For 100 Nights (100 2)

“Never?”

“Never. I don’t fuck anyone who lives in my building. Just as I don’t fuck my employees. Those are two long-standing rules that I’ve abided by forever.” He strokes my cheek, and the solemn look on his face obliterates all of my doubts. “There’s only one woman who’s tempted me to break my rules, and she’s sitting right here.”

He draws me toward him for a sweet, slow kiss as Patrick slides into the driver’s seat. My heart is pounding heavily, my body quickening as Nick scoots me against him on the seat and drapes his arm possessively around my shoulders.

“East Harlem, please, Patrick. Take the slow way, so Ms. Ross and I can make out a little longer.”

Patrick chuckles. “Yes, sir.”

Chapter 12

As the week nears its end, I’ve not only completed another painting but started on a third. Whether my burst of creativity has been inspired by my new work environment, the companionship of other artists I share the space with, Lita’s ever-changing, eclectic taste in music, or a combination of all three, I can’t be sure.

I have no doubt that Nick has inspired me too.

Like the first painting I did a few days ago, these other new pieces are abstract and moody, unmistakably sensual. Although I didn’t paint any of them with the intention of producing something erotic, it’s difficult not to see the powerful sexual suggestion in the combination of aggressive lines and bold brush strokes juxtaposed against sinuous curves and fluid, entangled shapes.

I stand back from my easel and tilt my head, assessing the progress of my current piece. Matt pauses beside me, having just returned from cleaning his brushes in the studio’s small bathroom sink.

“I like what you did with the red in that one, Avery. Very hot.”

“Thanks.” I let my eye follow the twisting ribbon of scarlet that runs through the composition, binding the soft shapes that seem to glow in the foreground, lit by an unseen flame. In the background, pinpricks of light pierce a field of inky blackness.

“It’s actually pretty damn good,” Lita says, which, coming from her, is the height of praise. “My favorite so far is your other one, though.”

She uses the end of a ball-peen hammer to point at the first painting I completed since coming to the studio. The one that still makes my heart race and the cheeks of my ass sting deliciously every time I look at it.

I try to curb my private smile as I murmur the title I’ve given it. “Blue Hour, Black Leather.”

She nods. “You ever try to sell anything?”

“No,” I reply. “Well, I tried for about a year, soon after I came to New York. Only one piece sold in all that time—one of the first things I ever painted. Nothing sold since, and I lost my spot at the gallery.”

Lita purses her pierced lips, scrutinizing my work from across the room. “Were you painting like this back then?”

I glance back at my easel and the piece that reminds me of my candlelight dinner—and wicked dessert—with Nick a few nights ago. “No, this is something different for me.”

Matt crosses his arms as he looks at my newest. “I’ve got a friend with a gallery down in SoHo. I’ll bet I could get you some space there if I ask him.”

“Oh, thanks, but I don’t think so. I don’t think I’m ready for that.” And if I were, I would want to get the gallery spot on my own merits, not through favors or friendships.

“Speaking of galleries,” Lita says to me, “some of my shit’s going to be part of a multi-artist exhibition next week in Brooklyn. You wanna come?”

Matt nudges me. “Please, say yes. She’s already twisted my arm to be there. It’s at some chichi new gallery over in Greenpoint in the middle of the afternoon, for God’s sake. If you don’t come, I’ll be forced to find a corner and day-drink all by my lonesome.”

I smile, thinking that some time out with my new friends sounds like fun. “Okay, sure. I’ll go.”

As we settle on plans to meet up at the event, my phone chimes with an incoming text. There’s no dimming my smile when I see Nick’s message on the display.

Thinking about you all morning.

I sigh, catching my lip between my teeth in longing. He’s been in Boston on business since yesterday afternoon, and not due back to the city until later this evening.

Been thinking about you too. I turn away from Lita and Matt, who’ve already moved on to another conversation without me anyway. Missing you like crazy.

Good. I like you hungry.

My eyes narrow as I tap my reply. Not nice to tease.