in here. Did you decorate it yourself?” I touched a figurine of a dancer.
“When I see something I like, I buy it. With time, the collection grows.”
“That sounds organic. I prefer it that way. It gives one an insight into a person, visiting their home.”
He remained quiet and sipped his coffee.
I studied the red walls crowded with art, all quality pieces that had I not been hazy with emotion, I would have studied them closer.
Despite his quiet manner, I persisted with the light talk. “You’ve got amazing taste in art. Do you have an advisor?” I’d just let this man fuck me mindlessly, and I had a right to know something about him.
Don’t I?
“No. I know what I like.” His eyes plowed into me as though we were talking about human attraction. That intense gaze was the same as when his cock was inside of me, making me gulp.
“You seem to place a lot of importance on beauty, don’t you?”
“It’s everything, isn’t it?” His lips curled ever so slightly on one side. A smile would have cracked his face.
“Beauty is everything if one can afford it,” I returned, soberly.
“Fair point.” He finished his coffee and set the cup down on an antique table. “Life’s too short to be surrounded by ugliness.”
“But it’s in the eye of the beholder. Some people find old industrial landscapes beautiful and detest the classics. They find them too staid and old-fashioned.”
“Great art is never dated. That said, we all have strange little desires that don’t always match common taste.”
I strolled around the room to study the art a little closer, even though my emotions raced. I wanted him to remind me how addicted he was to my body. His sudden distance felt icy and jarring.
“What did you mean the other night when you implied that your life hadn’t always been easy?” I asked.
15
* * *
BLAKE
PENELOPE HAD DONE something to me. Even the way she ate her muffin, made my cock hard. We’d fucked all night and morning. Now it was time to part ways. I didn’t do small talk the morning after. If anything, I needed space. That was how it should’ve been. But my head and body were at war.
After gulping down my second cup of coffee, I took a deep breath. My past wasn’t a subject I wished to explore. It was dead and buried, even if my overactive subconscious disagreed.
“I started off poor, and then, in a stroke of luck, I became rich.”
“Where were you born? That’s if you don’t mind me asking.”
I leaned against the marble-columned fireplace. “I’m from Yorkshire. I grew up close to the moors.”
Her face lit up. “Oh my… I’d love to visit the moors. I did one year of English lit and read Wuthering Heights. That book really had an impact on me. Are the moors as ruggedly beautiful as described in that book?”
“They are grim and alluring at the same time. The wind soars, and the storms can be deadly. It’s filled with bogs that, if one doesn’t watch one’s step, can swallow a person up.” I paused for a response, but Penelope seemed to hang off every word I uttered. “I also read that book. The author captured it well. Raven Abbey, an estate where I grew up, was not far from the Bront?s’ home.”
“Oh, that’s so romantic.” Her enthusiasm bit contagiously. A tinge of nostalgia flushed through me.
“From the comfort of an armchair, nature in all its ruggedness radiates a powerful appeal. However, nature can also be unmerciful and cruel.”
“That’s bleak.”
“Bleak aptly describes my childhood home.”
“You don’t miss it, then?”
I shook my head decisively. “I like the city.”
“I’ve never been out of the city. I crave nature. The woods and the stories. The folklore.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I replied coolly.
She looked at me and frowned. “Why do I get this feeling I’m holding you up?”
“I’ve got a busy day ahead.” Although I kept it cool, I still indulged myself by watching her natural sway of the hips as she walked to her bag. My body burned for her again.
“I’ll get Patrick to drive you home.”
“No need. I can ride the tube,” she said abrasively.
I admired her strength. No teary tirades but a tough wall of reserve that I recognized in myself.
I sensed that we had a few things in common. Sexually, we were tigers. Unlike the nymphomaniacal way women selling themselves behaved in bed, Penelope’s natural sensuality had taken me somewhere I’d never been before. The man I pretended to be struggled because I