Billionaire Bad Boys of Romance 1(31)

Now I had to stare at him. "You're kidding, right?"

He looked down at me. He really was very tall. His beautiful dark eyes narrowed as his brows drew together in worry. For a moment, he looked almost... betrayed. "No. I'm not kidding. What makes you think that?"

I raised my eyebrows. "You're really talking about our artistic union     being fruitful?"

His mouth dropped open. "Oh!" he said. "Oh, yes, I can see where you might be getting the wrong impression. But yes, I meant that. I would like to explore... other mediums."

"And I still inspire you?" I asked.

To my utter shock he reached out and ran his thumb down the side of my face. "Yes," he said huskily. "Very much so. Please come back here tomorrow at two in the afternoon."

A queer feeling curled in my stomach at the touch of his finger against my cheek. "I, um, I have to work tomorrow..." It sounded like the lamest excuse ever, but his touch, though it inspired anticipation in me, also gave me a strange little quiver of longing. Longing, and regret. I had no idea what to do with it, so I backed away and he dropped his hand. I felt the loss like a blow.

"Will Felicia not give you the day off if you ask?"

I had to think about that. "I don't know," I said. "I don't think I've ever asked her for one."

"Then I'd say you're due. Be here. Tomorrow. Two." And he turned and walked up the stairs and into his house.

What a weird fucking guy, I thought. Definitely not crazy, though. Not by a long shot.

I turned and went home.





Chapter Six

I awoke to the phone ringing in my ear. Groggily I rolled over, grabbed my phone, and answered. "'lo?" I muttered.

"So you had to get your lover boy to ask me to give you the day off?" Felicia's voice buzzed in my ear and I winced.

"What?" I said. She sounded angry. I couldn't imagine why. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She huffed into the phone. "I'm talking about Malcolm Ward calling me up and saying you needed the day off today so he could paint you."

This was news to me. I mean, we'd sort of left it at maybe yesterday. That he'd taken matters into his own hands rankled. "I didn't tell him he could do that," I said, indignant. "I told him I'd ask you for the day off. Or just the afternoon, if you need me in the morning. Do you need me this morning?"

"Do I ever need you?" Felicia asked.

"Yes. All those times you got on the front pages of the tabloids with your indiscretions? Remember when you first got married and I covered for you? Remember all those times you forgot you had to go to one of those fancy dress parties and I just so happened to have it on my calendar and you showed up fashionably late without clay under your fingernails?"

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. "Yes, well, fine. I know I need you. But I don't need you today. It's a Monday. Nothing ever happens on Mondays."

Even I had to admit this was true. "I suppose," I said. "So he wants to paint me, huh?"

"I thought you said he took photographs."

"He says he hasn't found his medium yet."

"Oh jeez. What a twat."

For some reason, I felt defensive. "I don't think so. He has some talent. The photos he took definitely show promise. You know, if they weren't of me. Maybe if he had a really beautiful woman to photograph he'd do better."

"He could have a really beautiful woman to photograph. He's rich. He wants you."

"Oh. Thanks," I said, crankily.

"You know I didn't mean it like that. Anyway, he called and asked for you to have the day off. I said yes."

I lay in my bed and blinked at the ceiling. My clock was just about to tick over to my alarm, which was... strange. "Wait, he called you at six in the morning?"

"Late last night," she corrected me. "I'm gathering he's rather eager to see you again. You fucked him yet?"

I bit my lip. My dreams had been full of Malcolm, of things that we hadn't even done to each other in the waking world. I had no idea what kind of relationship we had, but it was certainly sexually charged, even though I hadn't even touched his bare cock. Or his bare skin. Or... well, much of anything, really. I'd never been with a guy as reserved as Malcolm. He seemed to only want to touch me, and was largely uninterested in reciprocation. I'd once thought, after one too many blowjobs with one of my exes who never told me when he was about to come—it's called common courtesy, my god—that it would be lovely to have a man worship my body and never ask for anything in return. But I was finding out that I was pretty randy to worship Malcolm myself. He did have a wonderfully hard body—what I had felt of it under his clothes—and sex seemed to draw him out of his shell. He would have been fun to play with. It would be really fun to see what made him tick.