Thirty-six

ANDREW

Two days after our messy encounter, I’m back in the basement. I finally have time to cut and stretch the canvas over a wooden frame I constructed using scraps from my studio.

Picking up the canvas, I walk over to my work table and spread it out evenly across the metal surface.

With my lamp shining down on it, I get a good look at it. Black and red splatters cover the cloth material. The colors swirl together near the center but the lines in the furthest corners are distinctly red.

With a smirk, I recall the way Lilah clenched the sheet as I took her from behind. She was squirming like a lover possessed in order to get away from my pounding. But there was no escape.

The artwork in front of me is very different from the paintings I usually create. Body paint isn’t my preferred medium.

I briefly debate whether to include this in my upcoming show. Every time I look at it, my cock stirs as memories from that night come flooding in.

Do I really want to invite others to get a glimpse of something so personal? I feel like I’d inadvertently be sharing a piece of Lilah with my audience and my possessive instincts kick.

I want her to myself.

For the next few minutes, I work efficiently, using the staple gun to clamp the canvas in place against the wood.

Just as I flip the painting over to study the finished product, I hear footsteps on the staircase across the basement.

When I look up, my housekeeper Gladys is standing near me.

“Mr. Knight, what would you like for dinner tonight?”

It isn’t until she asks that I realize I’m even hungry. I haven’t eaten since noon, when I took lunch to Lilah’s office. A quick look at my watch lets me know that it’s going on seven now.

Lilah should be arriving soon. She said she’d be over after going to yoga with Charli. I can’t remember the last time she slept at her place.

With that in mind, I get a clever idea that I’ll only be able to pull off with Gladys’ help.

***

Cooking isn’t as easy as Gladys makes it look. I’m seriously doubting my bright idea to cook for Lilah. Honestly, I want to give up and order food. But Gladys would never let me hear the end of it.

And neither would Lilah if she ever found out.

So, I have no choice but to stick it out while Gladys patiently coaches me through the steps of making pesto pasta, one of Lilah’s favorite dishes.

We’re on our second pot of pasta thanks to me.

How the hell was I supposed to know you needed to stir it occasionally to prevent it from burning and sticking to the bottom of the pan?

I know Gladys is fed up when she removes the shrimp from the heat and gently suggests I find something else to do.

“Why don’t you season the green beans?” She says throwing me a bone. “I can take it from here.”

And before I can protest, she’s moved in on my station in front of the stove and bumped me out of the way with her hips.

Chuckling, I shake my head and move to the other end of the counter.

“I thought you loved me, Gladys,” I tease, grabbing the salt shaker.

“I do,” she says sweetly. “And I want Ms. Lilah to love you too. We can’t accomplish that if you serve her goop.”

Goop?

I’m howling with laughter when my phone chimes, alerting me to someone at the front gate.

When I see Lilah’s name on the screen, I swipe my finger up to grant her entrance.

“Okay, she’s here,” I announce in a stage whisper. “Remember, I made all this.”

Gladys tosses me a playful eye roll as I leave the kitchen to let in Lilah. When I pull open the front door, she’s standing there with a contemplative look on her face.

It vanishes the second she sees me. Her coffee-colored eyes turn inviting.

“Hi,” she murmurs, going up on her tiptoes to kiss me.

“Hey Cupcake.” When I return her kiss, the lingering taste of wine on her lips pulls me in for another one.

“Miss me?” She giggles, using my line as she steps into the foyer.

“Always,” I tell her truthfully. Whenever she isn’t here, I’m basically just counting down the time until I see her again.

I’m infatuated. Trust me, I know.

And for once I don’t give a shit.

Without thinking, I instantly reach for her bag to carry it to my room. It comes naturally now. After years of never allowing a woman to share my space, it’s become second nature with Lilah.

“How did you get here?” I ask when I realize there wasn’t a car in the driveway when I let her in.

“Charli dropped me,” she says. “I had a little bit more wine than she did.”

Nodding, I accept her answer as fact until I realize I haven’t really seen much of her car these days.

“Is your car still in the shop?” I wonder aloud.

Lilah’s face falters for a split second and she actually looks confused before recovering her calm façade.

“Um, yeah. Still in the shop.”

She’s lying. And I want to know why.

“What shop did you say it was in again?”

She studies me for a second and I can see the wheels spinning in her brain as she formulates her next answer.

“A friend of mine is working on it.”

“Which friend?” I follow up not missing a beat.

Her hand flies to her neck to cover the blush crawling up the side. It’s a tell-tale sign she’s lying. Took me a while to figure it out, but once I did I’ve been able to read her like a book.

“Something smells good,” she says, changing the subject.

“You’re hiding something from me,” I say, my voice more accusing than I’d intended.

“Andrew, I don’t—”

“Just tell me, Lilah.”

With a heavy sigh, she brings her hands forward to cover her face as she mutters something into her palm.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” I say pulling one hand away from her mouth.

“I can’t afford to bring it home right now,” she mumbles again, the red stain creeping from her neck and up to her cheeks. “The expense isn’t in my budget.”

Dumbfounded, I look at her and feel like a dick for making her talk about it.

She’s clearly embarrassed because of it and I just couldn’t drop.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think—”

“Let’s just drop it. Please,” she begs.

“How much do you need to get it out?” I ask, doing the exact opposite of what she just requested.

Eyes growing to the size of golf balls, Lilah shakes her head furiously.

“I’m not taking money from you, Andrew. Forget about it.”

I don’t know why I’m surprised, but my ego is a little deflated when she turns down my attempt to help.

“Fine,” I tell her, coming up with another solution. “I’ll be driving you to and from work until you get it back then.”

She opens her mouth to object but I’m faster.

“And when I can’t be there, I’ll arrange for a driver.”

“That’s insane. You don’t even use a driver!” she protests, placing her hands on her hips.

But I’m not budging on this.

“It’s settled, Cupcake. Now come in the kitchen, I have a surprise for you.”