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“How do you feel about Paris?”
Thankfully, he’s not here to see me gape. “I don’t know how I feel about it.” I drift over to one of the sumptuous sofas and sink into the corner of it, tucking my legs under me. “I’ve never been there.”
“Never?” He says it as if I’ve just confessed to a crime. “Every artist owes it to their work to spend as much time as possible in Paris. How does your schedule look next month?”
I close my eyes, wishing I could play along with this game. But next month is when Claire is due back from Japan. Next month, she’ll be sitting here in this beautiful apartment again, and I’ll be looking for work and someplace cheap to live. “I’ll have to check with my secretary and get back to you.”
“I’m serious, Avery. I want to take you to Paris.”
“I don’t have a passport,” I say, grasping for the closest excuse that isn’t an outright lie.
“A minor detail, which I can take care of for you in less than a day. You’ll only need to be available to go. You can do that, can’t you?”
I exhale softly and gaze out at the view that doesn’t belong to me. Nick and this glittering, jet set life I’m enjoying with him doesn’t belong to me either. It’s been all too easy to ignore that fact, but very soon it’s going to come crashing down on my head.
“Ask me again next month, and we’ll see.”
He’s silent for a moment, and the weight of his contemplation is palpable. “All right, then. I will ask you again next month, Ms. Ross. In the meantime, I’d like to explore some of those long-distance celebration options we left open for discussion.”
I smile. “Is that right, Mr. Baine?”
“Yes. You can start by telling me what you’re wearing.”
Chapter 34
For the remainder of the week, I throw myself into my work. Creatively, I am on fire as never before, but a big part of my obsessive hours at the easel is the fact that I’m missing Nick.
We’ve talked every day this week, and even though hearing his voice and receiving his frequent, often wickedly dirty, texts has helped make the week apart more bearable, by the time he is finally due back from London, I am practically giddy with excitement to see him.
Any hope I have of playing it cool vanishes completely when he calls me from the tarmac at JFK Friday afternoon.
“We just touched down,” he tells me and I can hear the anticipation in his voice too. “I’ll be at the Park Place building within the hour. Be ready for me.”
“I’ve been ready all day,” I tell him. “And Nick? I’m not wearing any clothes.”
“Jesus, baby.” His deep voice turns to roughened gravel. “In that case, I’ll be there in half the time.”
I don’t want to consider how he actually manages to cross the city so quickly, but, true to his word, Nick is standing outside the fifth floor apartment door in record time. I make good on my promise too, opening the door to him naked and utterly shameless.
He steps inside, looking urbane and handsome in his dark gray suit and white business shirt. His attire may be boardroom sophisticated, but the look in his stormy blue eyes is pure animal.
“Hi,” I say, smiling up at him. “What took you so long?”
His answer is something close to a growl. He drops his leather bag on the foyer floor and kicks the door closed behind him. As soon as he’s all the way inside, I lose all patience for my game. I just need him. I launch myself at him and he catches me in his arms, holding me aloft as I wrap my bare legs around him and attack his mouth in a desperate kiss.
He carries me like this, kissing me with equal ferocity as he effortlessly navigates the hallways of the apartment, bringing me into the guest bedroom where I’ve been staying since I began living in Claire’s place. Nick’s hands are firm under my ass, his expensive suit soft and silky against my bare breasts and torso. He is strong and protective and utterly in control, yet I can feel his measured discipline burning away under the fever of our joined mouths.
His eyes are turbulent with passion when he finally tears his lips away from mine. “I can’t go slow right now.”
“Don’t,” I say, as much a command as it is a plea. I moan with the force of everything I’m feeling. “Nick, I need—”
“I know, baby. Me too.”
Tossing me onto the mattress, he quickly strips out of his clothing. Then, gloriously naked, he steps toward the bed where I watch him, reclined on my back and levered up on my elbows. He looks so beautiful, so magnificently male, it makes my mouth water and my sex clench hard and wet with desire.
After a week without seeing him, now I gorge my senses on the sight of his muscled body and smooth, suntanned skin. I know every inch of his powerful physique. I have traced each honed plane and valley, memorized the taste and texture of every delicious inch. His clean, spicy scent is imprinted deep within me, so much so, that just the faintest inhalation now wrings a whimper of unabashed need from my lips.
He doesn’t make me wait a second longer. Thank God.
