“Do you like that one? The abstract impressionist?”
Her low voice took him from his thoughts and he blinked, realizing he had been glaring at a painting. He glanced at the placard dismissively and said, “No, not particularly.”
“Are you having a bad time?”
“No,” he said gruffly. He wasn’t.
“You look angry,” she said cautiously.
“I’m not angry. I’m thinking about work.”
“You work yourself too hard, Nick.” She sounded sympathetic now, which was worse than betrayal. He didn’t want to be pitied. “Even Arthur thinks you are. He told me.”
“Arthur isn’t holding up the company on his shoulders. Of course he can afford to be cavalier.”
“He’s not cavalier. He just has a good work-life balance. And so should you.” She ran her thumb over his knuckles and an electric need arced down his spine. “Try to enjoy the art. It’s supposed to be a reset for you brain. Like looking at nature, or listening to classical music.”
“I don’t need a reset,” he grumbled. “I just need people to do what I pay them for.”
“They do.”
We’ll see.
He swept her into another room, no longer wanting to look at that bleak painting with its dark smears of abstract color. Jay didn’t seem to mind holding hands but he suspected that was because there was no one here to see.
It was only when the clothes started to come off that she lost that outward façade of bossy control and yielded to him the way he wanted, giving him everything but her heart.
Nicholas darted a wild look at a sculpture made of metal and plastic. Thinking about her slow, tongue-heavy blowjobs made his knees feel watery. She was cruel the way she did it, too. Lingering over his stomach as she kissed her way down to his dick. Teasing him with her very breath until the anticipation of the act built up to a deep throb in his belly.
They were good at hurting each other. Had perfected it with a lifetime of careful brushstrokes that demonstrated a mastery rivaling any one of these framed paintings. But he was tired of coupling their passion with violence.
He just wanted to be fucking loved.
Chapter Nine
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It surprised Jay, howattentiveNicholas was in public. His eyes were always on her, every time she looked. Or else he was offering his arm, his coat. Such old-world manners came as a shock from a man who was as ruthlessly exacting as he was, and it was a little unexpected just how much she found herself liking them.
In high school, he had been so cruel to the girls he’d been with. They were never good enough to bring home. He’d meet with them beneath the bleachers or in other people’s upstairs bedrooms, only to abandon them as soon as he’d gotten what he’d wanted, leaving them to the ruthless grind of the high school rumor mill.
Hurting people came to him so easily; it always had. Another thing he had learned from his father.
When her hand shifted uneasily in his, he squeezed her tighter and didn’t let go.
They were getting stares as they walked down the corridors. Most of the stares were directed at him. Nicholas was a very tall man with the sort of profile that could have been chiseled in marble, as noble as it was severe. The Cerruti suit he wore was the color of tempered steel, tailored to reflect both the leanness of his build and the lack of padding required to accentuate his shoulders. His body, much like his temperament, was a demonstration of absolute control.
And maybe his manners were, too. Whether you were pulling out a chair for someone or tying them to it, the intent was still the same.
Ownership.
Possession.
She blushed, and saw his face turn towards hers again, measuring her responses. They had never walked like this, hand in hand. She could feel her palm getting sweaty. She hadn’t been this nervous since her teen years, with her first crush, and feeling that way—withhim—was terrifying.
They had reached the special exhibition on ephemeral art and she tried to focus her attention on that, but it only made her feel worse. As she looked at the timelapse photographs of the silent audience of melting human ice sculptures in Chamberlain square, or Yoko Ono’s apple imprisoned in plexiglass while it began its slow rot, Jay felt tears begin to form in her eyes.
“Since when did trash become art?” Nicholas asked skeptically, startling her from her gloomy reverie, which was justsohim that she almost laughed, even though she felt so broken inside.
