I swallow. “I think maybe we should stick to business, Mr. Stark.”
“I’m off the clock, Ms. Fairchild. If it’s just business you want to talk about, I’ll head over to the piano now and we can make an appointment for after the holidays. Do you want me to leave you alone?”
Absolutely, totally not. “It’s a free country, Mr. Stark.” I turn back to the painting as I speak.
He stays. And I know damn well that he sees right through my feigned disinterest.
For a moment, we both look at the image in front of us, and the longer I look at the woman, naked and bound, the more I think that I need to get out of here before I do something stupid, like go home with this man. Because just his presence alone is messing with my head.
Add in vibrant erotic art, and I’m about to explode.
“She wants something more,” Stark finally says. “Something deeper.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s her first time. See the expression on her face? She’s excited, but there’s a hesitancy. She’s not sure what to expect, but whatever is coming, she knows that she wants it. Wants him,” he adds, pointing to the shadow. “And he’s teasing her. Holding out. Making her wait so that the first time is as much about her expectations as her reality.”
He bends his head toward me. “That’s the best sex,” he says. “It’s not enough to fuck a woman’s body. You have to touch her mind, too.”
I raise a brow, trying to be cavalier even though his words are burning through me. “A mind fuck, Mr. Stark?” I ask, and he laughs.
“That’s one way of putting it. My point is that she’s primed for something new. Something different. She’s searching, trying to find what she needs. Who she needs. And she’s finding it in the shadows. In the unexpected. I can understand that.” He turns his head to look at me. “I wonder if you can, too.”
He’s looking at me intently now. So much so that I take a step back, uncomfortable under the weight of his inspection.
“Can you, Ms. Fairchild? Can you understand what she’s feeling?”
I can—dear god, I can. But I shake my head anyway, denying more than the answer. Denying the very question. “I barely know you, Mr. Stark.”
“No. That’s not true, and we both know it.”
A million butterflies start to flutter in my stomach, but I stay perfectly still, mesmerized by his words.
“I don’t understand it,” he continues. “And, honestly, I’m not comfortable with enigmas. But I can’t deny reality when it’s staring me in the face. You do know me, Nikki. And I know you. Don’t tell me you haven’t felt it, too.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I lie. “We only just met. How could I possibly know you?”
He doesn’t even miss a beat. “So get to know me.”
“You have a girlfriend.”
“If that’s what you want to call it, then yes. I do. So?”
“So?” I repeat. “So, duh.”
He laughs. “I’m not a saint, Nikki. I’ve fucked around. A lot, actually. I’ve moved on to the next and the next after that. I’ve lived most of my life taking what I want. But it’s a life that feels unreal and just a little off-kilter.”
The word seems to flash in neon in my mind. “Off-kilter?” I repeat.
He ignores me. Instead he steps in closer, and I catch the scent of his cologne. Hell, I can practically feel the heat he exudes. His voice is low, meant for my ears only, and the words seem to flow over me, sensual and enticing.
“I like to fuck, Nikki, and I’m very good at making a woman feel incredible. But all those women? I look at them and I see an ending.”
My mouth has gone dry, and I can barely get my words out. “Why are you telling me this?”
His smile is full of wicked promise. “Because with you, I see a beginning.”
I swallow, then force myself to flash one of my practiced, plastic smiles. “Great line. Does it work often?”
“I don’t know.” He is looking at me as if he knows all my secrets. “I’ve never used it before.”
Oh. I shake my head, because this can’t be happening. We. Just. Met. He’s playing me. He has to be playing me.
“I need to go,” I say, flustered.
“All right,” he says slowly. “But know that I’m going to be watching you. And I will have you, Ms. Fairchild.” He nods toward the painting. “There’s a reason that Blaine named it Anticipation. She’s waiting. She’s wanting. She doesn’t have him yet, but she knows he’s coming. Anticipation, Nikki. It’s one hell of a potent aphrodisiac.”
Since I can no longer manage words, I scurry off like a fool. Only when I’m safely at the piano do I turn back toward the painting, then cringe when I see that Carmela has come up to him. As I watch, she presses her palm to his chest, then brushes her lips over his ear.
But though she is touching him, stroking him, I can tell she hasn’t reached the core of him. I know, because I can see the truth in those astounding, mesmerizing dual-colored eyes.
And they’re focused intently on me.
Chapter 7
“You really like it?” Ollie asks me, nodding toward the set of camera lens filters he’s bought me for Christmas.
“Are you kidding? Of course.” Photography is my passion, and I am more than willing to accept any and all camera-related gifts.
“And you, too?” I ask.
He, Jamie, and I are on the floor in the living room of the condo Jamie and I share, and Lady Meow-Meow, Jamie’s fluffy white cat, is playing in the paper and ribbons left over from the presents we’ve just finished opening. I’d had no idea what to get Ollie, and so I went with a new briefcase, splurging to get it monogrammed.