“You’re quite prolific,” Mal observed as he made his way through the space.
Pellam remained by the door.
Mal could almost feel the other man holding his breath. The thought that Mal’s opinion meant so much to him already, swelled his chest with something close to pride.
“Sometimes I wish I weren’t,” Pellam lamented as he walked over to where Mal stood. “Sometimes, it’s too much. I don’t know if that will make sense to someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
Pellam shrugged one shoulder. “Someone who thrives on pressure.”
“What makes you think I do?”
His laugh was musical. Shaking his head, Pellam dropped his chin to his chest. “Call it artistic instinct. If I could paint you, it would be a blur of color on an otherwise bleak landscape. Purple for your magnetism, gold for your integrity, brown and cream and . . .”
He trailed off, seemingly lost in the vision.
Mal stepped closer, and Pellam lifted his eyes to meet his gaze. They were an unusual shade of green, like a pale jade, and his lashes were sinfully long. Mal had to stop himself from lifting a hand to trace the man’s high cheekbone or from running it through his silky hair.
“Is that how you see me?”
Pellam opened his mouth. Closed it. Bit his lip.
Mal groaned, and he watched Pellam’s breath catch. Literally catch.
“I . . . I’m just babbling.” Pellam swallowed hard, his throat working in a way that made Mal want to do unspeakably dirty things to him.
“Pellam.”
The young man blinked up at him, his eyes dark with desire. Mal found it hard to breathe around his own arousal. He took a tentative step closer, encouraged when Pellam made no move to retreat.
“Please tell me if I’m misreading the situation.”
Pellam released a heavy sigh, his breath coming in stutters. “No, I don’t think you are.”
“You don’t think?”
“You’re not.” Pellam took a deep breath. “I . . . Please, just . . .”
Mal stopped short of touching him. “Please, just what?”
He was almost afraid to hear the end of that sentence. Please just be quick? Please tell no one about this? Please be gentle? Please take me, now?
“Please . . . just . . . ?” Mal prompted again.
Pellam closed his eyes. His next words came in a rush. “Fucking kiss me before I go insane.”
It was all the assurance Mal needed. He closed the distance between them, finally cupping Pellam’s cheeks in his hands. As he’d suspected, Pellam’s skin was supple to the touch. He trembled a little, which brought Mal’s protective instincts roaring to the surface to battle with his baser needs.
He settled for a chaste kiss, just a brush of their lips, but it was enough to send his libido into overdrive. For his sake, and Pellam’s, Mal released the young man and stepped back. Closing his eyes, he took a deep, cleansing breath, the effects of which were erased when Pellam launched himself into Mal’s arms.
Mal groaned under the weight of the other man and then groaned again as Pellam swept his tongue across Mal’s bottom lip. All of Mal’s good intentions went out the window. He’d been transformed into a tight ball of Want. Need. Now.
Pellam moaned into the kiss, and Mal coiled his arms around the man’s narrow waist. He’d thought the blond would feel dainty in his embrace, but there was power in his small frame. A strength that should have come as a surprise but somehow made sense. For all of his shy glances and nervous stuttering, Pellam Lindt’s true self had been revealed to Mal through his art. He’d poured so much of himself into the work that Mal briefly wondered if there was anything left.
The answer to that question was in Pellam’s undulating body, in his greedy hands, and in his demanding mouth. It was in the hard cock Mal felt pressed against his thigh, and in the pleading whimpers Pellam spilled into Mal’s mouth.
God.
Mal needed to make a choice, stop this now or drag Pellam into the nearest dark corner and feed the driving hunger he’d excavated from the depths of his soul.
“Here you are!” At the sound of the woman’s voice, Pellam jumped back.
He made brief eye contact with Mal before he turned to the newcomer and smiled.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“You found me.” Only a slight tremor in Pellam’s voice indicated his state of mind.
Reorienting himself to the here and now, Mal turned as Pellam’s friend – or, fuck, girlfriend? – approached them. She was, in a word, adorable. Her evident affection for Pellam tugged at Mal’s brotherly instincts.
Pellam opened his arms to her, and she engulfed him in a hug. The smile on his face matched hers.
“Amelia,” he said, still a little out of breath. “This is Malcolm. Malcolm, this is my best friend and sometimes roommate, Amelia. She also makes a great latte over at Sassafras.”
“Mal,” he heard himself say.
Funny. Only the people Mal considered close to him were allowed to call him that, but he’d put it out there, so . . .
Pellam raised one pale eyebrow.
“Nice to meet you, Mal.” Amelia extended her hand, and he shook it. “Has Pell convinced you to sit for him yet?”
Mal returned Pellam’s raised eyebrow with one of his own. “No, Pell has not, though he has strongly hinted at the idea.”
Pellam grinned, but the nickname reminded Mal how little he knew of the man. Reminded him how much he wanted to know. Which was, perhaps, everything.
“I’m sorry if I came on too strong,” Pellam said, sounding not very sorry at all.
“You didn’t.” Mal returned his grin, holding the blond’s gaze until he blushed.
“Then you’re open to the idea?” Amelia prodded, hopeful.
Mal unleashed the full wattage of his smile upon her, pleased with the twinkle in her eye.
“I’m very open to the possibility, yes.”
CHAPTER SIX
“You haven’t stopped smiling all day.” Evelyn strolled into Mal’s office, closed the door behind her, and dropped into the chair across from him. “Did someone have a good weekend?”
“Didn’t do much, actually,” Mal replied. “I still had some unpacking to do. And some stuff to toss.”
Evelyn didn’t dare ask Mal if he was referring to Josh’s box, she knew him too well. He loved that about her.
“Did you decide to hit the clubs then? Find a little distraction?”
Mal looked over her shoulder toward the lobby. He’d gotten into the habit of leaving the glass in his office window unfrosted when he wasn’t with a client. It offered a perfect view of Pellam’s painting, conjuring up the memory of the man’s pliant mouth every time he looked at it. He’d already had to lock himself in his bathroom once that morning to satisfy his needy prick.
And all they’d shared was a kiss. Christ.
All weekend, he’d kicked himself for not taking Pellam to bed. Not that he was in a rush, but he also didn’t see the need to wait. The attraction was mutual, that much was certain. And yet Mal had gone home alone. Not only alone but without so much as the guy’s cell phone number.
Fucking amateur.
“Nope,” Mal answered. “Didn’t feel like going out.”
“Bummer. I miss hearing about your extracurriculars. So, what has you in such a good mood? I haven’t seen you grin like this since . . .” Evelyn seemed to catch herself. “Well, in a long time. Care to share?”
Mal thought about it for a moment. His moment with Pellam felt intensely personal, but this was Ev.
“Come on, Mal. I can tell you’re holding out on me. And I know the one-eighty in your attitude isn’t because of Lydia Hahn. She’s left a thousand messages, by the way. I assume the gallery thing went over well?”
“Fuck, I totally forgot about Lydia.” Mal rubbed a hand over his face. He needed to stop mooning a
bout like a teenager and get a handle on his business. “I think she enjoyed it, yeah, but I’m not going to pursue the Pazzo account.”
“Oh, thank God,” Evelyn exhaled, slouching back into the seat. She shrugged at Mal’s amused expression. “Sorry, but I wasn’t looking forward to working with her staff. They're just as intolerable as she is.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about it now, though there is something I’d like you to look into for me.”
Evelyn sat up, attentive as always. “Name it.”
“Do you know much about the initiative to tear down the Race Street galleries to build a giant tourist trap?”
“You mean Lydia’s pet project for the shiny, new museum of something or other?”
“Brianne Mayer mentioned it to me on Friday.”
Evelyn’s expression soured. “It’s a horrible idea and would drastically change the neighborhood. I don’t think it would be for the better either. I love how quirky it is down there.”
Mal nodded in agreement. “Brianne mentioned her group has one last chance to stop the zoning approval.”
“Brianne, eh?” Evelyn eyed him. “Is that who’s brought out your dimples?”
Mal rolled his eyes. “No, and knock it off. I need the team to find out what they can about the case, why the appeals were denied, et cetera. Oh, and set up a time when I can meet with Brianne and the other hold-outs.”
“Are you thinking of representing them?” Her smile was hopeful.
“If they’re amenable, yes. They need someone in their corner who isn’t in the pocket of Lydia and her cronies. Plus, I know how people like Lydia think and how low they’re willing to go.”
“Can’t argue with you,” Evelyn replied. “It would be more in-line with your vision for the old firm. I’m curious, though. Why the sudden interest? Was Brianne’s argument that convincing, or was it something else? Or should I say, someone?”
Mal bit his lip.
“You met him, didn’t you? Pellam Lindt.” Her question was a statement.
“Wait, have you?”
She nodded. “I have. Last week.”
Mal blinked at her. “And you didn’t tell me because . . .?”
Evelyn smiled. “Because I wanted you to meet him without any input from me.”
Mal contemplated that for a moment. Then he hit a button on his desk that frosted the glass in the window that faced the foyer. He needed privacy for this conversation.
Folding his arms, Mal tested her. “He’s not my type.”
She nodded. “I admit, he’s different from the people you usually go for.”
“Indeed.” Mal leaned forward to brace his elbows on the desk. “But you knew I’d like him. Why?”
“Because . . . “ Evelyn drummed the fingernails of one manicured hand on the desk as she formulated her response. “Well, for one, you haven’t stopped staring at that painting since you first saw a photo of it.”
Mal snorted.
“And, two . . . I’m not sure. There was just something about him. I only met him briefly, and he didn’t know who I was, of course, but . . .” She shrugged again, then eyed him closely. “Did you seduce him?”
Mal laughed and sat back. “No.”
“But something happened,” she said, the hope returning to her eyes.
He didn’t bother to hide his smirk from her. “Something happened.”
Evelyn all but bounced in her seat, something Mal had never seen her do.
“And? Don’t leave me hanging.”
Mal shrugged one shoulder, trying desperately to keep a lid on how affected he’d been by such a brief encounter. He didn’t want Evelyn to know he couldn’t get Pellam out of his head, or that he’d jerked off so much in the last two days, he was surprised his dick hadn’t fallen off. He didn’t want to reveal that he’d been trying to figure out a way to contact Pellam over the weekend without coming off as a stalker.
“Spill it, Mal.” Evelyn’s impatience was endearing. “When are you going to see him again? Are you going to see him again?”
Mal’s desk phone chimed. He picked up the receiver, and Evelyn rolled her eyes at him.
“There’s a guy named Pell here to see you, sir.”
For a moment, Mal’s mind went blank. “Uh, send him in.”
“Actually,” Quentin squeaked as if he expected Mal to fire him on the spot. “He asked you meet him in the foyer.”
“Tell him I’ll be there in one minute.” Mal hung up the phone and let the grin he’d been suppressing take over his entire face. “The answer to your question, my darling Evelyn, just walked in the front door.”
* * *
Pell hadn’t known what to expect when he visited Malcolm’s office. He wasn’t even sure why he’d decided to come, except he’d been chastising himself for not at least exchanging contact info with him at the reception. Then again, Malcolm – he refused to call him Mal – hadn’t asked for his number either, nor had he offered his own.
This was a bad idea.
But, before he could slip back onto the elevator, a charming young man asked him if he needed help with anything. The next thing Pell knew, he had invited Malcolm to meet him in front of his painting.
Pell certainly hadn’t expected to find Closer staring at him as soon as the elevator doors opened onto Malcolm’s floor. It was jarring but also kind of humbling. He had thought the painting would be behind the front desk, framed by potted Ficus trees, or maybe tucked away in the corridor that led to the restrooms.
Malcolm’s office, or maybe even Malcolm himself, had apparently taken great care to have the painting properly installed. The lighting was gallery-worthy, and it also had its proper nameplate.
Pell couldn’t stop staring at it. Of course, this is where he and Malcolm would meet again. It had to be here in front of the painting that had brought them together.
He knew Malcolm had arrived before he opened his mouth to speak. Not only because the receptionist sat up straighter in his chair, but because the air seemed to change whenever Malcolm came close to him.
Pell suppressed a shiver.
“I almost changed my mind,” Malcolm said. His voice was close, but not close enough for Pell.
“About?”
Pell turned to look at Malcolm and, oh my. He was even better looking than Pell remembered. He wore another suit, this one as expensive as the one he’d worn Friday night and just as exquisitely tailored.
Malcolm’s eyes drank him in, and Pell returned the favor.
“I thought about hanging it in my home, but then I would be robbing others of its beauty and power.”
“Beauty and power, eh?” Pell smiled as Malcolm approached him. “You sure know how to stroke an artist’s ego.”
Stopping when they were toe-to-toe, Malcolm leaned in and spoke into Pell’s ear.
“You have no idea.” Malcolm stepped back and offered him a wink.
Pell wanted to know. He desperately wanted to know, and he recognized the moment when Malcolm realized it.
His gaze darkened. “Come to my office?”
I’ll come anywhere you want, Pell wanted to say. Instead, he nodded and let Malcolm lead the way.
A hand on Pell’s elbow, Malcolm steered him into an enormous office decorated in a sleek contemporary style. A large glass desk sat on the left. On the right, a white leather couch lined the wall. Another door sat off in the corner, probably a bathroom. The giant window across from the door had a clear view of the Philadelphia skyline. They were on the seventeenth floor, and the view was spectacular, but Pell was too aroused to appreciate it.
Malcolm closed the door just as Pell’s patience ran out.
“You never asked for my number.” Pell had meant to tease, but he couldn’t keep the whimper out of his voice. He was so damn thirsty for this guy.
All weekend, he’d listened to Amelia drone on and on about how he’d blown it by not slipping his phone number into Malcolm’s
pocket. As if Pell needed any more reminders of how colossally stupid he’d been. So addlebrained by that incredible kiss he hadn’t had the presence of mind to do something as simple as asking the guy for his number. Merde.
“A mistake I won’t make twice,” Malcolm responded. He held out his palm. “Give me your phone.”
“My . . . ?”
“Phone.”
That smirk was so fucking sexy, it took a moment for Pell’s brain to catch up with the demand.
“Oh!” He unlocked his cell and handed it over.
Pell watched as Malcolm programmed several numbers into his contacts. He then dialed his own phone to capture Pell’s information. Malcolm handed it back and held Pell’s gaze until the rest of the world melted away.
“I’m going to kiss you now, Pellam.”
Just like that, his spine went butter soft. “D’accord”
Malcolm traced the seam between Pell’s lips with the tip of his tongue, teasing and tasting. Daring him.
Pell groaned, opening to accept the kiss. He slid his hands behind Malcolm’s nape as heat flared between them, inhaling the scent of the man and committing it to memory.
One of Malcolm’s hands found its way up into Pell’s longish hair, his nails raking Pell’s scalp in the most delicious way. The other hand pressed against the small of Pell’s back, pulling him closer.
Malcolm’s arms felt incredible around him, strong and sure, and Pell deepened the kiss, languidly sweeping his tongue against the other man’s. God, how he had craved this, the chance to be vulnerable with someone so powerful and yet so gentle.
Malcolm broke the kiss and trailed his lips across Pell’s cheek and down to his neck, teasing the tender spot he found there. Just as Pell tilted his head to give Malcolm better access, the phone on his desk crackled to life.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he laughed.
Pell smiled, blushing as he stepped back and ran a shaky hand through his hair. This was insane.
Crossing over to the desk, Malcolm hit the intercom. “Yes?”
“Sir, your five o’clock with UOI was canceled.”
“Okay. Thanks, Quentin.” Staring into Pell’s eyes, Malcolm bit his lower lip and rolled it between his teeth.
Mixtape: A Love Song Anthology Page 26