Page 10 of Break Me Beautifully
"It's not that. There's a difference between being upfront and being whatever this ... inappropriate thing you're doing is."
"Inappropriate?" There's a hint of a threat in his mouth as he says that word. The car advances, jolting me so that I rock back into my seat. He moves, too, but much more than the force of the car could have caused. His body arches forward off of his seat, hands coming down on the cushion by my head. I gasp, staring straight into his eyes, counting all the small hairs on his face that turn into stubble along his chin. "You have no idea what inappropriate means, Leona. I think I've given you the wrong idea about our relationship."
My coat is too tight. I can't take a full breath, my chest squeezes against the thick material as I battle with needing air and not wanting to move closer to him. Fight or flight. That's what this is. My body is thrumming with helpless desire. I try to explain it away by reminding myself he's attractive, this is a given, who wouldn't feel a spark?
But it's more than that.
We both know it.
“You can't,” I whisper.
“Can't what?” he asks with a cocky smile. “Say it. Tell the Devil what he can't do, sweet girl.”
“Why do you keep calling yourself that?”
“Because it's who I am.” He moves his arm. I flinch, but he doesn't touch me, he touches his own chest. “In here. I'm twisted, selfish, sinful. That's why I said you have the wrong idea about our relationship.”
I lick my dry lips. He watches. “Our relationship is work related. That's it.”
“Of course,” he chuckles. “I'll teach you everything I know. Not just paint and canvas, but all the different ways art intersects with our lives. With our bodies.” He drops his eyes to my lips. The magnetic pull between us grows so quick I'm afraid I'll kiss him right here.
“My mom,” I whisper, the rain hitting the windows, drowning me out. “She warned me you might try something like this.”
“That uptight woman said I might try to fuck you?”
“No! She didn't say it like that.”
His fingers drift over my cheek. The sensation creates butterflies in my belly. “She warned you, but here you are,” he says darkly. “Should I take that to mean you're fine with me fucking you? Or are you going to try and turn me down?”
“Not try,” I say, defying him with all I can manage. God, it makes me dizzy. “I'm turning you down. Full stop.”
Klintock presses his knees against my outer thighs. He squeezes until he's hugging my legs with his own. The finger on my cheek swirls into my hair, making my brain buzz delightfully. “Sweet Leona,” he sighs, “Were you listening? I said I love things that take time.”
The throbbing between my thighs gets stronger. His nails scrape gently on my scalp, then down my jaw, and when he brushes my bottom lip I moan before I can stop myself, my eyes shutting.
“Fuck,” he gasps.
It wakes me up. I push his hand away, both of us breathing heavily, staring at each other. I know whyI'mso wary, but why does he look uncertain? Surely, he expected my reaction. He'd been trying to get one out of me. Why would he be so stunned by it?
His legs leave mine. The air is empty and depressing. Drawing his body away, he looks out the window, then pulls out his phone. The screen makes his gorgeous features glow.
What the hell just happened?I wonder. My heart is still thumping, my skin sweaty with desire. I cross my legs, hugging myself. There's no sound in the car but the patter of rain. I wish I could jump out into the fresh air and cool off.
Trying to distract myself, I look out the window just as we turn off the highway. Even the rain can't hide the electric billboards or the stunning buildings scraping the clouds of New York City.
I've been here before, but it was long ago, when my father brought us to seePhantom of the Opera. It was a move on his part to show his business partners how family-oriented he was, making us props in his own play. Sitting in the audience while the organ music thrummed into my bones, however, made it worth it.
“We're here.” It's the first thing Klintock said since he brushed my bottom lip. The car rumbles to a halt in front of what I think must be a hotel. Through the glass doors I see the front desk, the flower-circled fountain in the lobby, and the security guards.
Klintock climbs out and I follow. He holds the umbrella high. Unlike earlier, he doesn't offer me his hand.Does he not want to touch me?I wonder. After what he tried to do in the car, getting so intimately close, it's a little weird.
And I'm a little disappointed.
Stepping under his umbrella, we make our way to the building. The doorman tips his hat at us. “Sir, welcome back,” he says to Klintock. The doors split apart as we approach, warm air settling over me. Klintock dumps the dripping umbrella into the stand near the doors.
The lobby is massive with gold and green walls and columns that extend from floor to ceiling. It's more beautiful than it looked from the outside. The gentle ripple of the fountain is the only sound heard echoing in the space. The driver of our car is handing off bags to the front desk. “They'll be brought up to my penthouse,” Klintock says, reading my mind. “Come on.”
I follow him into the mirrored elevator. There are raindrops in my hair and on my shoulders despite the umbrella's protection. As I smooth them away, Klintock watches me from the corner of his eye. “The button,” I say.
