All Souls' Night - Renee Rose Page 0,159

life, and at the same time, the dismal abyss of despair?” He touches her arm and his fingers linger too long. “It’s in the finer brush strokes. I’d love to explain it all to you, if you’d like.”

I fight the urge to grab him and rip his condescending head off.

I step closer, softly. Listening. See how she’ll respond.

“Um.” She ducks her head, as if unsure of herself. “I…”

“You look so… exotic. I love your skin color.” He stares at her with greedy, beady eyes. “Are you new here?”

“Um.” She blinks.

I wince inside. Why isn’t she showing him her fiery side, the one she showed me in the classroom? Not that I want her to flirt with him, but I can’t stand to see him walk all over her like that.

“Seriously.” He pats her arm, letting his fingers stay even longer this time. “Your expression looks a little confused. Let me tell you about the art here.”

I swear, if he says one more thing, I’m going to tear off his stubby fingers.

Finally, Temi takes a breath and sticks up her chin. She steps away from him so his hand loses touch with her arm.

“No.” Her voice is even and has a pleasant lilt, but she’s firm. “It looks like a poorly done Jackson Pollock knock-off. All I see is mimicry. I can explain that to you, if you’re confused about what I mean.”

Good for you, Temi. Eviscerate him. I don’t know why I care so much that she can take care of herself but for some reason, it matters to me. Maybe it’s because I want her and her submission so badly. And submission’s not worth anything to me unless it comes from a strong woman.

“Well, excuse me.” The man blinks rapidly and frowns. Crosses his arms. “You know, I’m an art critic for the National Art Times.”

“We’re all art critics in our own way, aren’t we? And for future reference? Don’t tell a Mexican woman that she looks exotic. It’s racist, worn-out, and reeks of white privilege.” Temi steps further away. “You enjoy your night.” She nods and gives him a brilliant grin, as if to temper her dismissal.

Then she sees me, and she stops. Stares.

“Professor Locke.” She clears her throat. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” She touches her cheek.

“Just call me Locke. We’re not in class.” I step closer as she does, too.

“Locke. Okay.” She smiles and I see her interest spark, but her eyes are a little distant. I think she’s still distracted from the asshole she just sent off like the stray dog he is.

I grab two glasses of champagne from a passing server and hand her one. “Cheers to Jackson Pollock rip-offs.”

She laughs. “You heard that?” She seems embarrassed and pleased at the same time. This time, when her eyes meet mine, she’s fully present. As if I’ve been given some test, and passed.

“I agree one hundred percent with everything you said. Well done.” I raise my glass. I always give my admiration where it’s due.

“The art here is not very good tonight. I’m sorry, but it’s not. And I don’t like people being condescending to me because I’m….” she waves a hand at herself, “a woman. Mexican. I’m trying to be more outspoken. Say what I really think.”

“If he’d seen your portfolio, he’s be on the floor at your feet.” I raise an eyebrow.

An image of her at my feet flashes into my mind, and I resist the urge to put it into hers.

But fuck if she isn’t thinking the same thing, because her cheeks get more flushed and her chest heaves just a bit. “Let’s forget about him. He’s not worth the brain cells it takes to dismiss his image.”

“There are other images I’d much rather envision.” I look into her eyes and smile.

She sips her drink and flushes. “This is good.” I don’t think she means the alcohol.

We stare at each other for a second, and then another one. As time goes by, as the seconds click into oblivion, it’s increasingly obvious that there’s something between us. A bond that won’t be denied. I came here hunting her, and she’s eager to be caught. By me.

It’s all wrong, and I know it’s folly, but I reach for her free hand. “Artemis.”

“Temi.” She wraps her fingers around mine.

“That’s pretty.” I can feel her pulse, fast and strong. Her blood rushes through her veins, a river of gorgeous red. The lust nearly overtakes me. I rub her palm with my index finger. “If you’ve