The Commitment (Unrestrained 2)

I shrugged. "You were sick. But now…" I bit my lip and raised my eyebrows.

He smiled and squeezed my breast. "Now I feel almost my old self. I think I want that massage you promised."

"Your wish is my command, oh Sultan," I said, fluttering my eyelashes.

"I wish that you'll give me a very long and very sensuous massage when we get back from your father's. Use some nice scented oil, have some soft music in the background, light some candles…"

"Sounds heavenly."

He checked his watch and sighed. "Now I do have to go." He leaned down and kissed me on the mouth. "Hold that thought."

Then he was gone.

I sat in the kitchen in my robe and slippers, eating a bagel with cream cheese and drinking my coffee while I read the New York Weekly. Despite hating gossip, I read the society page and there, on page six, was a picture of Captain Donnelly receiving a check from me at the fundraiser. There was an article accompanying the picture, stating that my father had sent me in his place to donate money to DWB at the annual fundraising event. There was a line about me being his youngest child, and mentioned that I was a graduate student in Journalism at Columbia.

Then, farther down below after a section on my father's potential candidacy for the house seat, there was a series of pictures from the event. At the bottom, a picture of me with Kurt – one the photographer had taken when we were outside. In the image, Kurt leaned over me against the wall in the darkness. It looked very suggestive, my face in shadow but the impression was one of two people who were very intimate. The caption read Kate McDermott and Escort Share A Private Moment outside ZONE.

My heart sunk and I felt the blood rush from my face.

If Drake saw it, he'd get the wrong impression. That photograph was chosen because it did look suggestive and no doubt, the editors thought that it would titillate the readers to know something personal about my father and me. Now, I regretted not telling Drake about meeting Kurt. Now, I'd not only have to recount the events of that evening, but I'd also have to explain why I didn't say anything. I had no idea that anyone would be interested in a photograph of me. I was nobody.

I wanted to throw the paper in the recycling bin by the front door, but knew that would be proof of a guilty conscience. I had to fold the paper up and leave it by the couch where the papers usually were placed. I had to hope that Drake would be really distracted by the prospect of he and I having sex and wouldn't have time to read the paper and so it would become yes

terday's news and he'd miss reading the edition entirely. I had to hope no one showed it to him, or told him about it.

I'd have to tell him about it but oh, I regretted my bad decision not to tell him that I'd seen Kurt at the fundraiser.

What a mistake.

After a couple of hours at the studio, I was standing at the drawing table where Keith worked, since Nathaniel was at home for the morning. Keith's work was really dark and political, a commentary on the city's poverty, his paintings showing the juxtaposition of the homeless and extremely wealthy. I sat at a table and turned the pages of his catalogue, which had been used at a recent gallery showing. Over my shoulder, Keith described each one, telling me the history of each piece.

I glanced back and saw that Drake was standing in the entry, watching. Keith turned and took a step back.

"This must be your boyfriend," he said softly. He'd seen my painting and must have realized who Drake was.

I stood up, realizing in an instant that Drake would be jealous. It didn't matter that the scene he happened on was completely innocent. He'd just be jealous that I was with some strange man he didn’t know. I wasn't naïve enough to think he'd be unaffected.

I went to him and took hold of his coat's lapels and pulled him down to kiss me.

He did, dragging his gaze away from Keith with obvious reluctance. He kissed me finally, paying attention to me, his arms going around my waist possessively.

"I thought I'd pop by and see how you’re doing."

"Almost done. Just finishing up the last touches."

"Can I see?" he said and went to the canvas, which was over by the far window, facing the other direction. I ran to the painting and tried to block his way.

"I don't want you to see it just yet, Drake."

He tried to sneak by, taking my shoulders and pushing me gently out of the way. When I resisted, he tickled me and I couldn’t help but squirm in his arms, giggling.

"No, Drake!" I said mock angrily, trying not to grin.

Just then, Keith came over and tried to block Drake from seeing the canvas.

"The lady said no," he said, his voice firm. Keith was not as well-built as Drake but he was as tall and could probably have taken Drake on if he wanted to.

Drake stopped and put his hands on his hips. "Take it easy," he said, his voice tight. "I was just playing around."