“Are you okay?” He smiled slowly with a tilt of his head. I swear he liked the fact that he rattled me. I wasn’t so sure if I didn’t. I so needed to get away from this situation right now, before I agreed to all manner of things. Something along the lines of: Take off your clothes and stretch out in the big back seat of my Range Rover, Brynne. This man had a way with control that severely unnerved me.
“Thank you for the ride. And the water. And the other stu—”
“You take care of yourself, Brynne Bennett.” He pressed a button and the lock clicked. “You have your key ready? I’ll wait until you’re inside. What floor is it?”
I dug my key out of my purse and replaced it with my phone which was still on my lap. “I live in the top studio loft, fifth floor.”
“Roommate?”
“Well, yes, but she’s probably not in.” Again, wondering what loosed my tongue in sharing personal information with a virtual stranger.
“I’ll look for the light to come on then.” Ethan’s face was unreadable. I had no idea what he was thinking.
I pushed the door open and got out. “Goodnight, Ethan Blackstone.” I left his car at the curb and headed up the steps of my building, feeling the stare of his eyes as I walked. Sticking the key in the door, I looked back over my shoulder at the Rover. The windows were so dark I couldn’t see inside, but he was in there waiting for me to get in my building so he could leave.
I opened the foyer door to five flights of stairs ahead of me. I slipped off the heels and did it barefoot. The second I entered my apartment I hit the lights and locked up. I literally collapsed against the wooden door for support. My heels dumped on the floor in a clatter and I exhaled a huge sigh. What the hell just happened?
It took a minute to heave myself away from the damn door and head over to the window. I pulled back the drape with a finger to find his car gone. Ethan Blackstone was gone.
A five mile run was just the ticket to help clear my head of the fog from last night’s— Alice in Wonderland down a friggin’ rabbit hole—trip. I seriously felt like I’d done the whole ‘Eat Me’ and ‘Drink Me’ thing too. Jesus, had the champagne been drugged? I’d acted like it. Allowing an unknown man to drive me in his car, drop me at my home and take over control of my food? Well it was stupid and I told myself to forget about it and him. Life was complicated enough without borrowing trouble.
That’s what Aunt Marie always said. Picturing her reaction to my modeling made me smile. I knew for a fact that my great aunt was less concerned about the nude pictures than my own mother. Aunt Marie was no prude. I set my iPod to shuffle and took off.
Pretty soon the awkward encounter from last night had been pounded onto the London pavement of Waterloo Bridge. It felt good to push myself physically and just run. Must be all the endorphins. Cursing inwardly for another sex reference, I wondered if that was my problem, and the reason I allowed Ethan so much leeway last night. Maybe I needed an orgasm. You’re so screwed. Yeah, and I could just imagine the literal and figurative versions of that statement.
I forged ahead and crossed over onto the Thames path that followed the great river. My iPod helped too. Music had a way of resetting the brain. With Eminem and Rihanna battling out love and lies, or lying for the sake of love in my ears, I kept a steady pace and admired the architecture I passed on my route. The history in such an ancient city as London was vast, and yet contrasted with the bustling, modern world player in a perfect balance. Duality. I loved living here.
Modeling wasn’t my only job. All students enrolled in the graduate program for Art Conservancy at the University of London were required to do practicum duties at the Rothvale Gallery in Winchester House. The Duke of Winchester’s seventeenth century mansion had housed U of L’s Department of Art for about fifty years and a more beautiful location to study certainly did not exist anywhere else in my opinion.
Heading in through the employee entrance, I flashed my badge for security then again for the conservation studios.
“Miss Brynne, good day to you.” Rory. So proper and formal. The back room guard greeted me the exact same way every time I came in. I kept hoping that one time he would say something different. Shag any millionaire control freaks last night, Miss Brynne?
“Hey, Rory.” I gave him my best smile as he let me through.
I stayed focused and sharp during my work. The painting was a stunner, one of Mallerton’s early works, entitled simply, Lady Percival. An absolutely compelling woman with nearly black hair, a blue dress to match her eyes, a book in her hand, and the most magnificent figure a female could ever hope to have, took up most of the canvas. She wasn’t so much a beauty as expressive. I very much wished I knew her story. The painting had suffered some heat damage during a fire in the sixties and never been touched since. Lady Percival needed some tender loving care and I would be the lucky one to give it to her.
I was just about to go for a break when my phone went off. Unknown caller? It struck me odd. I didn’t give my number out and the Lorenzo Agency who represented my modeling had strict disclosure rules.
“Hello?”
“Brynne Bennett.” The sexy cadence of a British voice washed over me.
It was him. Ethan Blackstone. How, I have no earthly idea. Or why for that matter, but it was him, sexy accent live and well on the other end of my phone. I would know that commanding voice anywhere.
“How did you get this number?”
“You gave it to me last night.” His voice burned into my ear and I knew he was lying.
“No,” I said slowly, trying to put the brakes on my escalating heart beat, “I did not give you my number last night.” Why was he calling?
“I may have borrowed your phone by accident while you were dozing…and called my cell with it. You distracted me by being dehydrated and starved.” I heard muffled voices in the background like he could be in an office. “It’s very easy to pick up the wrong phone when they all look alike.”
“So you went into my phone and dialed yours so you could get my number off the history of calls received. That’s kinda creepy, Mr. Blackstone.” I was starting to get rather pissed at Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome with the Gorgeous, Blue Eyes for his utter lack of personal boundaries.
“Please call me Ethan, Brynne. I want you to call me Ethan.”
“And I want you to respect my privacy, Ethan.”