“I got your email about your arrival,” he says. “I’ll pick you up at the airport. Five o’clock, right?”
“I don’t need a ride, but thank you.”
“I’m your agent. I’ll give you a ride.”
“I’m not your only client at the show.”
“If you mean Macom, he can drive himself. He lives here.”
I firm my tone. “Thank you, but I don’t need a ride.”
There is a heavy pause. “Nick’s with you.”
“Yes,” I say, my eyes meeting Nick’s. “Nick is with me.”
Nick’s lips curve in amusement and he refills his glass.
Josh is silent for several beats before he replies with, “You need to make some time with me, without him, to meet the people I want you to meet tonight. And we’re having breakfast in the morning to talk about those meetings, without him. Don’t push back on this, Faith. I can’t get you the thirty thousand a painting I want to get you if you don’t let me agent.”
“I know that,” I say, wishing he’d been this eager to sell my work before Chris aided my career. “And I understand.”
“You better.” He hangs up.
Nick arches a brow.
I sigh and set my phone on the table. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough to know that he has his panties in a wad,” he says dryly, “because my very existence guarantees he can’t get your panties in a wad.”
“Stop saying things like that. It’s all I will be able to think about when I am with him.”
“Good. You need to be aware of his intentions.”
My brow furrows. “You’re in a mood. Should we talk about Macom before we get there?”
“Haven’t we talked the shit out of Macom as it is?” he asks.
“Yes. And you made reference to—”
“Wanting to beat the shit out of him?” He doesn’t give me time to answer. “I do, but I’m really good at fantasizing. Like right now, I’m thinking about you naked, straddling me at about thirty thousand feet, but despite how fucking hard I am just thinking about that, I’ll most likely refrain from making it happen until the ride home. And likewise, I’ll most likely refrain with Macom.”
“Nick—”
“Faith. Are we doing this again?”
My cellphone buzzes with a text this time. I glance at it in my hand to find Bill has messaged me. I read it to Nick. “From Bill: Just making sure you got the picture and my message? He’s giving me an uneasy feeling tonight. Maybe I’m just nervous that my paintings will be mocked or the man I love will punch the man I never loved, but he is. What should I say?”
“Fuck you, you lying, cheating, lowdown bastard.” He downs his champagne. “Another fantasy. Stick to reality. Keep playing him, sweetheart. Soft and sweet. It’s your magic and I love the fuck out it.”
I inhale and think a moment before I type: Yes sorry. That topic is emotional and I have my big show this weekend that I’m nervous over. I show it to Nick.
“Magic,” he says. “He’ll eat that up.”
My phone buzzes again with a new message I read to Nick again. “His reply: Yes honey. Sorry. I didn’t even think about this upsetting you. Go. Make your mark. Make the Winter family proud and I promise you, your father would have been proud.
He’s hit a nerve, and my stomach knots with the very thought of my father’s thoughts on my art. But there is more. Something nagging in the back of my mind that I just can’t put a finger on.
“You played the player,” Nick says. “Now come play me.” He cups my neck and pulls my mouth near his mouth. “Forget Bill, Josh, and Macom. They’re making you nervous. Think of me. Think of us.” His kisses me, and he makes me forget, but the minute his lips part mine, that nagging feeling returns.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Faith
We arrive at the L.A. hotel where the art show is being hosted with just enough time to shower and change. The doorman leads us into the fancy suite, that is of course, glamorous; my first view is of a large outdoor area framing a living area, with a connected dining room and a grand piano. Hallways lead to additional rooms and to my left and right are fancy, winding stairwells.
The bellman delivers our bags to the master suite, which is apparently down the right hallway. The minute he disappears into the room, I turn to Nick and softly say, “This is not a hotel room. It’s the size of a house.”
“You never know when you might want to invite a few gallery owners over or whoever else might help your career,” he says, snagging my hips and walking me to him. “And I think you should consider doing just that before we leave.”
“That’s an incredible idea, but I will be too nervous to do that this time.”
“Well keep your possibilities open,” he urges. “Bring it up with Josh. See what he thinks.”
I soften with those words. “You hate Josh, but you really are willing to support him as my agent, aren’t you?”
“As long as he keeps his hands to himself,” he says, the light catching on a hard glint in his blue eyes.
The doorman reappears and Nick tips him. I follow the path I now believe to lead to the bedroom, finding it is indeed at the end of the hallway. It has thick gray curtains, a cream colored fluffy rug, a bed so high I need a step stool, and a sitting area. Our bags are nowhere in sight and I walk to the bathroom to seek them out. It is, of course, as luxurious as the rest of the suite, with an egg-shaped tub, shiny white and gray tiles and a massive tile-encased shower.
My hunt for the bags leads me to the walk-in closet, where they sit on suitcase stands, but there is more. There is a collection of dresses, still with the tags on them. Six dresses. My heart starts to race, confusing emotions rushing through me. Nick’s footsteps sound and I turn to face him. He appears in the doorway, bigger than life, I swear, and so good looking, so damn dominant in every situation. “You’re very overwhelming,” I blurt. “Everything you do is big, bold, and extravagant.”
“Agreed.”
I smile. “That’s it? You agree?”
“Yes. Do you like the dresses?”
“I haven’t looked at them yet.”
“Why not?”
I walk to him and push to my toes to kiss him. “I know you want me to enjoy your money. I know that I can’t be with you, and not experience your money. I see that.”
“But?”
“No buts other than me suddenly really needing to say something to you.”
“Okay. You have my full attention. As I often say, you always have my full attention.”
“You will never be the sum of a fancy hotel room or fancy dresses to me. I’m going to tell you that a lot because I don’t want you to forget. And on that note. The dresses are exciting. The room is wonderful. Thank you for working so hard to make this weekend special.” I give him a quick kiss and when I would turn away, he pulls me to him. His fingers tangle in my hair, and his mouth closes down on mine, and in the depths of that kiss I taste torment that I do not understand. But there is love, and hunger, and need, too.
He pulls back stroking my cheek. “I’d better stop or we’ll be late. Look at the dresses. And if you don’t like any of them, we’ll trade them in.”
“What is it that I’m sensing?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing you in one of those dresses can’t solve.” He brushes his lips over mine and releases me, and before I can press him for more, he turns and disappears into the bathroom.
I stare after him and I have no idea what it was about that exchange, but every instinct I own now says that the club wasn’t the big reveal I’d thought it to be. That secret that he fears I won’t accept, that I’ve tried to reveal with my paintbrush, has yet to be exposed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Faith
I’m still struggling to decide on a dress when the shower comes on. I step into the bathroom and find Nick’s already inside. Still bothered by the exchange we’ve just had, and the idea that we might go into this nigh
t, and an encounter with Macom, with something I don’t even understand brewing between us, I strip my clothes away, and step around the tiled wall.
Nick is under the water, eyes shut, head tilted upward, suds pouring over every naked, ripped, perfect inch of him. He must sense my presence, suddenly lowering his chin, his eyes finding me. His gaze skims my naked body. His cock now thick, hard. I walk toward him, and he doesn’t move, a dark edginess about him that confirms what I’d sensed in the closet. There is a still a wall between us—a secret. I stop a lean away from touching him, but he doesn’t reach for me. I lift my hand and press it over his heart, and that touch is all it takes. He is suddenly kissing me, his hand closing around a chunk of my hair, the taste of him wild hunger with a big dose of that torment I’d sensed. His hands are all over me, his mouth on my nipple one moment, fingers tugging it the next.
Before I know it, I’m pressed into the corner, and he is lifting me, his cock pressing inside me, stretching me, filling me. That wild hunger dominates, and it consumes me right along with him. I want him deeper. I want him harder. I want his mouth on my mouth. We don’t last long, though. Both of us are too aroused, too urgent. I shatter, my sex clenching the thick width of his shaft. He shudders in response and soon we are holding onto each other, breathing together—fast and then slow.
He eases me to the ground. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
I tangle fingers into his wet hair. “We needed that.”
He inches back to look at me. “Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know. I just felt it. I needed it.”
He studies me for several beats, his expression unreadable. He kisses me again, a deep stroke of tongue followed by another before he says, “I love you. Finish your shower.”
And then he is gone and for reasons I can’t even explain that have nothing to do with how hot and naked he is, or how much I love him too, I want to pull him back. So much that it hurts to deny that need.
***
I finish my shower, slip on a robe, and step to the sink next to Nick, who is in a towel only, with shaving cream on his face and a razor in his hand. I slip in front of him. “I’ll do it.”
“You need to get ready. It’s late.”
“I have time.”
He gives me a heavy lidded look and hands me the razor. “Goatee or no goatee?” I ask.
“You tell me.”
“I like the goatee,” I say stroking the foam from his face. “It gives you a dangerous edge.”
“And you like dangerous?”
“Only when it’s you.”
He takes the razor from me. “This is going to get us naked again. Go get ready.” He kisses me and foams up my face. I laugh and move away, the mood decidedly lighter.
I dry and flat iron my hair to a blonde shine, choosing neutral colors for my make-up, except my lips. I choose a deep rose that is almost pink, and it will match the colors in my necklace that I now never take off. I walk to the closet and stand in front of the dresses again. The blue one he got me weeks ago is for tomorrow for sure. Tonight though, hmmmm.
My gaze radiates to a simple elegant dress with a beige underlay and ivory lace overlay. If I want to appear as an artistic type, it’s muted and beautiful, but I don’t reach for it. My attention rockets to another dress, an evergreen shade with a silk sheen that so perfectly matches one of the stones in my necklace that it can’t be an accident. It fits my newfound love of colors, and I smile. This is the dress.
I quickly pull on a pair of thigh high black hose I’ve packed in my suitcase, and then inspect the shoes Nick also had delivered, choosing a pair of black heels with a sexy double ankle strap. And then I pull on the dress, the deep V managing to show skin, not cleavage. The skirt flares to the knee, while a full sash ties at the left hip. It’s stunning. And of course, Nick remembered purses, or the shopper he hired remembered. Four expensive purses that are all Chanel. I choose a small black bag with a sparkly logo and a bit of shine to the rather traditional and perfect style.
And then I inspect myself in the mirror, nerves attacking my belly. Tonight is big. Tonight I am in a world I’d dreamed of not just visiting, but embracing. And I’m there with Nick, who I’m suddenly eager to see. I fill my purse, and slip it over my shoulder before hurrying through the bedroom to the living area. I find Nick in a sharp black suit with a black tie.
His eyes light on me and he ends his call, the two of us walking toward each other, meeting at the back of the couch, a brown contemporary style that matches the two chairs framing it. Nick whistles as we grow near. My cheeks heat, while a smile touches my lips as I realize the dots in his tie are evergreen. I run my hand down it. “How did you know that I was going to pick this dress?”
“It matches your necklace perfectly.”
“You chose it.”
“I did.”
“When and how?”
“I sent the shopper photos of your necklace and she sent me back options.”
He just made the romantic surprise that was those dresses even more romantic and personal. “I love this dress.”
“It’s beautiful on you.”
There’s a knock at the door and he kisses me. “I’ll get it.”
“Who is it?”
“No idea,” he says, leaving me to find out.
Curious, wondering what Nick is up to because this has to be Nick being Nick, and doing something unexpected and wonderful. I inch up a few feet to try and see who is at the door. It opens and I hear, “I have a delivery for Ms. Winter.”
“From who?” Nick asks, wiping out the idea that that it’s from him with the question.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know.”
Nick opens the door to allow the bellman to enter and he’s holding a giant bouquet of flowers and a box of some sort, but I think it’s Godiva chocolates. My stomach clenches with the certainty this is a problem. The bellman sets the delivery on the coffee table, gives me a nod, and a “Good day, ma’am” before departing.
Nick joins me, his expression indiscernible. “You should read the card.”
I wait until the door shuts behind the exiting bellman before responding. “It’s going to be from Bill. He’s laying it on thick now.”
Nick rounds the couch and pulls the card from the bouquet, holding it up, an invitation in the action. Dreading what is to come, I join him and take it, tearing it open. And then cringe with what I read:
Faith,
Congratulations, baby. You did it.
See you tonight, FINALLY.
Macom
I hand Nick the card. He takes it and reads it.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He glances up at me. “For what? Godiva is good chocolate. Let’s try some.” He sits down and opens the box.
I blanch, confused by his reaction. He takes my hand and tugs, urging me to sit. “Chocolate, sweetheart. We missed lunch.”
I ease onto the cushion and he sinks his teeth into a piece of chocolate. “Did you know that I have a weakness for chocolate?” He holds a chocolate to my mouth. “Try this one.”
I take a bite. “Well?” he prods.
“It’s delicious,” I say, and it is but the chocolate is not my focus right now. “You’re not upset at all?”
He leans in and kisses me. “Sweetheart, if a box of chocolate and some flowers win you over, then you weren’t ever mine to start with. But you are mine. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
There is a promise that he will capture me in those words that makes me nervous, but he pops another piece of chocolate in his mouth, stands up and takes me with him. “Let’s go show off that dress and your art.” And then he kisses me again, and when his tongue touches mine, the heady taste of sin, satisfaction, and chocolate overwhelms my senses. He overwhelms my senses and I forget to worry about anything and everyone else, Macom included.
But when we reach the elevator and step on the car, me in front of Nick, him holding me from behind, I remember the phone call th
ey’d shared and the obvious realization I’ve ignored hits me. I turn to face him. “He just issued you a challenge, didn’t he?”
Nick arches a brow. “Did he? Because you of all people know that I can’t turn away from a challenge. And that could be very bad for him.”
The elevator opens to the busy lobby and when I turn, I find myself facing the devil himself: Macom is standing with Josh a few feet away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Faith
Seeing Macom again punches me in the chest, and a world of dark, jagged emotions slash a path through me. A moment later, Nick’s hand settles at my lower back, and all is right in my world, and not because I feel protected. Because he’s here. Because he’s Nick. That’s all my mind has time to process before we’re crossing to meet them, both men watching us approach, both in expensive suits. Josh in navy blue, his dark hair as perfectly trimmed as usual. Macom stands out in a tan suit among dark colors, his curly hair is a bit wild. The color choice expected, as is the disarray of his hair, I know that he believes to be sexy. He likes to be different, and I used to see that as artsy and unique. Today it reads as tasteless, as was him sending me those gifts, when I know Josh had to have told him I was with Nick. When both Nick and I had told him that I was with Nick.
Josh leans in to speak to Macom, clearly telling him to leave. Macom quite obviously snaps back at him, most likely throwing around his power. Macom won’t back down. Not here. This is his castle and he’s king. He thinks that makes Nick a peasant, but he’s wrong.
Nick and I arrive to stand in front of them, me directly in front of Macom. My gaze meets his, and the heat in Macom’s stare is awkward and so blatant, so “I want to fuck you again” that there is no way Nick doesn’t see it. I look to Josh, who smiles and winks. “Looking gorgeous, darling. We want people to know your work, but it doesn’t hurt for them to remember you’re as stunning as your work.”
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