Bare Skin: A Billionaire Romance

by Leah Holt

  “What the he— Who is this?” I said out loud to myself.

  The phone pinged again, erasing my wonder.

  'I know what you're thinking, and it's exactly who you think it is. Don't ask me how I got your number, I won't tell. But bring two of your favorite paintings.'

  “Kash.” The single word floated off my tongue on a cloud of angry, lust-filled desire.

  How could he not expect me to be curious about how he got my number?

  He found out where I lived, now he had my number. The man was able to get things without having to ask.

  But how?

  He had power, that I knew for sure. The tag on my body made that apparent, it had granted me immunity in the city I called home.

  Curse or blessing... That still wasn't clear.

  And why did he want me to bring my paintings?

  Curiosity was raking my insides, and it was twisting around my spine, taking me hostage.

  Checking the clock on my phone, I had two hours to get ready. Tapping the rim of the tub, I bit the inside of my cheek as I questioned if I should go.

  I knew what happened last time he asked me to meet him somewhere. That was hard to forget, even though I tried.

  Holy shit, did I try.

  Exhaling a long breath, my head dipped over the edge of the porcelain basin. The cold surface cooled my heated skin, as my brain rolled with wonder.

  What does he have up his sleeve now?

  Why do I need my paintings?

  I realized at that point I had nothing left to lose. Whatever it was he had planned, whatever it was that his twisted mind came up with...

  It couldn't be worse than watching fire eat my ambition.

  ***

  Laying the frames next to me in the taxi, I told the driver where I needed to go. It was a fifteen minute drive to Gaston's Wharf; a long, anxiety filled, sweat inducing fifteen minute drive.

  I thought I was nervous for the investor meeting, but this was a whole different state of nervousness. At least for the meeting with the investor, I had some clue of what it was supposed to be.

  This, this was a giant question mark.

  Go with it, Lo. You're not the same person anymore.

  Take the risk!

  It wasn't hard for me to decide on what two paintings I was going to bring. The first was one I painted over a year ago. It was full of colors, a blend of every color I had and could create.

  The image was twenty by twenty-four, big, but one I had poured my heart into. It was realism in the face of a young girl I saw at the park. She was with her mother, her father, and her younger brother.

  The girl looked so innocent, like the world was still the beautiful place her dreams had made it out to be. An untainted face, full of purity, life, love. She was happy, and young enough to still be oblivious to the evils the world contained all around her.

  The age when you think magic is real, that fairy tales are reachable in reality, and that if you blow out those candles... Your wish will come true.

  If only that belief could be imprinted permanently. Unfortunately, the day would come when the veil gets pulled, and her views will change.

  But on that day, I captured the moment for her.

  She was playing with her brother, trying to get a kite into the air. The whole scene I found to be so breathtaking, so honest. I took that sight and created a picture I wanted to crawl into.

  The field she ran through was shrouded in different flowers, the sun was setting on the horizon, and her smile... Her smile was just warming.

  It was what childhood should look like. A world away from what I had, an entire solar system from the life I knew until I was twelve.

  That was when my grandmother finally got permanent custody of me. When your alcoholic mother gets threatened numerous times to have you torn from her grip, you'd think that should be all it would take for her to kick the bottle.

  I used to tell myself, maybe it'll be today. Maybe if I try harder, maybe if I hug her more, love her more, maybe then she'd choose me.

  I guess having another life to care for isn't always enough to change a person.

  And when I was gone... It still wasn't enough.

  Love isn't something your soul feels on reflex, it's earned. Unconditional doesn't always mean forever, it can have a shelf life. That was a hard lesson to learn.

  For my mother, love wasn't even in her dictionary.

  The second painting I picked was my newest and most emotional work of art. It was the picture I painted when I decided it was time for my life to change.

  That one held a deeper meaning, a deeper connection. I debated bringing it, unsure if it was something I wanted to show to anyone else at all.

  But in the end, it was my favorite. It was when my cocoon had shelled me, opening up and letting me spread my wings. I had gone from a weak, afraid soul, to a confident, outspoken voice.

  It was worth another set of eyes viewing it.

  The painting was built of only colors, no full image, no real solid form. It was strokes, it was layers, and the tender shape it held was a soft shadow of my face.

  The taxi slowed at the entrance to Gaston's, then a large hand stuffed into my face looking for payment. Searching for money I barely had to keep myself living, money that I couldn't be laxed about spending.

  Glancing around out the window, the place was swarmed. People, stands, carts, were all set in what looked like a giant flea market. “What's going on?” I asked.

  The driver chuckled. “You're not from around here, are you?” Shaking my head no, my eyes bulged with wonder as I peered out the window. “It's the annual art festival, they throw it every year.”

  My lungs hopped into my throat. Swallowing hard, I pressed the bills into the driver's hand. Tossing him a weak smile, I opened the door. “Thank you.”

  Art festival... What the hell is Kash thinking?

  Why would he have me come here?

  Stepping out of the bright yellow taxi, I slid the frames snugly under my arm. I was shaking, visibly shaking from my shoulders to my legs. Even my damn earlobes were vibrating against my jawline.

  Looking up, there was a huge banner draping over the curly script of Gaston's name. The sign was bold, hand painted in amazing sweeping lines.

  'Vivid Eyes Art Festival,' I said out loud, under my breath.

  Inhaling the salty sea air, I stepped under the arch. My eyes expanded past their limit as a plethora of paintings, drawings, and sketches were spread as far as I could see.

  I wasn't sure where I was going, or what the hell I was doing there. So I just did what I could, and I walked.

  Walking around stands that were set up for the most intense face painting I'd ever seen, the artists all glanced up and sent a pleasant smile my way.

  It was nice, I'd never really been to an art festival of this caliber before. The ones back home were so small and minuscule compared to this.

  At home you'd get maybe a handful of artists and their work, while the local ice cream truck would circle the large parking lot.

  To be honest, after seeing this... It was pathetic.

  Gripping the frames, I hugged them tightly. The place was huge and I had no idea where Kash was hiding. I kept looking for him over my shoulder, expecting him to jump out from some corner.

  But he never did, leaving me to wander around aimlessly.

  As I carved my way through the hoard of people, the sea seemed to open. The people turned into a tunnel wall, creating a perfect path for me to walk gracefully through.

  And then my eyes met the sight of my life. My chest seized, throat going dry and arid. My lids soared to my eyebrows, eyes engulfed and popping from my head.

  At the end of Moses' bridge was Kash, his arms held out, a huge glimmering smile spread from cheek to cheek. His lips were highlighted perfectly by the frame of his beard, my mind instantly remembering their feel against my skin.

  A tremble hit my lungs, my heart skipping a million beats in that one second of t
ime.

  Dipping his head, he bowed. Holding his arm up to point at the sign by his side. There was a small table set up with an easel at each end.

  Above his hand was a set of words I never expected to read. It was my name, with 'Artist' clearly written above. A bunch of chairs were set in front of the small table, starting to fill with people.

  “Hey, I'm glad you decided to come. Otherwise I'd look like a complete fucking jerk to these people.” Scooping my shoulder in his massive hand, he pulled me in close. “Hope you're still not pissed.”

  My lungs inhaled a quick breath, lips splitting in arousal. We were almost touching, chest to breast. My nipples hardened on reflex, scraping my bra, willing him to stroke them.

  “What... What is this?” I asked, completely shocked.

  “This?” He half questioned, looking around.

  “Yes, this. What is it?”

  “Oh, this is your debut.”

  “My what?”

  “Your debut. You can't become a famous artist if no one knows who you are. This is the day your name gets heard, Willow.”

  “Kash, I'm not ready for this.” The nerves had hit full throttle, blood rushing to redden my cheeks.

  “Yes you are. Willow, you've been ready, I saw your paintings.” Slipping the images out from under my arm, Kash studied them like he was reading an x-ray. “These are incredible. How come they weren't at our meeting?”

  “You remember the ones I brought there?” I asked, totally taken back that he knew these two had been left out.

  He actually looked at them before.

  “Yes, talent like yours doesn't go unnoticed.” Pausing, Kash drew a finger over my arm. “And you didn't bring them to our meeting because?” Arching a brow, he tilted his head.

  “Because they're my best works... Because... I don't know.” Dropping my head, I talked into my shoulder. “I guess I thought about keeping them for myself.”

  “Well, today we see what you're worth. These are going up for auction.”

  “Wait, what? Auction?” Throwing my hands up, a grimace scorned my expression.

  The thought of unknown people bidding for my work scared the fuck out of me. I hadn't tried to sell anything yet.

  Oh shit... No, no.

  I can't do this, I'm nowhere near ready.

  My inner voice started to run rampant through my head. It was yelling and screaming, telling me to close my eyes, run away, go hide so I don't have to feel the embarrassment of not selling anything.

  What if they don't like them?

  What if they laugh at me and think I'm a joke?

  I was a nobody to these people, why would they want to spend anything on an artist they didn't know.

  “Yup, auction. It all starts here, Willow. Right here, right now.”

  “No, I can't. What if they don't like them?” I started to step back, my feet moving away even without direct orders from my brain.

  It was that natural instinct, my body going back into its defenses, doing what I had always done.

  Running.

  “Willow, trust me, if I didn't think you had talent, we wouldn't be doing this.” His fingers slipped over my head, calming my body and breathing. “You don't believe in yourself, I'm telling you, you have something special. Just trust me.”

  “I'm going to throw up.” Cupping my palm to my lips, I felt my stomach doing loops. My insides were turning, twisting, coiling into springs and flinging around my gut.

  “Nope, you can't. It's time for you to take your throne.” Holding my shoulders, he guided me over to the table. Pulling out the seat, Kash took my two pictures and set them in the easels.

  An audible hush fell over the crowd, their eyes gawking and digging away at the paintings.

  My body was on fire, a raging tornado of flames. I felt my cheeks turn bright red, sweat had started to bubble across my forehead. Wiping away the beads, my hands careened into my thighs to rub them dry.

  This was so out of my element, exactly the type of situation I avoided. The eyes, the glares, the feeling of people staring at me and just me. I hated it.

  My face was begging Kash to stop this, eyes pleading for him to not leave me sitting here alone. My head shook side to side, lips mouthing the words, “No, not yet. Not yet.”

  Smiling, Kash softly backed away from the small awkwardly personal stand. And I was left alone, turning ghostly white in front of the mass of people.

  The crackle of a speaker quieted the mumble of voices, all eyes falling onto the podium to my right. Letting out a sigh of relief, it felt good to know everyone had turned away from me.

  But it didn't last long. Not long enough.

  The auctioneer announced himself and thanked everyone for being there. His voice was deep, highlighted with a low southern twang. Kash stood at his side, eyes never flinching off of me.

  He was locked on, soaking himself in my presence.

  And when the old me would've felt uncomfortable, shying away, and trying to hide under the table...

  All my nerves had swept away.

  I didn't feel the way I thought I would. I looked for it, I searched my inner voice, but instead of hearing the sounds of yells, or screams to run; I heard nothing.

  His eyes enticed me, they devoured me, they kept me locked on him. It was incredible. Kash had gone out of his way to take a risk on me, he was trying to give my paintings a fair chance.

  The business side of him wanted to see what he could make off my work, the animal side of him wanted me there. That was easy for me to recognize, the way his eyes smiled at me, told me everything he was thinking.

  And the way his muscles were flexing, pulsing, firming... They told me he wasn't done with me.

  Everything that followed all happened so fast. The auctioneer began this verbal assault on my ears. His words were shooting out, tongue flickering with syllables. But all the words were blended together, a long drawn out train of 'ing's, ah's,' and sounds I didn't even know a mouth could make.

  Hands in the audience were jumping up, the small round number cards flashed like large rain drops. They were hitting the air in every direction, the auctioneer's arm pointing out with each new bid.

  I couldn't keep track, no matter how much I tried. My neck hurt from rotating through faces, ears buzzing from the vocal tongue tango.

  And as soon as it had started, it was over.

  “Sold!” the auctioneer yelled. His fist darted out, then came back to slam the podium with his small wooden hammer.

  Wait... What?

  Sold? They sold?

  I actually sold my art.

  Chapter Twenty

  Kash

  She looked amazing. Despite her nerves, and the anxious tick she tapped the table with, or the shifty way her eyes bounced across the crowd. Even behind that, Willow looked like she was right where she belonged.

  She was in the middle of a high, watching the price of her paintings rocket up and up. But I wasn't surprised, when I saw what she could do with a brush, I knew she was even more special than I realized.

  And I was happy right there, knowing that I was going to bring this woman's dreams back. I had decided it was my job, my life's position to give her what she deserved.

  The auctioneer slammed the hammer for the last time, his final sale price was set in stone. Each painting sold for almost twenty grand. Her eyes were huge, the color drained from her skin, leaving her a milky soft white.

  A gorgeous silky white; radiant, luminescent color, striking my core.

  I couldn't stop smiling, my cheeks were stuck turned up, eyes thinned in a grin of their own. The damn girl was so tough on herself, she'd never realized her own worth.

  And right then, right in that moment...

  She showed it for the first time.

  Cocking her head, she eyed me from behind the small group of people that had approached her. Willow was nodding, her teeth bared in a giant smile as she talked to the unknown strangers.

  They had crowded around her wo
rk, all pointing and asking questions. And Willow, she just looked perfect. Her head would nod, her slender fingers would drift around the painting as she spoke.

  But her eyes, they were never far from me. Each glance, each turn of her head, and bat of her lashes, it sent sparks over my brain. My body would ignite, muscles tingling with envy and passion for the woman I wanted.

  The woman I needed desperately with every inch of my being.

  She had come into my world, and I would be damned if I was ever going to let her go. In a short amount of time, this girl had me questioning everything I thought I didn't need, everything I had cast away into forgotten memories.

  Willow had conjured up feelings. Real, true, heart burning, lung seizing feelings. That wasn't going to go unnoticed, I couldn't ignore what she brought out in me.

  As the last person shook her hand and stepped back into the festival, I leaned against the podium and smirked. My arms were folded across my chest, hands tucked into my ribs. “Looks like you're a better artist than you thought, huh?”

  “Kash, I don't understand how you did this.” Her feet glided across the ground with ease, bringing her inches from my chest. “But thank you.” Teasing the loop on my jeans with her finger, her shoulders twisted side to side.

  “I didn't do anything, this was all you.”

  “Come on, you brought me here, you put this together. Credit is deserved on your part.”

  Holding my hands up, my back went straight. “Hey, I just laid out the stage, the rest was because it was amazing, and those people realized it.”

  Pursing her lips, she veered her stare. “You asked me before if my tattoo was treating me good.”

  Nodding, I said, “Yeah, and is it?”

  “How do I know my art didn't just sell because I'm linked to you?”

  Laughing, I teased her elbow with delicate fingers. “Willow, didn't you notice? I had you sit down. Do you know why I had you sit down?”

  “No, not exactly. I've never done something like this before, I thought it was all part of the show.” Her finger spun a tight circle, head turning back to look at the seat that had just made her.

  “I had you sit down specifically so no one would see the connection between us. I wanted this to be fair, it might not have been if they saw my name on your thigh. You sitting, made this all even better.” Biting my lip, I tipped my chin up.