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He doesn’t smile. “Tiger’s not a nice guy, Faith. You remember that, right?”
I flatten my hand on his chest. “He’s tough. He’s hard. He’s cold. And I really like him best when he’s naked.”
He remains expressionless for two beats, then laughs. “Ah, Faith. Woman, what you do to me. Maybe you need to put a little Tiger on your canvas.”
My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“Youare nice, Faith, but you have a darker side. That part of you that can take on the Tiger side of me and hold your own. That’s the part of you that wanted out when you were in the club; it just wasn’t the right place or way for you to do so.The canvasis your place. Put whatever you found in that club on the canvas. We both know nothing about that will be safe.”
It’s as if a switch flips in my mind. I’ve been boxed by everyone’s expectations of me on and off the canvas. I twist around in Nick’s arms and walk to my canvas, and I start to pick it up and move it off the easel. Nick is quickly there to help. “Where do you want it?”
“Against the wall seems to be the best spot,” I say, already grabbing a blank canvas and setting it on the easel.
“I’ll order you extra stands for your completed works,” he says as I turn to my blank canvas, inspiration starting to form. “We don’t want your work to get damaged,” he adds as I reach for my brush. Nick intercepts, catching my fingers and walking me to him. “The food will be here any minute, sweetheart.” He glances at his watch. “And it’s almost ten. We both have early mornings.”
I blink. “We ordered food?” I ask, then shake away the cobwebs, giving a low laugh. “Oh right. We did.”
Nick laughs, that deep, rough, sexy sound I could really turn on and play like music, if it were possible. “We did.” He motions toward the doorway. “Let’s head to the bedroom and settle in so we can go to sleep after we eat.”
“Well, as much as I want to argue, my hands are cramped, and my stomach is growling.”
He unbuttons the cover-up I have over my clothes. “You can spend some time with Sara at Allure tomorrow and then come back here and paint.”
“Yes,” I agree, “but you know what? Let me just put a few strokes on the canvas. Just to get the inspiration started.”
“You’ve painted foreight hours, Faith.” He is suddenly lifting me, and I yelp as he scoops me up and over his shoulder.
“Nick, damn it, the blood is rushing to my head.” He smacks my ass, and I arch my back.
“Nick!”
“Now where is that blood flowing, sweetheart?” he asks.
“You’re evil,” I say, thinking about the spanking he teased me with earlier today. “Really evil.”
He keeps walking and doesn’t stop until he’s set me on my feet beside the bed. “Evil is your beautiful ass teasing my hand, sweetheart. You do need a good spanking.”
Oh God. Why is just the promise of this man’s hand on my backside so incredibly sexy? My nipples ache. My sex clenches, and my hand settles at his hip, my thumb intentionally placed near his cock. “I asked,” I remind him. “You didn’t answer.”
He cups my face. “Sweetheart, when I spank you again, you won’t be hiding from anything, especially me. I’ll do it because you trust me and you want to feel that trust, and no other reason.”
The doorbell rings. “And that would be the food. I’ll bring it up here.” He kisses me and heads for the door. I inhale on his words, which were sexy and intimate and about us, but I turn and stare at the card from my father lying on the nightstand, where I’d set it Friday night, my mind replaying my exchange with Nick. It was the first time I’d seen his house:
“Where is your bedroom, Nick?”
“Up the stairs directly behind you.”
I turn then and start up the stairs, my pace slow, calculated. I feel overwhelmed by him. I need to seduce him, to get back to a place I have control. I know every swing of my hips makes him burn. He doesn’t immediately pursue, though. He’s Nick, after all. Always dominant and in control, except when I make him want me. It arouses me, and it’s powerful when he responds, when he needs me the way I always need him.
I walk into his bedroom, taking in the king-size bed and the masculine decor that fits him so well, and it affects me for no real reason other than the fact that everything about the man affects me. I need something now that I can’t even name. An escape. That’s what it was. I think this is the first moment I really realize how much this man could hurt me. I reach into my purse and grab the card from my father before setting my purse aside.
And then I sit on the bed with every intention of reading it. I think my subconscious just needs me to focus on something other than the man I am falling so very hard for. That I have fallen too hard for. He enters the room, and I swear he steals my breath with his size and just how damn beautiful he is, masculine and intense in his dark suit and white shirt in a way that only some men—very few, in fact—harness. But Nick does. So very well.
He looks at the card on my lap, aware, I know, of what it is. “I need to read this,” I say. “And you know that means I need you.”
His chest rises and falls, expanding with delicious perfection. He closes the space between us, his stride long, graceful. He stands above me. I want to touch him, but I don’t. I need some control. I need him to touch me first, but he always wants to be first anyway. I know this. He shrugs out of his jacket and removes his tie, tossing both to the center of the bed. And then he surprises me by setting the card aside and taking me down on the mattress with him, rolling to face me. “I’m not going to spank you, Faith,” he says, sliding his leg between mine. “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.”
Inhaling, I return to the present with the certainty that he’s achieved that goal. I see him and feel him in every possible way. And maybe he knew I didn’t really want to read the card. Because I don’t. I turn away from it now, rejecting its content and walking toward the bathroom. I don’t need my father’s input on my career right before my show. Once I’m inside, I move my suitcase back into the closet, where I strip down. I’m about to pull on a sleep shirt I’ve brought with me when I spy Nick’s row of T-shirts, the idea of wearing one of them winning me over quickly. I search through the various graphic designs and smile as I find a Batman shirt of all things. Oh, how Nick it is.
