“Short and bumpy,” she says. “But it was great. I love flying.”
“But you’ve never flown internationally,” I say. “We need to fix that. Paris is all about art and wine. We should go.”
“That would be incredible, but right now I can’t leave.”
“We’re going to fix that and soon,” I promise. “Tell me the details you know about the L.A. show.”
“Josh just told me that I’m in,” I say. “I’m sure I’ll get more specifics by Monday.”
“And you know which pieces were selected?”
“Nick. Don’t be mad, but….”
I glance over at her and laugh. “You put me in it didn’t you?”
“I did. My first portrait and on a whim when I was filling out the forms and submitting photos, I included it. You’re not mad, right?”
“I don’t care if you put me in the show, as long as it’s about you.”
“Maybe you are a little sweet, Nick Rogers.”
“I’ll put that idea to rest before the weekend’s over, I promise you. And that means you have to let me see it.”
“I will. When it’s done. I have two weeks to finish. I think this weekend might just let me finish your eyes.”
And on that note, I silently vow to make sure that every time she looks at me this weekend, she sees all the right things, and none of the wrong.
Fifteen minutes later, we pull into the garage of my house, which is only a few minutes from my office. Faith is out of the car before I can round the BMW to help her, and gaping at the dark gray sports car beside us. She bites her lip and glances over at me. “You are such a rich guy, Nick Rogers. What is it?”
“Audi R8 5.2 V10,” I say. “And thank you. I work my ass off to be such a rich guy, and owned that assessment long before I inherited my father’s money.”
“How did you make your first million?”
“A drug company whose best-of-the-best attorney wasn’t as good as they thought.” He was also my father, but I don’t tell her that. Not now. One day when there are no more secrets. “Let’s go inside, Faith.”
“Yes. Let’s go see what a man like you calls home.”
“A man like me,” I say. “You can explain that later. Naked.”
She gives me one of her sexy, confident smiles. “I will.”
I open the back door. “I’ll get your bag. The door’s unlocked. Make yourself at home.”
She doesn’t hesitate. She drags delicate fingers through her long blonde hair and walks to the door and up the short set of steps that leads to the foyer of my home. I take my time pursuing her, allowing her time to decide what to do and where to go. Curious as to where that takes us both. Intrigued by this woman all over again, I join her, leaving her bag by the door, to find her slowly walking the rectangular-shaped space, and I scan it, taking in what she sees. Pale wooden floors, a gray sectional. Parallel to the living area is a bar that is shiny white with four barstools, and opposite it, are two modern steel and glass stairwells that climb the walls in two different directions.
She turns to face me, the distance between us I don’t intend to remain. “Clean, artistic lines. A house for a man who likes control.”
“I do like control,” I say, closing a foot of space between us. “I think that I like control.”
She replies as if I haven’t spoken those words. “It’s a beautiful house, Nick. It smells like you.”
“And how do I smell, Faith?”
“Like control. Like sex. Woodsy and sexy.”
“And you, sweetheart, smell like—”
“Amber and vanilla.”
“Yes, you do. And I’m obsessed with your scent. I’m obsessed with you.”
“Obsessed,” she says. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It is dangerous.”
And her reply is everything any man could want. “Where is your bedroom, Nick?”
“Up the stairs directly behind you.”
She turns and starts up the stairs, her pace slow, seductive, calculated. She knows every swing of her hips makes me burn. And I fucking love it. I wait until she’s upstairs, out of sight, and then with my adrenaline pumping, I follow her. I find her sitting on the end of my king-sized mattress, the centerpiece of my room, the gray headboard behind her. That card from her father in her lap.
“I need to read this. And you know that means I need you.”
I inhale on a realization. Faith is once again using sex as a wall. And I almost let her. I had the word “love” pop into my head and I just wanted to fuck. And she just wants to fuck. But I’m not letting her hide from me. Even if it means I can’t escape whatever the fuck this unknown emotion is I feel for this woman. I walk to the bed, and stand above her. She doesn’t touch me. I don’t want her to, and she knows this. I like that she knows. I shrug out of my jacket and remove my tie, both of which I toss to the center of the bed. I then set the card aside, and do what I know she does not expect me to do.
I take her down on the mattress with me, rolling her to face me. “I’m not going to spank you, Faith,” I say, sliding my leg between hers. “Not now. Maybe not even this weekend. I want you to see and feel me. I want you to remember me this weekend, not my hand.”
“Nick,” she whispers, and when I kiss her, she does that thing she does. She breathes out like she needed my kiss, like it’s why she exists. And right now, this woman is why I exist. I kiss her. I touch her. I strip her naked and me too. I lick her nipples. I lick her clit. I lick every inch of her until she is begging for me inside her and I need to be there. And once I’m inside her, and we’re staring at each other, swaying together, I don’t make love to her. I don’t do love, but I damn sure don’t fuck her, either. And when it’s over, I hold her for long minutes before I settle my shirt around her and help her roll up the sleeves.
We order Chinese and eat in my bed, me in my pants, and her in my shirt, and I like this woman in my clothes and my bed. It’s only after we finish eating that I am ready to show her one of the gifts I have for her this weekend. I take her hand. “Come. I want to show you something.”
“Now you have me curious.”
“Good,” I say, guiding her down the hallway. “That’s the idea.”
We stop at a room with the door shut and I open it and motion her forward. She smiles and walks inside and gasps. “Nick. What did you do?”
I step inside the doorway to find her standing in the center of the massive triangle-shaped room, next to the canvas I have set up for her, a supply of brushes and paint nearby. “They tell me the floor cleans right up. I had it installed this week.”
“Why would you do this?”
“I didn’t want you to be away from your brush.”
“This is incredible. It’s such a cool, crazy-shaped space. What was this room before now?”
“Nothing. I had no idea what to do with it.”