by Nana Malone
She barked out a laugh. “He's too smart for that. I think Nick was hoping you were an easy mark, but no way would I have let that happen.”
“I know my way around a racket.”
“Oh, I had no idea. Did you want—”
“No. Staying here with you is where I want to be.”
She frowned. “You want to tell me what’s eating you?”
***
Eli glanced at Jessica quickly before bringing his attention back to Jason and Izzy on the court. Jason’s strokes were smooth and powerful. Izzy’s were no less powerful, but she played more from a place of heart. She was aggressive and went after every ball. Hell, she could have gone pro herself. Not to mention that kid of theirs. Aaron was a tennis weekender, but also hyper competitive, so the game below was lively.
“Nothing’s eating me. I’m fine. This was really fun. Thank you for bringing me along.” That wasn’t a lie. It was one of the few things he’d said these last few days that didn’t have a tinge of a lie attached to it.
“You might be having fun, but you’re also deflecting. What gives? You’re in super charming mode, and it’s awesome, but I can tell that something’s up with you. Come on.” She nudged his shoulder with her own. “I can be a good listener. I know most of the time we’re together it’s either work or blazing hot sex, but I am capable of talking, too.”
Leaning on the railing, Eli turned to face her. “I know you’re capable of talking.”
“Then come on.” She beckoned him with her hands. “They say confession is good for the soul.”
The hell it was. In his case, confession would lose him his brother and the woman he cared about. “It’s nothing. Just a little family squabble.”
She blinked. Once then twice. “With all my crazy family antics, I don’t think I’ve heard you mention yours once.”
“I don’t talk about them much.”
“Well, what’s going on? Do you have a crazy stepfather-to-be who is trying to steal your mother’s sizable fortune? Perhaps a struggling gallery that you want to save? Come on, let me help.”
God, his shoulders ached with the secrets and lies he was carrying around. He wanted to tell her everything, but no matter what, he still owed Samson. “My brother and I aren’t exactly getting along right now. We're not seeing eye to eye on a couple of things.”
She wrinkled her delicate brows. “Older or younger?”
“Younger.” By minutes, but he wasn’t going to spill that little tidbit. “I’ve been looking out for him my whole life. My mother and I have. I haven’t always done a good job of it.”
“Well, what makes you think he needs looking after? Is he over eighteen?”
Eli nodded.
“Then why are you still taking care of him?”
“When we were kids, our parents separated. I went with Mom, he went with Dad. He ran into trouble with a rough crowd. Drugs. The whole thing. It messed him up pretty good. I helped him get clean, but I think he’s in trouble again. I tried talking to him about it, but I guess I fucked that up.”
“You guess?” She nodded. “Oh, you did that thing that you do where your voice gets all authoritative, and you start demanding instead of asking nicely?”
“I pretty much accused him of using again and accused him of lying about it.”
“Ouch.”
Eli nodded. “Tell me about it. It didn’t end well.”
“Hence the jaw.” She lightly touched his chin. “Do you honestly think he's using?”
He puffed out a breath. “It's the only thing that makes sense. You get used to seeing everything as a lie. Looking around corners, waiting to be disappointed.”
“I'm so sorry. Though a wise man once told me that's no way to live your life, and sometimes you have to give people the benefit of the doubt.”
“Whoever told you that was kidding himself.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. He might have had a point in some situations.”
“So you think I should trust him?”
“I wish I could give you a clear cut answer. I know how you thrive on those.”
He couldn't help the chuckle. She already knew him so well.
“But it's family, so I can’t give you any real advice. Except he's your brother, so you have to keep reaching out. One day you'll look around and be all alone, and that sucks more than you can know. You have to just keep trying to help him no matter what.”
He stared in her wide blue eyes and frowned. Something was different. “What happened to half your piercings?”
“Took some out.”
He couldn't help himself—his eyes darted to her right breast. Clearing his throat he asked, “You didn’t get rid of all your piercings, did you? ‘Cause I was really starting to like one of them.” Blood immediately rushed to his groin, and he wished he'd been able to keep the conversation away from her smoking body for just a moment. Now, all he could think about was her nipple ring and her response to him tugging on it with his teeth.
A light blush stained her cheekbones. “No, I ah, left that one intact. I figured it was too much fun to get rid of. Besides, that one's private. Only a select few know it's there or will ever see it.”
Let’s keep it that way. “I'm glad to be one of the few.”
Her body swayed into his, and his blood quickened enough for him to feel the spike of heat throughout his body. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.
A squeal from the bottom of the stairs had them jumping apart. Izzy was at the top of the stairs in no time. “Are you two sure you don’t want to play? Aaron refuses to play against me and Jason. Apparently, he'd like to stop losing.”
Jessica darted a quick look at Eli and spoke quickly. “No thanks, babes, we should probably get—”
Izzy interrupted Jessica by putting a hand on her hip and raising an eyebrow. “If you're about to say the two of you better be going, might I remind you that it's my birthday and that we have more than enough room in this house to put you guys up for the night?” She sized Eli up. “Jason has plenty of stuff to fit you, Eli. Please, I'd like you to stay.”
Jessica sputtered to silence beside him. “Iz, you can't—”
The warmth coming from Izzy was genuine. She meant it, and because Eli wanted to escape his life for one more night, he said, “Thank you. We'd love to stay the night.”
***
Eli glanced around at the candlelit guest cabana. “I feel a little bamboozled.”
Jessica's eyes went wide. “I had nothing to do with this. I swear, I’ll kill her. She always has been a bit of a meddler. I—”
“Would you relax? You act like no one’s ever teased you before. It's nice. Not what I expected at all.”
“Yeah, well, this is Izzy. She believes in love and shit.” She quickly slammed her eyes shut. “Not that…I don't mean…This isn't love obviously. We're just…Business.”
“Friends,” he offered, to be helpful.
“Right. Friends who've seen each other naked. So not a love thing. I—”
Eli had to laugh. She was always so confident that her nervousness now rattled him. “Jessica, why are you nervous?”
She puffed out a breath, and her bangs fluttered off her forehead and back again. “I'm pretty shitty at relationships, as we've discussed. Like really bad. I choose the guys in the band, or the one covered in tats and piercings, or the drifter, or the guy who has no future potential. I've done it all my life. At first because those were the kind of guys my dad hated, and later because, well, let's face it, they were hot and let me keep playing at misfit. I've never once even been near a guy who’s normal.”
He frowned. “What makes you think I’m normal?” No one had ever called him normal before. Shit, Vince called him a freak on a daily basis.
“Look at you.” Her hands waved up and down his body. “I mean, you're beautiful to look at obviously, but you're buttoned up on the surface. Even though you’re an artist, you have an analytical mind. You know what you want in life, and not
hing will get in your way. You’re driven. You have a future beyond how you’re going to pay rent this month. Your idea of traveling isn't a series of bar crawls all around America and Mexico. You're normal-ish. I've never dated normal. Leave it to my best friend to get a little over excited.”
“You know, a wise woman told me once to focus on the outcome I want, and I can make my dreams happen. If you wanted normal all these years, you are the only reason you didn’t have it.”
“Not nice to throw my words back at me.”
He shrugged. “Which one are you, the pot or the kettle?”
She gave him a wry smirk.
Everything about her made his blood hum. “Jessica, come here. I want to show you something.”
“Why do I have a feeling this something is going to require me being naked?”
“It’s like you've read my mind.” He tugged her toward the outdoor shower.
She took his outstretched hand. “Aren't you the one who told me once that for what you had in mind you needed privacy and condoms? That shower is open to everyone.”
“Everyone went upstairs already. Where’s the daring woman who wanted me so bad she considered the back room of a club?”
“She's feeling shy.”
He stroked her knuckles with his thumb. “Why?”
“Because I have a feeling you’re going to matter.”
Dread clenched Eli’s gut. He couldn’t continue lying to her. He had to tell her the truth.
***
Eli didn’t know why, but the moment he walked in the door still carrying his overnight bag from Malibu, he headed straight for the spare room and sat down at his work table. The soapstone was smooth and cool to his touch. His tools were even cooler but quickly warmed as he handled them. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, but when he finally put his chisel to rest, a woman’s body had started to emerge from the stone. Just her back so far, but he already knew there would be etchings on her back—if he could get the tattoos to appear properly into the stone.
Exhausted, he leaned back against his seat. He'd eventually have to talk to Samson properly. They needed to really talk. Not that bullshit attempt they’d already had. There was no way Eli could explain how it felt to think his own brother was lying again. But until they all had some answers about who was behind the Millionaire Doubles pieces, Sam would always be a suspect. And short of aiding and abetting, there wouldn't be too much to be done about keeping Sam out of jail.
Chapter 21
The lights faded from dim to dark, and the hairs on Jessica’s arms stood up. This was it. Sex time. Er, show time. She wondered if the effect would be the same, now that she knew the artist. Would her blood heat the same way it had when she'd first seen Samson perform? Would it roar in her head and make her think of being hot and sweaty with someone dark, dangerous and oh so wrong for her?
The deep bass began, and to her surprise, it wasn't thrashing rock like the last show she’d seen of his. It was something from the islands. Reggae but faster. Izzy had introduced her to island music by always playing it around the studio, but this wasn’t a song Jessica recognized.
This wasn’t dancehall. Nor was it the thrumming laziness of a Bob Marley song. This was darker, deeper. Mixed with something more primal. Before a minute was up, Jessica’s heartbeat followed the thrumming drum chord. And her blood beat thick and hot.
When dim lights lit up the center box, Jessica was already holding her breath and swaying toward the display. She licked her dry lips and tried to see through the opaque fabric like she'd done that first night, but she couldn't. The illusion was there that she'd be able to see just enough, but not enough to identify him. No wonder she hadn’t had any idea that she'd taken the artist home that night. Jesus, this part of the exhibition art was pure magic. And totally worked to get the artist laid. A fact that made her want to growl at the over-forty, educated, MILF crowd that had flocked to the event.
No use being pissed off at Eli though. Hell. She was as gullible as the audience. She’d been a little seduced by it that first night. But the man she met was so different than the persona. Hotter. Eli was right. This mystery—that was Samson. She had Eli. That was even better than the illusion. He was real.
With an abrupt halt to the music, silhouettes stood on the stage, the clearly female form with voluptuous breasts and curvy hips lay prone on the settee with her back arched as if waiting for her lover to arrive and ravage her. The masculine frame stalked around her as if accepting a gift on an altar but deciding which delectable piece to try first. Through the shear fabric, Jessica could see Eli cocking his head as he did every time something confused him or didn’t work quite as expected.
The music began again as quickly as it had stopped. Accompanying it was the first slash of paint. Every woman in the audience jumped about a foot as the paint arched then appeared to hit the woman right between her legs.
They all leaned in, Jessica included as she stood on tip-toe to get a better look. And she'd seen the bloody show before. God, she needed help.
For the next thirty minutes, Jessica watched with a tight fist clamped around her champagne glass as Samson carefully arced paint over delicate feminine parts. Eventually, she couldn't even watch. She knew how it went. She turned away and made it to the back of the venue where most of the husbands of the wealthy patrons had congregated.
They were no dummies, they knew better than to get in the way. They also knew enough to purchase every single piece of art in the joint. Her phone kept pinging with every sale. Shit, so far tonight, she'd already made Samson one hundred thirty thousand dollars, and that was just for eleven pieces. She'd found the perfect artist for her gallery. Or at least to buy her enough time to fill it with other artists so they didn’t run into the same problem again. To keep the project up.
Then why the hell did she feel so freaking miserable?
There was a collective moan from the audience. Oh great, he was touching the model now, gently caressing her breasts. Massaging in the paint to display the picture he wanted. This is part of his job. This is part of his job. This is part of his job. She kept muttering to herself, hoping it would sink in. His job or not, she was sick with jealousy. It was one thing to have seen the show once and been okay with it then. It was another thing to sort of know about the show and the things he did to women in the show to make then come to apparent orgasm.
A woman on Jessica’s far right muttered, “Oh, sweet Jesus.” She fanned herself, but kept her eyes glued to the center stage as if it was her lifeblood.
Fantastic. Right about now Eli had his face buried between the model’s legs and was simulating giving her the best oral sex of her life. “It’s not real,” she muttered to herself again. Nope, still didn't help.
Having to actually watch her lover, the man she was half in love with, simulate going down on another woman was too much to endure. She couldn't take it. There was no way she could do this. It hurt way too much. And Eli was too talented an artist for her to pull the jealous girlfriend card and beg him to stop. Shit, she loved his art too much to beg him to stop.
The music died down, and the crowd hushed. All she could hear in the venue now was the model’s supposedly faked orgasm. Jess knew what was happening now without having to see it. Model du jour was doing porn stars proud and putting on a good show. Samson was stepping back and staggering a little, as if he were drunk off of the model's essence, then seeking something to cover up his sacrifice, he'd throw a canvas over her. The model then vanished from the tableau.
Several minutes later, the model, Stacy, woke as if from a dream, wrapped in this canvas. She emerged from the tableau naked, but strategically covered in paint. She held out the fresh canvas.
Perfection. Then why did Jessica feel so sick? Because I’m a moron.
She knew the truth. She could never get used to this feeling. The jealousy. You can’t have him. He was meant to be enjoyed by the masses. Guys like that were never meant to be with someone, at least not long term. As al
ways, she'd chosen the unavailable guy. Pain sliced deep, nearly doubling her over.
Jessica’s eyes stung, and she swiped away a tear that spilled down her cheek. Her phone had been steadily buzzing. If all Samson's work wasn’t gone, it would be by now. She'd priced his whole collection at four hundred and fifty thousand dollars. With the sculpture being an extra twenty. It would be a neat haul to take home, and he'd have to get going on more work ASAP. She could do this. Take them back to a professional footing. Didn’t matter what he smelled like, or how he touched her, or how vulnerable he looked when he talked about his brother. He wasn’t hers. She couldn't keep him. Even if she did love him.
***
Eli watched his brother from a corner in the hotel suite. Samson looked ragged and replete, but he also looked ecstatic. Standing there covered in paint and sweat and God knew what else, Samson looked…happy. Even if he hadn’t already known the answer in his bones, Eli would have known it then; there was no way Sam would have jeopardized everything for money or drugs. He wasn’t using again. He wasn’t forging again.
Pain and regret sliced through Eli with enough force to carve him in half. He'd spent so many years trying to look after his brother and failing.
“Sam, I—”
Sam dragged a breath in and braced an arm against the tarp-covered bureau. “Don’t okay? Just don’t. I don’t have the energy to fight with you tonight.”
Eli sat forward in the chair. “I actually came to apologize.”
Sam's brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it's generally what you do after you fuck something up. Open your trap and let an 'I'm sorry' make its way off your tongue. I should probably try it more often.”
As Sam began wiping the paint off with hot towels, he muttered, “I'm listening.”
Eli scrubbed a hand in front of his face. “I should have trusted you. I'm sorry I didn't. My whole life is this fucked up carousel where I look at beautiful things all day but tell myself none of them will be real, so all I see is the ugliness underneath them instead of the beautiful things they are, regardless if they're real or not.”