His dark brows arch. “And if you had?”
I recall how bruised I’d been by the rejection of my art. How pissed I was when I learned from Margot that he was not only a reputed player, but Dominion’s owner. “I think I would’ve told you off rather than spend the night with you.”
“Is that right?” A devilish smile quirks at the corner of his lush mouth. “I think you would’ve gone home with me regardless of that.”
Eyes narrowed, I snort a laugh. “How positively arrogant of you to say so, Mr. Baine.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
I can’t and he knows it. And as I float in the circle of his strong arms, my argument that I might have been able to resist him—then or now—is quickly losing steam. I cling to the only piece of indignation I have left.
“You don’t like my art.” Even though my voice is soft, it’s an accusation.
“I never said that.”
“You told me yourself it wasn’t very good. Not good enough for your gallery.”
“That’s not the same as saying I don’t like it, or that I don’t think you have talent.”
“Do you?” I can’t help but ask the question. His professional opinion as the owner of a highly respected gallery cannot be disputed, but it’s his personal judgment that has me holding my breath. “Do you think I have talent, Nick?”
He nods. “Clearly, you do. I think it’s possible that you could be great.”
“But?” Because it’s obvious he doesn’t think I’m anywhere near that yet.
“You really want to know?”
“Yes. I need to know.”
He studies me, as if he’s weighing how to say it. “Your art is self-conscious. It’s not honest. I look at your paintings, Avery, and I see someone who’s either unsure of who she really is, or trying to hide from that truth.”
I bristle to hear it, a swift jolt of defensiveness—and alarm—shooting through me. Can he be right about my work? Even more troubling, can he truly see through me so clearly? It’s not as if the idea should come as a surprise. From that first night in the lobby of the Park Avenue building, I’ve felt stripped—exposed to my soul—under Nick’s shrewd gaze.
I feel that way now too, and every reflex in my body tenses with the urge to escape. I want to hide. And because he can read me like no one else, instead of letting me retreat, Nick closes his arms around me even more, caging me in his embrace. I glance away from his searching gaze, but he refuses to give me that either, gently catching my chin and bringing my eyes back to him.
“You have a gift, but you’re not letting it reach the canvas. I think you’re afraid of what you’ll see. You’re always going to be afraid, unless you find the courage to open your eyes.” A dangerous, alluring heat flickers in his fathomless blue irises. “I can open doors for you, Avery. I can lead you through them.”
His words from a few minutes ago seem to carry a darker, more sensual meaning while he’s holding me captive in his arms and his gaze. “Are we still talking about my art, or something else?”
His mouth curves, but his eyes remain utterly serious. “That’s up to you.”
It’s impossible to ignore his erection as we gently bob against each other in the water. The small waves rippling through the bay push us together in a lazy, sensual rhythm that has me reflecting back on everything we did last night.
Everything I am eager to do with him again.
And because he seems to enjoy provoking me—in and out of his bed—I shift my hips and bring my legs up, wrapping them around his waist. He closes his eyes on a groaned curse as my naked sex gets up close and personal with his abdomen.
“Better be careful, Ms. Ross,” he warns as his cock nudges my rear. “You’re giving me a lot of interesting ideas.”
I laugh and lean back in his arms, levering myself until I’m floating prone on the water. It feels like heaven, drifting suspended in Nick’s embrace with endless blue sky above me and a bed of gentle waves beneath me. “I don’t want to leave this spot. Can we stay here a while longer?”
“How long do you want to stay? The rest of the day, the rest of the week? The rest of the month?”
He can’t be serious. I lift my head out of the water and find him staring at me hungrily, his scorching gaze traveling the arch of my body and the swell of my breasts above the surface line of the water, where my nipples are pink and puckered as the tiny waves lick at them.
“Don’t you need to work? Do all of those important things that billionaire shadow moguls do?”
He chuckles. “Most of my business is conducted by email and phone calls. Anything I need to handle can be done from here.”