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“Yeah, he got the recognition he deserves. Violet owns a gallery in SoHo and she’s been trying to work with him. The stubborn prick thinks his start was a cheat because I bought it all.”
“That’s bullshit.” For some reason I’m pissed at her brother for not appreciating her gesture.
“Yes and no. You’ve seen the pieces, they are on my wall in the living room. He’s gotten much better since.” She chuckles, but her eyes remain cold.
“So your brother doesn’t speak to you over mediocre drawings, but you still keep them?” This woman is full of contradictions.
“I keep them to remind myself that not all good intentions are for the other person’s benefit. It keeps me grounded in my work, so I don’t fall for the pity trap. The people I’m trying to help deserve more than that.”
I uncross my legs and lean forward, interested in this new layer of her character.
“How did you become involved with the foundation? Who was Kyle West?”
Chils stiffens and looks away for a moment. I can almost hear the war in her head, debating what she wants to share. Her hand reaches for the pendant on the chain she’s always worn between her breasts. So Kyle West wasn’t a random kid. She knew him.
She gestures for the server and orders another cocktail. “Kyle was the love of my life,” she starts, and her words fall like a punch to my guts.
Love of her life? Shit.
“He was diagnosed with leukemia. I was scheduled to go to Paris with Paris.” She snickers. “We’d just turned eighteen and we were planning our big three-month trip. Kyle didn’t want me to miss out on that opportunity, and he downplayed his diagnosis so I would go.” She sighs and looks away, blinking. “He wasn’t… he died before I returned. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
The cadence of her speech suggests she might have decided to share but doesn’t want to relive the memories, rushing through her words with detachment.
That’s why she so freely offered her place to her father and Bianca. And the hospice. She’s creating for others what she didn’t get a chance to experience with her boyfriend.
“I’m sorry.” Fuck, I don’t even know what to say. “You started the foundation in his honor?”
She shakes her head slightly, as though ridding herself of the memory, and turns back to me. “Yes, I started the foundation to raise funds for research and support. We award two to five fellowships every year. We also have another nonprofit that focuses on services for those who are diagnosed and their families. The hospice is a part of that. People can apply for support with anything they may need due to high medical bills or loss of income, etc.”
She is animated now, the love for her work seeping through her eyes, body, and tone.
“That’s a lot of work and goodwill.” I reach for her hand and rub my thumb on the soft skin around her knuckles. She tenses but doesn’t recoil.
“Never enough, Dominic, never enough.” She sighs, and I realize that in her line of work, every win is just a small step in the right direction. It’s only a stepping-stone to move to the next issue. How must that feel?
I thrive on getting shit done. Yes, there is always another case, another client, but I get satisfying closure with each case. London hangs between a small step forward and a thousand steps remaining to be taken. No wonder she carries so much frustration with her.
“Okay. What about you? There is so much good one can do in the world, so why would you choose the opposite?” It’s a jab, but she asks with a curiosity that doesn’t carry a critical undertone.
My hand is still on hers and the burn of the simple touch is sending signals all over my body. She leans closer, her eyes full of attention. And somehow, even though the topic is darker and the mood is heavier, we find intimacy again.
“Not everything is black and white, but in my case I can honestly confirm I made my choices for selfish reasons,” I drawl, speaking into her ear. Goosebumps sprout on her neck and I want to trail my tongue there.
I keep my face close to her profile, unreasonably satisfied when her breath hitches and she swallows a few times.
“That’s a dose of unexpected self-reflection.” She drops her other hand to my knee. “I must say it’s somewhat attractive to see you admitting your failures.”
I snort. “Oh, don’t mistake my words, Chils. I never fail.” My lips brush her ear as I whisper the words, a challenge and a threat.
She sucks in a breath and her nails dig into my skin through my slacks before she relaxes them again. I glance at her heels and fuck me, my cock demands attention.
She fidgets a bit and notices the growing tent in my crotch.
Our eyes lock and she raises one eyebrow. “Aroused much?”
Chapter13
London
