by Gaja J. Kos
“I—I’d love to.” That flash of light in her eyes was worth the awkwardness he seemed unable to shake. “And I’m sure Audrey would, too.”
“Audrey.” William glanced at the other woman, now able to make out a faint outline of her features and the leopard pattern of her coat under the weak artificial light.
She appeared to be in her very early twenties—much like the brunette before him. But not even that somewhat unnerving fact could persuade him to sod off now.
“And you are?” he asked, a single corner of his lips tugging up.
“Lily.” She extended her hand. “Lily Summers.”
“William Charleston.”
Despite the bloody cold, her skin was warm, and—being the asshole that he was—he couldn’t resist holding it for a moment longer than was necessary. Then again, Lily Summers didn’t seem in a hurry to break off the contact, either.
It was a struggle not to draw her closer, run his fingers through those warm brown strands.
He let her go before the urge turned impossible.
A faint blush crept up her cheeks as she shifted her cigarette from her left hand to the right once more. Then, locking her gaze on his with newly found courage, she took a drag, those nude-painted lips that wrapped around the gold filter giving him ideas no respectable man his age should have about someone this young.
Fuck.
He wasn’t that kind of bastard, fantasizing about someone he’d just met.
Those days were long, long gone. Besides, not even then had he ever contemplated how a woman’s lips would feel wrapped around his cock before he’d at least bought her a drink.
To be honest, he’d never been at half-mast upon meeting someone, either.
Bloody hell, what was wrong with him?
He seriously needed to get out of here before he would do something he’d regret later. Like ask her out, knowing there was no possible way things could work out between them.
A voice inside him nagged that that particular ship had already sailed. Might as well do his best now.
Or worst, he thought bitterly.
“Well, then, that’s settled. There will be two tickets waiting for you tomorrow in my name, Lily.” He offered her a smile. “I hope you and your friend enjoy the rest of the evening.”
Contrary to his previous beliefs, William skipped the pub entirely and went straight home instead. The ale in the fridge had a lot more appeal than sitting in a crowded place—especially now that his apartment was finally devoid of his ex and her poisonous glares that had followed his every move.
William winced, then eased himself into the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window. London’s skyline spread before him in a spill of lights, augmenting the silence.
He’d sworn to himself. No more women.
Until tonight, it had proven to be an easy vow to uphold, given he had no desire to get tangled up with anyone after Trisha had blatantly ignored his wish to relocate to his homeland. Alone.
Oh, you sorry sod, he thought to himself, feeling the flickers of anger kindle low in his gut.
Flickers of guilt, too.
He clamped down hard on the impulse to defend his ex.
Christ, he’d gone through the same argument numerous times just to return to it yet again whenever he thought of her. Passing the blame like it was a ball in a bloody perpetual tennis match.
Her fault, his fault. Hell, it was all one massive Gordian knot.
He massaged the bridge of his nose. Still, he should have done something the moment Trisha had dragged her suitcases inside. But truth was, when he’d told her he wanted to end things between them, she had flat-out refused. There were far too many blanks in his memory to even recall all the shit times, but the gist of it was that the woman had sunk in her claws.
For fuck’s sake, she’d been seeing other men behind his back… He hadn’t known that at the time, but now that he did, it made even less sense. Why on earth had she preferred to carry on taunting him for what a bloody worthless partner he was than simply break up with him?
Wasn’t it that people usually cheated because they had no desire to be with their significant other?
No wonder a part of him was still torn.
William shook his head, sighing deeply, and opened the bottle of ale. He filled the glass to the brim, watching the dark liquid settle.
No more women. That was what he’d promised himself the moment he finally pried the keys from Trisha’s grabby, vicious hands. He just didn’t have the energy left in him to deal with that kind of stress.
So why had he stopped in the parking lot? What was it about Lily Summers that made him want to see her tomorrow night?
Christ, the woman probably wasn’t even half his age, and he was certainly in no condition to plunge into another relationship. Casual sex… Well, he’d had his fair share in his earlier years before deciding it just wasn’t his thing. Too impersonal and not nearly relaxed enough. Not to mention that it tended to make him feel like shit afterwards.
He rubbed his fingers across his forehead, then took several swallows of the cool, frothy ale.
All he promised her were tickets. Not a date or a roll in the sack.
But something inside him crooned that he was bullshitting himself yet again.
Lily Summers had charmed him the instant he saw her arch an eyebrow while one of his colleagues had been going on and on about how he approached an award-winning author he was to photograph and asked him if he didn’t feel as if he were supporting colonialism by writing in French rather than his mother tongue.
Which was French, by the way.
Yeah, Theodore Sallows was that kind of asshole. And Lily Summers had seen right through it.
William couldn’t help loving her a little for that.
3
Manners
The nerves that kept Lily’s stomach twisted in a knot the entire day subsided the instant her gaze fell on the wall of photographs. William’s photographs, to be precise.
In a room full of art, they were the ones that not only drew the eye, but actually demanded her undivided attention. Dark, with landscapes that teetered on the verge between a nightmare and a dream, their presence saturated the space as if they were a living being, and Lily found herself walking across the gleaming marble floor, the complimentary glass of wine in her hand all but forgotten.
She stopped just far enough to survey the entire wall, then, one by one, drank in the exquisite play of shadows and light, the way art and reality seamlessly blended into something utterly unique.
It was astonishing, really, how the images lacked any kind of pretense, yet managed to capture so much emotion that she felt as if she were pulled into their own universe.
She pressed the cool glass to her lips and memorized the details to put down in her article later. Although how she was going to force herself to look at other works for the full coverage she was supposed to write was beyond her.
“Lily! What a pleasant surprise to see you here,” a familiar voice said from behind.
She half spun, a smile forming on her lips at the sight of her professor.
Bram Auster was one of the good ones. His History of Visual Art lectures were among her absolute favorites on the curriculum, the man himself among the smartest she’d ever met. Besides, he wasn’t the kind of person to sport that whole better-than-thou attitude that, unfortunately, seemed to be the norm.
Well, with the exception of those rare cases when the guilty party deserved it, of course.
“I was lucky to get in,” she admitted.
“And is your flamboyant friend around, too?” His lips curled up. “Or has the apocalypse truly arrived and she passed up the trio of good company, wine, and art for something more dreadfully mundane?”
Lily scrunched her nose at him and chuckled.
Audrey might have been convinced Auster was just being nice, but Lily saw the way his hazel eyes sparked whenever he saw her in class. And he never passed on the opportunity to at lea
st mention her whenever she wasn’t around.
Yeah, her professor had the hots for her best friend. The two of them only needed to stop being stubborn and admit it to one another.
“She’s here,” she said, not bothering to mask her amusement. “Although I think she ran off to see Myres’s work. You know how she loves a bit of pop art in everything.”
Auster huffed, more affectionate than annoyed. Like Audrey, he was a sucker for pop art in every form and variety. After all, his groundbreaking thesis had been on Liechtenstein, who, coincidentally, was one of Audrey’s all-time favorites.
They really were the perfect match.
“Ah, I should have known she would go for his witty humor,” he commented dryly, but the mirth touching the corners of his eyes gave him away.
Lily tipped her head. “He is pretty talented.”
While Myres had been a dull, rip-her-hair-out kind of presence at the press conference yesterday, she couldn’t deny the bloke was inventive when it came to his photography. His work more than made up for the lack of flare in real life. There was passion there. Humor, too, as Bram had said.
But still, Myres fell short in every area compared to the man who was now headed in her direction.
Dressed in a deep green-blue checkered jacket with the top two buttons of his dark shirt undone, he looked more like a figment of her heated imagination than—
No, Lily doubted even her mind could come up with that level of good looks.
Her gaze caught on those stunning blue eyes. Then his mouth. Then beard. Fucking hell.
She burned to trace it with her fingertips, to feel those sharp cheekbones…and, possibly, the press of his lips.
Bloody perfect man.
Heat pooled low in her body, nipples tightening, and she blushed—violently at that. Damn her light skin. It was almost as if she had I want that man to fuck me six ways from Sunday written all over her face.
She pressed her thighs together and focused on her breaths, hoping to hell her carefully applied makeup would keep her professor from noticing how hot she was getting.
Of course, being the clever fox he was, Auster casted a casual glance over his shoulder then greeted William very loudly before shooting her a not-so-discreet wink. Oh, fabulous. Just fucking fabulous.
She could have pretended to be busy examining the art, but her reactions were slow. And William’s too fast.
“Bram bloody Auster.” He placed a hand on his shoulder. “Since when are you any good at keeping secrets? You didn’t say you were coming, you wanker.”
“I’m leaving, too,” Bram shot back without missing a beat. “I have some pop art to ogle before your darkly brooding display pins me to the bar and leaves me wallowing in self-pity for the rest of the night. Besides, you already have an admirer here. Wouldn’t want to feed your ego too much, mate.”
Lily couldn’t help it. She glared at her professor as her cheeks turned from warm to blistering.
But somehow that only made him grin wider.
Fucking great.
Not only did Auster know she had the hots for his acquaintance—no, worse, his friend—but he seemed adamant to paint it on a bloody banner. As if she weren’t burning up inside from embarrassment already.
Mercifully, William told him to sod off before any other awkward thing happened to spill from his lips. Though, judging by the amused glint in William’s green-blue eyes, the damage had already been done.
“You know Bram?” she asked once the man in question finally sauntered across the room, headed straight to Myres’s part of the exhibition.
The amusement was still there when his gaze fell on her again, but something else cut across his features, too. Something heated. Carnal even. She clenched her thighs tighter, heels clicking against the marble floor.
You’re imagining it, she told herself—but didn’t believe a damn word.
“Bram and I are old college mates.”
Lily arched an eyebrow, the unexpected answer anchoring the storm of her thoughts. Okay, so William wasn’t twenty-five years older than her. Just twenty. That was better, wasn’t it?
“You’re taking his classes, I presume?”
Ignoring the sudden hesitation she sensed seeping into his voice, Lily nodded. “He’s my thesis mentor, too.”
“Master’s degree?” The hesitation lessened. A little.
Again, Lily nodded. And detested herself for it.
Sure, she was an introvert, but carrying a conversation really shouldn’t be this hard. Had never been, actually. Her mind, however, didn’t seem inclined to produce anything even remotely helpful.
Except swear words.
Those certainly suffered no shortage.
God, she couldn’t believe she was freezing up like some schoolgirl with a crush. Audrey would probably have a thousand subtle come-ons ready by now, but she couldn’t bring herself to think of a single one.
Furious with herself, she scrambled for a viable explanation. It must have been the sheer number of people who started milling around them over the past couple of minutes, eager to sneak in a word with the photographer, that made her this way.
Or maybe it was just that being around William fucking Charleston made it hard to even think straight.
He had looked positively dashing before, but up close, he was jaw-dropping gorgeous. The glint of those silver hairs, the small, soft wrinkles in the corners of his eyes… And his voice—
No, she wouldn’t fantasize about him while the man was standing right there.
But everywhere she looked and regardless of how hard she tried, that heated ache within her continued to grow. Her gaze brushed against those lean, masculine fingers. They were wrapped around his wine glass with a casual elegance that could only be labeled as hand porn. Oh god.
She smoothed down her A-line skirt, thankful she’d picked it over the almost sheer, pencil one she’d wanted to wear initially. She was pretty certain her panties were soaked through and through by now.
“Thank you again, for inviting me.” She met the force of William’s now perfectly blue eyes. “It means a lot.”
The words were plain, but honest. While Lily hated crowds with a passion, there was something special about being among the first to actually see the exhibition. Like catching those first rays of sunlight before dawn spilled across the streets.
William’s entire face softened as he smiled. “Don’t mention it, Lily. It’s nice to have someone around who appreciates the work, not just the opportunity to appear in tomorrow’s papers.”
“I hardly think Auster is here to look all important and pretty for a bit of social recognition.”
“Auster? Christ”—William ran his free hand through his hair—“he likes whoring out for the lens as much as the next bloke.”
She snorted, then nearly choked on her embarrassment. Manners, Lily, where are your fucking manners?
But William only laughed, and she really had no choice but to join in. It was bloody infectious.
She was acutely aware of the sudden increase of glances cast their way, but, surprisingly, she didn’t care. Not that she even wanted to. Something about that moment broke through the tension, dispelling the paralyzing tightness that had anchored itself at the base of her spine.
Good. This was good.
William’s fingers brushed against her elbow, electricity spreading through her veins at the touch. “I would hate to deprive you of your evening, but would you care to step outside for a smoke with me?”
4
Old Hollywood
William repeatedly told himself that all he wanted was simply to get away from the sharks closing in on him back on the main gallery floor. More and more people had started to loiter in his vicinity, watching him instead of the art they had supposedly come to see. Mingling had never been his thing, and taking praise from people who then criticized him behind his back seemed like a bloody waste of time and nerves. He’d rather someone call him a washed-up wanker to his face than watch th
ose false, syrupy smiles.
But if all he craved was a moment of solitude, then why was he guiding Lily down the employees’ only corridor?
The sound of her classy black heels ricocheted off the almost sterile white walls, becoming softer whenever they ran into one of the gallery’s workers or caterers—as if she wanted to make herself disappear entirely. And, honestly, could he even blame her?
She was young, still forging her career. Being seen with an old fart like him would probably do more damage to her reputation than good.
He was well aware that for all the grand words and talk of equality, women were still slapped with a whole lot of prejudice for the majority of time. Hell, the exhibition itself backed that wretched thought. He could shoot out the names of a dozen exceptional female photographers, but out of the seven slots at the Biennials, not a single one went to them.
He winced. He was a bastard himself for taking the offered position like the privileged fellow he was instead of giving the organizers shit for their lineup.
A soft sigh rose, then fell in his chest.
Refusing the slot would have been the right thing to do. But then he wouldn’t have met Lily…
Caught somewhere between annoyance and gratitude, he pushed open the door and held it for her. Relief washed over him when he spotted no one lurking by the thin, metallic strip of an ashtray, and before he knew what he was doing, he pressed his fingers lightly to the small of Lily’s back.
Despite the thick woolen coat she had on, he could feel the heat of her body—feel that bloody alluring curve of her spine, too. He couldn’t deny he had half the mind to fuck her right here and now, if she agreed.
That, however, was precisely why he had zero intention of letting anything ever remotely close to a question on that matter slip from his tongue.
No more women.
Yet somehow he couldn’t help thinking that Lily might be his exception to the rule.
Once they reached the ashtray and the contact between them dissipated, he breathed a little easier, although the loss of her warmth was almost staggering in the brisk cold of the night.