I lick my lips and stare at his chest, unable to meet the intensity of his gaze. “I think … I think it may be best if we …”
“If we …?”
“Just remain friends.”
I see his Adam’s apple gently dance with his swallow. “Friends?”
“Friends.”
His breaths fall on me in gentle waves against my hair. After too long a time, he says, “You sure about that?”
“I think it’s best for us,” I force myself to say.
I feel him staring down at me. Even without looking, I know his hard crystalline eyes that burn like sapphires are burrowing into me from above. It takes everything in me not to tackle him to the floor right now.
“Is this your way of saying … that you don’t want to have sex with me?”
“We went too far the other—” I swallow, perhaps also swallowing the memory that rushes forth of how his face felt between my legs and what else of his I’d like between them. “Too far the … the other night,” I finish.
“Look at me.”
“We went too far.”
“Nell. Look at me.”
I hold my breath. Then, with eyes as cold and hardened as the iron butt of a hammer that’s so fucking ready to fall, I lift my chin and allow his bright blue gaze to invade mine.
His eyes are twice as powerful as I was afraid of. They charge into me, tearing through all my carefully built walls and penetrating all my defenses.
There’s no security in my little heart locket; those eyes of his reach right in there and pull all of me out with just a single glimpse.
“You sure you want to just be friends?” he asks gently.
I don’t flinch. I’m paralyzed. My mouth is rendered as dumb and useless as every worthless lock in this room.
“Hmm?” he urges me, his face inching closer. “Just friends?”
The words find me at last. “Just friends.”
“No sexy-sexy?”
“Nope.”
“No kissing, either?”
“Definitely none of that,” I answer defiantly.
He nods slowly, then says, “Alright. I can respect your wishes.” He sighs softly. “But it ain’t gonna be easy.”
I straighten my back, which has the unintended effect of bringing my face even closer to his. “So,” I say, shifting the subject, “you said there was another room?”
“That, I did,” he mutters back smartly.
“Want to show me?”
“It’d be a bad idea now. What with our ‘just being friends’ and all.”
I squint quizzically at him, cocking my head to the side. “Why’s that?”
“Well, if you saw the room, you might understand.”
He gives me a smart smirk that pushes out his dimples. I could kiss him so hard right now. I feel sick to my stomach. I have never wanted anyone as bad as I want Brant Rudawski.
So why do I keep denying myself the pleasure? He’s right here. He wants me too. What’s the harm in having a little fun with him? I mean, other than turning my heart into a soup of agony seasoned by the pepper of my own doubts and crushing talent for self-deprecation.
“Alright,” I say, giving in. “Show me the room.”
Brant smiles, shrugs as if in apology for my impending fate, then leads the way.
I follow him through the maze of unsecured and broken doors to the main gallery room, which has become twice as crowded as it was an hour ago when the exhibit first opened. I follow Brant with little awareness of the people around me, all of my attention suddenly arrested by both his arrival and by my curiosity as to where he’s taking me. I’ve been here for over an hour; I’m pretty sure I’ve seen every piece Madam Renée has to show.
We pass the room of bloodshot eyes, bodybuilder forearms, and hand veins, the doorway of which holds a sign that says “This Is Where I Draw The Line: Down My Body.”
He leads me behind the circle of easels which bear paintings of severed heads that seem to stare at one another—some happily, some suspiciously, some bored—and it’s behind that circle where we arrive at a line of four people who wait at a door that has a diamond-shaped sign with a man and a woman on it. As we approach, the door opens and two people leave, bewildered looks on their faces, and the next two enter.
“You sure you didn’t go in there already?” he asks.
I chuckle dryly. “Honestly, I thought this was a line for the bathroom and ignored it.”
“Glad you ignored it.” He grins stupidly. “Because now I get to expose you to it.”
“Should I be worried?” I cross my arms and lean tiredly against the wall, trying to feign disinterest while my heart betrays me, thumping in my chest like a toddler throwing a tantrum at what awaits us in that mysterious room.