches it.
I take a step closer. “Do you have so little faith in me?”
He drops his head and turns away. He folds his arms and jams the heel of his boot on the asphalt.
I silently wait for what feels like a minute before he mumbles something.
“What, Max?”
He straightens and turns around. “I have faith in you.”
“Then, please, treat me like you trust me.”
He rakes his fingers through his hair and takes a deep breath. When he finally meets my gaze, I see resolve in his eyes. “I’ll try.”
“Good. I’d appreciate that. Can we go back inside now?”
“Actually, I think it’s time for me to leave. I know my limit, and I’ve reached it. I’m going home.”
I study his expression. He seems firm with his decision. “Okay. Can you handle it if I go back in?”
“I’ll do my best. That’s all I can promise, Ava.”
“Fair enough. I’ll call you when I get home.”
“I think I’ll be pa
inting in the studio. So text me, okay?”
I slide my arms around his neck. “Thank you for trusting me, Max.”
He wraps his arms tightly around me, but I can feel the tension in his body. “I’m really trying to do the right thing.”
“I love you for that.” I give him a smile.
When he steps away, a stormy darkness clouds his expression; his resolve looks like it’s crumbling. He pivots on his heel and trudges to the valet stand with his hands jammed in his jacket pockets. I don’t take a step until his car pulls away.
With a complicated mix of emotions, I return to the party. It feels weird to go back inside without him.
A moment later, Zach is by my side. “I’ve been looking for you. I thought you’d left.”
“Sorry. I was outside.”
“Travis Williamson is looking for you. Do you want me to introduce you?”
A lump rises in my throat. Everything feels like too much too soon. I start to lose my motivation when I hear my grandmother’s voice in my ear. “Carpe diem, Ava!”
I smile. “Sure.”
I’m wary as we approach the man, who I assume is Travis. Everything about him is polished . . . from his smooth tan to his shiny expensive-looking shoes. He smiles, showcasing his bright white teeth as he steps forward with a flash of recognition in his eyes.
“Ava!” He shakes my hand firmly. “It’s the girl of the hour. So great to finally meet you.”
“It’s great to meet you too, Travis. Thanks for inviting me. This is a terrific party.”
“I was anxious to find out for myself why everyone is talking about you.”
I feel my cheeks turn pink. I have no idea why this man is pouring it on so strong, but I get the feeling I’ll find out.
A group of the network people join us, including the host for their show on art auctions. I hold my own in the conversation, but after engaging in several discussions, I feel myself fade. It’s curious too, because Travis doesn’t engage me. He watches my interactions with the others. I have no idea what his agenda is.
It’s been a very long week, so I decide to leave, instead of waiting until I’m really wiped out.
I turn to Travis. “I need to take off, but I wanted to thank you again for the invitation.”
Work of Art ~ the Collection Page 48