I just obeyed him without question like Vane does. And Vane is standing alone beside the pool, staring after us with a look of acidic pain on his face.
Shit, shit, shit.
A wave of pity for Vane fills my heart, but it’s too late to do anything about it. We’re already in the elevator, riding up, with a full view of the marina, the bridge, and the orange-streaked sky.
“You treat Vane like a servant, you know,” I snap, knotting my towel around my waist.
Dorian glances down at me. “I pay him well. And he gets other benefits.”
“Like…”
“Not benefits likethat, Baz.” His lip curves, a slight mockery. “I used to sleep with him. Not anymore. I’m talking about benefits like living in this place. Like me picking up the check everywhere we go. He knows the deal.”
“Does he? Because I think he’s in love with you.”
“Isn’t everyone?” Still with that sly smirk. What that smirk does to me he must never, ever know.
“God,” I seethe. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“I’m the fairest in the damn land, sweetheart.”
“Fuck you!” I gasp, and he laughs.
We leave the elevator, enter the penthouse, and cross to the balcony. On the way, Dorian grabs a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from a coffee table.
Outside, I breathe deeply of the sea air, reveling in the view of the beautiful blue inlet and the strip of land beyond, its fluffy green trees interspersed with pale hotel buildings and white church spires.
“What I wouldn’t give for some sweet heroin right now.” Dorian tosses the towel aside and thumbs his lighter. “This will have to do.”
“Because you don’t want to risk too much damage to the portrait?”
“Bingo.” He hauls at the cigarette, filling his lungs and holding the breath for a few seconds before exhaling. “F-u-u-u-ck.” The word spirals out on the smoke. “That’s the stuff.”
I pucker my lips, struggling with the urge to ask for a cigarette. Or vape stuff, though I’ve heard that can be bad for lungs too.
“Why is everything fun bad for your body?” I grumble.
“The unfairness of human existence,” he mutters, lifting the cigarette to his mouth again. “You want to smoke?”
He has asked me that a few times over the past week, and I’ve said no every time. For some reason, I’m desperate to say yes right now.
“You’re a bad influence.” I lean on the balcony railing, trying not to think about the tingling warmth of the inhale, the slight downtick in anxiety I always feel from smoking. But I don’t like the physical effects or the stale smell left behind afterward.
I’m turning to tell Dorian “no” to the cigarette. But he’s right there, towering over me. The haze of his damp, heated body is an electric lure, a layer of magnetized space between my skin and his. His paneled chest is nearly brushing against my breasts, and the thin material of the bikini top can’t conceal their pronounced response to his nearness.
Dorian takes a pull at the cigarette. Cups my chin. Bends down, slotting his mouth to mine. My lips are slightly parted, and as his close over them, he breathes into me…warm, spicy smoke.
I inhale out of sheer surprise, drinking his breath into my lungs.
His soft lips leave mine, but his mouth hovers, his head still angled for a kiss. Waiting for me to close the tantalizing distance.
When I don’t, the hand holding my chin moves to my shoulder, cupping, caressing.
“Baz,” he breathes. “You stubborn, exquisite woman. Kiss me.”
“This is what you do,” I whisper. “You tempt people to indulge in things that are bad for them. You use the friends who care about you. You facilitate addictions, and you feed apathy. You hurt people, Dorian. You wreck their lives, and then you just retreat back into that void where your soul should be.”
He pulls back, straightening to his full height. “God. It was just a little kiss.”
