"We can do whatever you want." We walk, her arm around my waist to keep me warm. "There’s a contemporary exhibition nearby. I think you’d like it."
"Can we actually go now?" I raise my eyebrow so she understands that it's complicated to go out and be seen with her.
"We can go now. Do you want to? I'm serious. You didn't accept dinner, but I'm proposing a visit to the museum. No strings attached."
She makes a quick call as we head for the exit. I realize I’ve forgotten the flowers and glasses, but she’s already hailing a taxi. She pulls a gaiter over her face and pulls up her hood.
"Afraid of the cold?" She shakes her head.
"I don't want them to recognize me. It would be a problem for your reputation." Instead of getting into her own driver's car, she hails a taxi and we get in.
We arrive at the museum. The ground is slippery from the rain, and she helps me out of the car with a steady hand. The building looks dark, and I feel a pang of disappointment until she whispers an apology and leads me toward the entrance. A man in a sharp suit greets her with a handshake.
Inside, only the accent lights on the artwork are lit. The curator explains that this was the original vision for the show, minimalist and intimate, before the public's need for photos forced them to turn the lights up.
I stop before a sculpture: four intertwined lines of waxed nautical rope in primary colors. The caption reads Enamorados[2]. Kelsey’s hand finds my waist, her chin resting on my shoulder.
"Intriguing," she says in a whisper, and I agree as I look at the lines, trying to build bridges for my interpretations.
"I like how the lines entangle and separate, then move together again. It’s beautiful."
"I like how the colors bleed into one another as they rise. If they were people, I’d say those who touch them change their lives forever."
"One way or another," I finish. She hums and presses her face to my neck.
"You smell like lavender."
"I’m addicted to it."
"What’s the perfum?" she asks as we walk between the works and Kelsey stops to look at the one on a table.
"Carolina Herrera. I'm kind of addicted to it." She agrees in a whisper and focuses on what looks like a fruit bowl, but is made of wood and, according to the caption, was taken from the sea. It is misshapen, has a few holes, probably made by the sea air, and is beautiful.
We stop before a misshapen wooden bowl, weathered by the sea. Kelsey calls the curator over and signs a paper. She laughs when she sees my raised eyebrows.
"I like it!"
She makes it look so simple, buying a piece of the sea on a whim. We finish the tour and head back to the hotel. In the elevator, our bare fingers touch. We reach my suite, and she stops at the threshold.
"I’d invite you in, but I promised no ulterior motives tonight." I touch her cheek, sighing.
"A kiss?" She presses an index finger to her lips and smiles. I shake my head and pull her inside.
I try to pin her to the wall, but she’s faster. I’m the one pressed against the wood. The kiss is voracious, a battle for control. Her fingers find skin beneath my layers, and a moan escapes me. But I won't give in yet. I won't be another easy conquest.
We break apart, both of us breathless. Kelsey fixes her hair; my shirt is half-tucked.
"Can't I stay a little longer?" she mumbles against my lips.
"No. You promised."
"Am I going to have to sleep thinking about you?"
"Yes. Tell me tomorrow if you had a good night." I open the door for her to leave, and Kelsey steals another kiss from me. With my hand still on the doorknob, I lean against her body and her hands run down the side of my body to my thigh. I interrupt the kiss once more and clear my throat.
"See you around, Megan." She leaves, and I lean against the door, waiting for my breathing to steady. I strip off my layers one by one and collapse onto the bed.
My body is humming. The green eyes, the touch, the control... I sigh, feeling a deep, heavy ache I haven't felt in years.
