by Celia Loren
Shit. I really shouldn't be teasing him after giving him such a hard time the other night. "Miles works for the artist," I offer, by way of changing the subject.
"Is this his stuff?" the girl next to Jack asks pointlessly, nodding toward the photograph.
"Yes," Miles confirms, and goes onto explain how Julian put it together.
"So it's not an original," Jack says after a long pause.
"The photograph is original," Miles explains. Jack leans toward the small card next to the photograph with the price of the work on it.
"I don't see the credit for the pieces in the photograph," he notes. "And they appear to be by lesser known artists who probably would have appreciated the exposure."
"Julian thought that would take away from his commentary on aggregation. Also the way he chose to put the photographs together forms a lot of what's important—"
"Where's the bathroom?" Jack's date asks him in a stage whisper.
"Back there, to the right," Miles says, nodding toward the rear corner of the space. The model teeters off and Miles looks across the room. "Excuse me, I just want to let Julian know I'm here."
"So, you're not an art fan," I say to Jack as Miles walks away. He moves to the next photograph, studying it quietly.
"Actually, I am. My penthouse is decorated with works by Florida artists, much of it modern. I just think sometimes people are too scared of looking stupid that they're afraid to admit they don't like something. I mean, how this isn't plagiarism, I don't know," he adds, lowering his voice.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he scans the next photograph. "Sorry," I say, taking a deep breath. "For misjudging you, and also for the other night. I lashed out at you, when I was really mad at your dad. But I wasn't jealous," I clarify.
"Oh no?" he says lightly, turning to me with an inscrutable look in his eyes.
"No. I mean, I'm on a date right now, Jack."
"True."
"Did you know I'd be here?" I ask, the idea suddenly occurring to me.
"No," he says with a grin, raising his hand Boy Scout-style. "I'm not in the stalking business, I swear."
"You never introduced your date, by the way."
He clears his throat. "I, ah, I actually can't remember her name."
"Are you serious?" I chide him. "Well, at least you have the grace to look embarrassed."
"I feel like a dick, honestly," he says with a chagrined smile. The corners of his eyes crinkle and he looks around to make sure no one can hear us. "I had her in my phone as 'green dress'." He turns back toward the photograph as his anonymous date reappears.
"I'm so sorry, I forgot your name," I lie to her, shaking my head at my alleged mistake.
"Oh, that's OK. I'm Faye," she says.
"Faye, that's right. Now I won't forget." I allow my eyes to dart over to Jack's, and he smiles at me. But as he wraps an arm around Faye's waist and pulls her a little closer to him, I feel my stomach clench. I might have just done a good deed, but I probably helped Jack take one more step toward this beautiful girl's bed. Not that he needs much help.
The night passes in a whirl of introductions and more champagne than is probably wise. I find myself clinging to Miles's arm feeling lightheaded, and torn between my excitement at finally being on a date with him, and trying to keep Jack and his date in view.
Just at the height of the festivities, I see Jack escort her to the door with a broad hand at the small of her back. And just like that, the rest of the partygoers seem to get the signal that the affair is wrapping up. They begin to trickle out, and Miles and I head out, too.
On the drive home, I rest my left hand on the console next to my seat, and I'm surprised to feel Miles's fingers wrap themselves around mine. I try to contain my smile as I look out the window, pretending nothing's happening. Who cares what Jack Stratton's doing? Miles and I have much more in common, anyway.
I lean over at the security gate to our private community and give the guard a wave. As we pull into the long driveway of the house, I feel butterflies form in my stomach and will my palm not to sweat. I take a deep breath and turn to him with a smile.
"Thanks, Miles. I had a great time," I say.
"Me, too," he replies, and leans forward. I think briefly about how I'm grateful that I've had lots of experience with kissing lately, and then our lips touch. He leaned forward a little faster than I had anticipated, and our teeth tap gently against each other's. But his lips are soft and gentle, and I feel a shiver as his tongue slips into my mouth for a second.
I remember what my mom said about keeping him wanting, so I lean back, ending the kiss. He looks at me searchingly for a second, and I tuck my hair coyly behind my ear.
"Goodnight, Miles," I say, reaching for the door handle.
"Go out with me again next week," he says as I step onto the driveway.
"OK. Give me a call," I reply, shutting the door. I saunter up the front walk without looking back. I feel like a man-eater. Maybe the kiss wasn't quite fireworks, but I this feeling of confidence is different for me.
I close the front door behind me and start toward the stairs. It's late, but I hear my mom emerge from the den, definitely waiting up for me.
"So?" she asks.
"He asked me out on another date for next week," I reveal with a grin.
"Nice."
"Jack home?" I ask as I turn back toward the stairs.
"No, why?"
"I saw him at the same gallery opening. Just wondering."
"Oh, that's funny. Well, you know Jack," she says as she heads back into the den.
"Yeah," I reply, walking up the stairs. That's sort of the problem. I know him too well to have any illusions about what he's up to right now.
Whatever. I've got Miles. What do I need with Jack Stratton anyway?
Chapter Sixteen
"And here's my bedroom," I say, gesturing Miles inside. He has a bit of a dumbstruck expression on his face, just as I did when I first saw the house. "I know, it's a bit much."
"No..." he replies politely, then grins. "OK, it's a lot. I mean how many mines worth of marble are in this place? What does your stepdad do again?"
"Well, he's not my stepdad yet. Not until next June. But he's in overseas shipping."
"Man, maybe we should be rethinking our careers," he says, walking toward the window to look out at the view.
"A career in shipping? I think I'd be miserable."
"How's your novel coming?" he asks, nodding toward my laptop.
"It's not, really," I admit, shutting the door. "I'm feeling kind of stuck." He nods and turns back toward the window. I shift my weight awkwardly. I've never had a boy in my room before. Well, except Jack, that one time.
Miles and I have been seeing each other for a few weeks now, and I think it's going well. We've had dinner, gone to the movies, walked along the water. And now I've asked him over when my mom just happens to be at work.
"Would you ever think about doing something else besides photography?" I ask, joining him at the window.
"Yeah, if I don't start making money in a couple years, I'll do something else."
"You'd just stop?" I ask, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.
"I'm not into the whole starving artist thing," he explains with a shrug. "That's why I really admire Julian. He's always has a sense of what's going to be commercially successful."
"Right." Privately, I think I agree more with Jack's view of Julian, but I don't want to tarnish Miles's view of his mentor.
"Is there anyone else home?" Miles asks. I shoot my gaze over to him and see a sly smile on his face.
"Don't think so," I reply as his hands wrap around my waist. He kisses me, his tongue quickly opening my lips and probing into my mouth. As usual, he tastes slightly of cigarette smoke, but I'm getting used to it. His hands slide down over my ass and he pulls me against him, pressing his erection into my thigh. I let my fingers work their way through his long hair, feeling a shiver run down my spine.
A
boat sounds on the ocean and he jumps, pulling away. "Shit, I forgot how close we are," he says. The moment broken, he walks over to my bureau and studies the photographs on top of it. "This your brother? Carter, right?"
"Yeah. That was the day he graduated from his Seal Training," I say, explaining his dress blues.
"Is that your dad?" he asks, pointing to the one photo I have of him. I'm about three in it, and sitting on his lap. He has one arm around me, and is looking slightly off to the side, laughing at something.
"Mm-hm."
"You don't really talk about him. He was a football player too, right?"
"What do your parents do?" I ask, hoping he won't notice the incredibly abrupt change of topic.
"My dad's a dentist, and my mom's a dental hygienist at his practice."
"Wow. That's so…wholesome."
"Is it?" he asks with a laugh. "I don't really think about it."
"How long have they been married?"
"Twenty-six years. Sometimes I wish they'd, like, fight or something, you know? Or that my childhood had been crazier. I feel like I don't have anything interesting to put into my art. You're lucky."
"Maybe…"
"Why don't you like to talk about your father?" he presses me. I guess my change of topic didn't go unnoticed.
"It's embarrassing. He had to leave the league, the NFL, in a scandal."
"Oh, shit."
"Yeah. We were going to leave Florida, my mom, my brother, and I, but my grandmother lived here at the time, and my mom was scared of leaving her whole support system. Plus, it might not have been much better anywhere else. It was all over the news. My mom changed our name to her maiden name, at least."
"What was his name?"
"I don't really want to talk about this anymore," I say, feeling uncomfortable.
"I was just wondering if I'd recognize it," he explains.
"No, I know, but I've always liked that you didn't know about football, and weren't interested."
"Maybe that's what it is about you," he says, leaning back against the mattress and crossing his arms.
"What?" I ask, confused.
"You have this way about you, like you have a secret or something. Maybe it's the stuff with your dad."
"Oh."
"I didn't notice it so much in high school…I like it, though. You're so mysterious."
"Really? Sometimes I feel like I wear my heart on my sleeve too much. I can have a bit of a temper, too," I confess.
"I've never seen it."
"You don't make me mad!" I say with a laugh, even though I'm turning his words over in my head. I'm not sure if the stuff with my dad is the secret he's picking up on…
"Well, I like it," he says, standing up and leaning over to whisper in my ear. "I's very sexy."
He kisses my neck, and I close my eyes, trying to enjoy it, but my mind is working in overdrive. If what he's drawn to about me is the fact that I have a secret, then does he really like me for me? Or is he just drawn to an idea?
Chapter Seventeen
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the elusive Bree Driscoll." I turn to see Jack leaning in the doorway, sipping a protein shake. Miles drove off just before Ray got home, and I've just been watching TV since he left, feeling oddly drained.
"Amazing how little you can see someone that you live with when you're in a house this big," I observe, turning back to the screen as he walks in and sits next to me on the couch. "It's just this BBC detective show," I explain, nodding at the TV.
"Don't worry, I wasn't going to ask you to switch it to Sportscenter or anything," he says with a grin.
"Do they still talk about my dad?" I ask abruptly. I keep watching the screen, trying to seem casual, but he's been on my mind since Miles asked me about him.
Jack pauses for a moment. "Sometimes," he finally admits.
"As a joke?"
"Sometimes," he repeats. "More often as a warning. Or maybe a tragedy."
"Mmm," I murmur, feeling a pang in my chest. Jack doesn't pursue the issue, even though I'm the one who brought it up, for which I'm grateful. "I wish he had been all bad, so then I could hate him."
"That would make it easier," Jack agrees quietly.
"But before it all happened, he was fun, and he treated my mom well. He was the life of the party. People were drawn to him. I'd like to say the fame and the money were what changed him, but I don't think it was just that. I think he must have had something in him all along."
"Do you think he was an addict?"
"Yes. I mean, right? Don't you think he must have been? Any rational person would have stopped gambling long before he did. Sometimes I try to imagine how scared he must have been, to do what he did, and I almost feel sorry for him. But then I remember that he left us afterward, and I want to punch him in the face."
I feel Jack's fingers on my hand, and glance down to see that I've actually balled my hand into a fist. He strokes my fingers until they release, and I feel shocked at his gentleness. A tear slips down my cheek, and I hastily wipe it away. I hate feeling vulnerable.
"Sorry," I whisper.
"I was mad at my mom, too, when she died," Jack murmurs.
"What did she die of?"
He glances quickly at me. "She killed herself. I thought you knew."
I feel the breath leave my body. "No…no, my mom never told me. I'm so sorry."
"I know it wasn't her fault, really. She had some postpartum depression with me, but it was worse with Lex. But sometimes I'm still angry. Can't help it, really."
"No."
"It drives me at times, the anger. But I'd give everything back to help her." I stare at his hands as he plays with the top of his shaker cup.
"We're both just very sad people, aren't we?" I say with a small smile. To my relief, he leans his head back with a bark of laughter.
"Seriously, fuck. Let's talk about literally anything else. How's loverboy?"
"He's good," I reply cagily. "How's Faye?"
"Who?"
I roll my eyes. "Green dress."
"Oh! Um, good, I guess," he says, and it's clear he actually has no idea. "So you and Miles exclusive now? Doing the whole relationship thing?"
I shift slightly in my seat. "No, not yet."
"Good. It's smart to play the field, I mean. So you don't get overly attached to any one person," he says, placing a long arm along the back of the couch and letting his fingertips trail along my bare arm.
"Uh-huh." The thought comes to me that his aversion to attachment has something to do with his mother's death, but I keep it to myself. I look into his eyes and feel a tug in my groin at the hungry expression inside them.
"Come upstairs," he whispers, and I take a deep breath, fighting the urge to comply immediately.
"It's been a while."
"I was worried you were starting to have feelings," he admits. "But clearly I was wrong. And if you and your boy aren't exclusive yet…maybe you could use another training session."
"Miles has had no complaints so far," I murmur, leaning in and placing my lips tantalizingly close to his without actually making contact.
"Oh really?" he breathes. His arms shoot out and grab me around the stomach. I feel myself being lifted off the couch and pulled up and over so that I'm straddling him. My body lights up as I feel his erection pressing up against the crotch of my jeans.
I can't help myself. I press my lips against his and almost faint with pleasure as he presses his tongue inside my mouth. I didn't realize how much I've missed his touch. I grind my hips forward, wanting to feel him everywhere.
Suddenly I hear a clicking sound that I recognize as someone walking across the marble floors and I dive back across the couch. I see Jack quickly readjusting his pants as I focus my gaze back on the TV.
"Just wanted to let you know I'm going to bed," Ray says to me as he walks in.
"Oh, great," I reply, hoping my cheeks aren't too flushed.
"Jack, I didn't know you were in here," he comments, his
eyes flicking briefly over to his son. "Your mom called and said she'd be late. Going over the books."
"Got it, thanks," I reply. He smiles and walks upstairs. We wait in silence until we can no longer hear his footsteps, and then I let out a long, slow breath. "We gotta be more careful."
"Come on," Jack says with a grin, and takes my hand. I just have time to turn off the TV before he's pulling me into the foyer.
"Jack!" I whisper, tugging back at him, but he turns to press a finger over his lips, signaling me to be quiet, before he starts up the stairs with me in tow. We creep up the nearest staircase, and I find a smile spreading across my face. His boyish sense of adventure is catching, and I feel a giggle creeping up from my belly as we tiptoe along the hallway. When we reach the staircase to the third floor, he speeds up, taking the steps two by two, then dashing down the hall.
When we reach his bedroom, I'm breathing hard, but he turns right around and presses me up against the door as he shuts it behind us. I gasp and arch my back as his lips find my neck. He bites the muscle under my ear, and my hands fly to the hem of his shirt, tugging it off over his head. As I drop it on the floor, he grabs my arms and raises them over my head, pinning them to the door with one hand. His other hand quickly unbuttons my jeans and tugs them and my panties down, leaving them just below my ass.
I cry out softly as his fingers slip against my wetness. I want to spread my legs further, but they're trapped by the constraints of my jeans. He circles my clit with one long finger and my eyes open to see that his face is just a couple inches from mine, and he's watching me. He presses my hands more firmly against the door so that I can't move at all, and I groan as he presses his other hand forward, slipping two fingers inside me.
My eyes close as I get lost in the sensation. His thumb moves to my clit, and he circles me as his fingers move inside me. Suddenly his fingers slip out, and I feel him tug my pants down to just above my knees. His fingers press back at my opening, and I feel a new kind of pressure that forces me to open my legs a little wider. I realize why – he's using three fingers, stretching me out. He begins to thrust them in and out, curling them at the last second so they hit against my g-spot. He's never moved inside of me like this, and I think it must be the closest thing I've ever felt to sex.