“And what help is it? I’m not arguing, I’m intrigued.”
“It gives kids confidence, an outlet, a different perspective. A different way of seeing things.” Eva drank her wine, and wondered if it was the alcohol talking now or not. “And someone who’ll listen to them, when they feel as if the world really isn’t that bothered whether they exist or not.”
“Sometimes the world isn’t. The world would rather they didn’t,” he replied. “Promise me that you’ll never tell them that.”
“I promise.” She smiled at him over the rim of her glass. “Actually… I was saying to Rupert earlier, it’d be nice to bring them here to your exhibition. Could we arrange something? I know you’re really busy, but maybe…just give it a thought. It would be wonderful to bring them here, and if you talked to them about your work—”
“I don’t think that’s my scene, but you should bring them to the show.” He gave a soft chuckle. “I’d like to get an opinion that isn’t rehearsed, sycophantic and meaningless. Present company excepted.”
Eva ran her fingertip down his lapel, her gaze fixed on his. Could she really not convince him to meet her kids? “See? I don’t hate your art. Far from it, it’s brilliant, but I think you could be more brilliant still.”
Daniels flicked his sunglasses down over his eyes and sniffed again. “Where can I see your work? Besides cookbooks?”
“Here and there,” Eva said. “The Met…the Tate Modern…”
“Snap. Small world.” He glanced around. “Small town. Maybe we’ll bump into each other.”
“Hope so!” Eva nodded. “If you still have my card, get in touch.”
“Do you think I’ve thrown it away?”
Eva glanced at the pocket she’d seen him put her card in. “I really wouldn’t like to assume one way or the other.”
“But if you had to? If your life depended on the guess.” He took another drink. “Did I keep your card or throw it away?”
Eva tipped her head to one side. “I reckon you’ve kept it. But you’ll forget it’s there. Then you’ll take your suit to the dry cleaner’s and find it in your pocket, and you’ll remember what we did. Every last little detail will come back to you.” She finished her drink. The question was, if he did remember her, would he want to see her again?
“But you won’t forget,” he told her with more than a trace of arrogance. “And when you’re in bed tonight you’ll be replaying it in your head. And you’ll be as wet then as you are now.”
How dare he assume— Eva tightened the grip on her glass. “Count yourself lucky that this glass is empty or I would’ve flung red wine in your face.”
“What a cliché you would’ve been.” He held out his own glass to her, still half-filled with red wine. “But if you insist on melodrama, be my guest.”
“No thanks.” Not for the first time that evening, Eva questioned what she was doing. If his arrogance annoyed her so much, why was she still courting his company? But she knew the answer. He was handsome, yes, there was that, but she liked it when he infuriated her. Too much. “I’ve monopolised enough of your time this evening, and all the art world of Brighton want to speak to you.”
“Bring your kids.” He glanced back at Rupert, who raised his glass. ‘And ask them, how can this be improved? We’re ready for our next enfant terrible, don’t you think?”
Eva smiled at him—a genuine, warm smile, because she was fairly sure that she had just been allowed a peep through the crack in Daniel Scott’s conceited armour. “Yes, we are. We really are.”
“Goodnight, Ms Catesby.” He leaned closer and kissed her cheek like a friend might. “Think of me tonight.”
Eva’s kiss in return was the most impeccably platonic she had ever bestowed. “Oh, I will. But only because you’ll be thinking of me.”
“Count on it.” Then he turned and finally gave his attention to Rupert and his hangers-on.
Chapter Two
She did think of him that night, of course, but with a wry smile. And she was still thinking about him when she got up the next morning, and kept an eye out as photographs of the private viewing went online.
Handsome sod, posing in his sunglasses.
One local news site had several photos showing Daniel with local artists, and there was even a picture of her and Daniel mid-flow, standing beneath one of his paintings.
“Oh no!” Eva scrolled quickly past the image, not wanting to spend another second looking at her red cheeks or the sparkle in her eyes. But after seeing some photos of Daniel with Rupert, Eva scrolled back up again to the picture of her with the enfant terrible and downloaded it to her computer. She flicked through the programme, smiling at what he had written, and sat it on her desk.
He didn’t contact her though. Just as she had expected. He might be recovering from a hangover or a comedown, but equally, he might have already moved onto someone else.
And I don’t care.
Although, as she worked on her illustration, she kept her phone beside her, and she checked her emails at half-hour intervals. Just in case her agent wanted to speak to her. Or even if Daniel Scott should happen to—
But he didn’t.
* * * *
Two days after the private viewing, and Daniel still hadn’t contacted her. That was it now. She stopped hovering over her phone and her emails, and put the programme away in a drawer.
By the third day, Daniel Scott was a pleasant memory. She thought of his grip on her waist as he took her, the heat in his lips as they kissed, the urgency of their coupling, the smoulder in his eyes. Eva would never forget any of that, but it seemed that he had.
She stood on the tiny balcony at the back of her studio, overlooking her modest garden as the shadows lengthened. Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
It wouldn’t be him, not now.
But who else would have sent her a message that read, Are the cakes still dancing?
She stared at the screen, laughing, but she desire uncoiled in her once again. She tapped out her reply.
It’s bees this week.
Eva put the phone back in her pocket, wondering if he would reply. Surely he was expecting her to say something else. A gushing omg how are you?? Xx, perhaps, but it wasn’t her style. Her bees might have put paid to their budding whatever-it-was.
She held her glass of lemonade to her blushing cheek. The ice in her drink didn’t seem able to cool it. Maybe she should send him another text. Nothing about bees this time, though.
Just as she took out her phone, it buzzed with a message.
I want you.
Nothing else, just those three words. Eva clutched the balcony rail, trembling as a wave of need swept through her. She shouldn’t, she really shouldn’t, but—
I want you too. Where are you?
In his new house overlooking the sea, or had he jetted back to New York? The thought that he might not even be in the same country as her anymore left Eva feeling desolate. She shouldn’t have let him get under her skin, but he had.
His reply was faster than before.
Where would you like me to be?
The answer to that was easy, at least.
Between my legs, she replied.
And waited.
The phone rang, but whoever the caller was, they had chosen to remain anonymous. She knew who it was, though. Eva let it ring for as long as she could bear before she swiped the screen to answer.
In her most deliberately breathy voice, Eva said, “The Palace of Dancing Cakes, Eva speaking, how can I help you?”
“Tell me how wet you are,” Daniel said, his voice husky with desire.
Eva’s hand shook. She couldn’t stay outside here, where her neighbours would overhear. Or see.
Heading back into the studio, closing the window behind her and drawing the curtain, Eva replied, “Wet enough for your enormous cock. Is it hard yet?”
“Hang up the phone,” he told her. “I’m calling you back.”
“If you must…” Eva ended the c
all. Curious now as to why he needed to ring off and call back, she dropped down onto a beanbag. Her own breathing was the only sound in the room as she waited, quick, shallow breaths as her heart raced. A couple of minutes passed before it rang again, this time with a video call from that same withheld number.
Should I?
Eva swiped the screen before her hesitancy could stop her.
And there he was, Daniel Scott, beneath a cloudless sky of the brightest blue she could imagine. From what Eva could see, he appeared to be on a lounger of some sort, his sunglasses on, a glass of wine in his hand and, of course, he was wearing black. This wasn’t the smart shirt in which she had last seen him, though, but a T-shirt that was covered with a hundred paint spatters that conjured the canvases she had seen in Rupert’s gallery. This wasn’t the clinical, careful exhibition space—this was the raw creator.
Eva was self-conscious of the view he’d have of her. A corner of her studio with an old chintz curtain behind her. No makeup, and her figure-skimming satin dress replaced by a white Babushka blouse. She ran her hand through her hair. “So your instincts have been busy, then?”
“Always.” He raised the glass of red wine. “Tell me about these bees.”
“They’re flying through a clump of plants. It’s to raise awareness about bee-friendly gardening. See, exciting, isn’t it? But important. I like bees.” Was she really talking shop with him? Eva chuckled. “Do you have some sort of massive balcony there, Daniel? Because I want to see some bee-friendly pot plants out there. And I don’t mean that kind of pot either.”
“I don’t grow my own,” he informed her, then reached out. The camera moved, sweeping over the vast terrace with an array of colourful plants in pots, which she certainly hadn’t been expecting.
Neither had she been expecting—well, perhaps she had a bit—the infinity pool with its pacific blue water. As Daniel continued to pan around his domain, the house came into view. A vast, white art deco structure with huge floor-to-ceiling windows, the sort of place where a knowing Belgian detective might find a murder victim.
“What a gorgeous house you have!” Eva knew she hadn’t sounded sarcastic or seductive, and she also knew that she was at risk of making his head expand to ever more massive proportions by flattering his home. But it was lovely.
“I was thinking about you.” The camera settled on Daniel again, a longer shot this time. His legs, clad in paint-spattered black trousers, were stretched out before him, crossed at the ankle. His feet were bare and even there, Eva saw, some paint had landed.
“And became so distracted that you dropped paint all over yourself?” Eva laughed. But she was all too aware of her unslaked desire behind everything she said, and she whispered, “I want to wash your feet.”
“That’s more polite than I was intending to be,” he replied, but had she imagined the pause before he answered? The sound that suggested the slightest catch of his breath?
“Were you going to be rude, Daniel Scott, art world bad boy?” Eva ran her tongue over her lips. “Is there something you wanted to show me? Not just your house and your garden, I assume, or your paint-covered toes. What was it?”
“I thought, since you were so keen on private views, that you might like another.” Daniel took a sip from his glass then reached to place it down beside the camera. He didn’t relax back onto the lounger, though, and instead peeled the T-shirt up and over his head, casting it aside.
Eva held the phone more tightly. Had he really just—? He had. She recalled the sensation of him thrusting between her legs, and the thought of having that toned, bare chest against her if they ever had a repeat performance left her struggling for words. She slid her hand up under her skirt and let her fingertips rest against the soft skin of her inner thighs. “That’s really not a bad view, as views go.”
“It’s only half the exhibition,” he deadpanned. “Do you want to see more?”
“You’re sitting outside!” Eva laughed, a dirty chuckle. She wasn’t shocked at all, merely amused that every preconception she’d had of him was true. “Go on then. If your neighbours won’t complain.”
“I don’t have any neighbours, but I’d hate to shock you, Ms Catesby.”
“Even though I might draw dancing cakes for a living, I’m not easy to shock, Mr Scott.” Eva danced her fingers farther up her thigh. “That might surprise you, I know, but you’d have to get up very early in the morning to shock me.”
Daniel stood and she saw that the trousers were actually some sort of ludicrously decadent lounging affair, the sort of wide-legged silky number that only someone with far more money than they knew what to do with would wear to paint in. He cocked his head to one side and unfastened the tie with one hand before, as though it were an everyday occurrence, he slid them down.
Eva brought her hand up to the top of her thigh and touched herself. She was wet, just as he’d known she would be, and she stared at the body that he had revealed to her, the cock she had caressed and that had thrust inside her, but that in their eagerness, she had barely stopped to see. He looked like a lewd satyr, and Eva stroked herself faster, sliding her fingers inside as she remembered how it had felt to be fucked by the man who presented herself on the screen for her now.
“Tell me what you’re doing,” Daniel instructed as he resumed his place on the lounger, his ankles crossed again and his cock standing out from his groin. He reached down and took his erection in his hand, lazily stroking. “I want to know how you feel.”
Eva lay back on the beanbag and spread her legs wider. “Can’t you guess, Daniel?” She gasped as her frustrated desire for him began to melt into pleasure. “I wish you had your hand under my skirt right now.”
“I don’t want to guess.” She saw the tip of his tongue flick over his lip. “I need to see you. I need to touch you.” Eva pulled up the hem of her skirt, still holding the phone. He must’ve seen the length of her legs before she stopped, her skirt now around her middle and her phone resting on her thigh. The angle could have given him no doubt as to what she was doing. “Touch me, then. Do it. I want you.”
“Next time we’re together—” His hand jerked a little faster, a moan slipping from his parted lips. “Before I fuck you, let me taste you?”
“I’ll insist on it, never you worry about that.” Her hips rose of their own accord, as if chasing her hand. “Over Rupert’s desk again, is that where you’ll lick me and fuck me?”
“That prick,” he spat with a venom that surprised her. “Every time we see him, we’ll know that his office is ours.”
“Rupert wants to fuck me. Did you know?” Eva’s climax was getting closer, the memories of that intense evening flooding back and urging closer to her orgasm.
“He never took his eyes off you,” Daniel told her breathlessly, his back arching as he fought against his own approaching orgasm. “Will you let him have you?”
She shook her head. “No, never. He kissed me and I felt nothing. I burned up when you kissed me, and it was nothing like that. Every bit of me.”
“And you’ve been thinking about me?”
“Yes…” Eva didn’t really want to admit it. She didn’t want him to think that she’d waited and waited for him to contact her. “…to begin with.”
“Then you forgot me?”
“Didn’t you forget me?”
“Not for a second.”
There was something in his voice that pushed Eva over the edge, and her climax soared. Her body jolted, sending her phone flying from its perch on her thigh onto the floor. As bliss shook through her, her only thought was he hadn’t forgotten me. She clumsily reached for her phone again and propped it up so she could see him.
“I didn’t forget you either,” she admitted in a whisper. He lifted his sunglasses to look at her, his other hand jerking hard and fast. Then Daniel Scott, the enfant terrible, the man with paint on his toes, closed his eyes as his orgasm swept through his body.
He looked ridiculously hot as he came, all the musc
les in that toned body working together, moving under the surface of his skin. If only she could see it in the flesh, if only she could kiss his perfect stomach and take him in her mouth.
“We need to meet. Now, Daniel.”
“Where?”
“I’ll come over to yours.” She didn’t know why she hoped he wouldn’t think that sounded desperate. They both craved each other—desperate barely came into it. “I can’t drive, not after that, but I’ll get a cab. Text me your address.”
“I’ll send a cab for you,” Daniel told her. “Where are you?”
“Kemptown. Hang on… I’ll send you my address.” As she brought up her text messages and typed, she realised that he was now getting a hugely unflattering view of her nostrils. Once she’d typed out her address, she lifted the phone to a more flattering angle. “There. Got it? How long have I got to get ready, or do you want me as I am?”
“Come just as you are. How long do you need?” He smiled and added, “And how do you want me?”
“Give me fifteen minutes.” Eva heaved herself up from the beanbag and left her studio, turning off the light behind her. She went through to her bedroom, which was at the front of the house, and stood in front of her large bed so that he could see it behind her. So that it would imprint itself on his mind and he could think of them romping there. “You? Hmmm… I think your bad boy black suit and shirt, don’t you?”
“Consider it done,” Daniel told her. “I’ll see you very soon?”
“Definitely.” Eva blew him a kiss and waved at the screen. He rewarded her with a wink, then put the sunglasses back on.
“The champagne’ll be on ice.” And with that, the call ended.
Chapter Three
The cab arrived exactly fifteen minutes later. Eva had flung an antique cloak around her shoulders and thrown some bits and bobs into a bag. A swift slick of mascara and lipstick, a squirt of perfume, and she was prepared.
The Colour of Mermaids Page 4