Chapter Ten
Nathaniel
I stand there, half listening as Vanessa prattles about a show she saw, some resort she went to, and shopping, shopping, shopping. I glance at her, taking in her thick red cascade of hair, her slick red lips and very nicely enhanced curves. But today, it’s doing absolutely nothing for me. And I realize why most of the time I spent with Vanessa was in bed, where the only words she bothered with were, “Yes,” “More,” and “Harder.” I hide a grimace. Today, of course, she’s not here as one of my favorite fuck buddies, but as an artist my gallery is launching this evening. More importantly, perhaps she’s standing here as the wife of one of my best, wealthiest clients.
Why we even started our secret trysts eludes me now. Although, even as I begin to think about it, the answer is coming. Something to do with Danneel… the loneliness of being alone… the need to touch and be touched…
“Hey, boss.” I turn to the doorway leading into the gallery and see Bruce, dressed in his usual gray uniform. A pang of guilt hits me, and I try not to let it show. “Vanessa’s paintings are all in the exhibition room. Do you need me to do anything else with them?”
“No, Bruce. That’s perfect. Thank you.”
He gives me a grin and a small wave, and another, harder pang of guilt hits me. I was fucking his daughter not even an hour ago, and I’ve done absolutely filthy things to her over the last couple of weeks. When I’m between Poppy’s thighs, the last thing I think about is how great and loyal her father is an employee. When I’m sucking her clit and making her scream my name, the thought of the potential, very nasty, very public lawsuit that could come from this doesn’t even enter my mind. Conflict of interest doesn’t even begin to describe it, yet I can’t seem to bring myself to care. Spanking her sweet ass, seeing my handprints on her gorgeous, smooth skin… I don’t think about much at all during those moments, except for how much I want Poppy.
Vanessa keeps talking as if Bruce hadn’t been there at all. She’s very good at ignoring things that she considers beneath her interest. For all of her talent artistically, as well as in the sack, she has a personality that’s distinctly lacking.
And what does it say about me that, until recently, I never even gave that fact a second thought?
“It’s been a while, hot stuff,” Vanessa says in a low, sultry tone. She reaches out and runs her fingertips over the edge of my tie, long red nails gently scraping along my chest. “What’s been keeping you so busy lately?” she asks with a faux pout.
I give her what I hope is a casual smile. “Work. You think all of this magic happens on its own?”
She laughs, throwing her head back, and thrusting her chest toward me. “It’s not the only type of magic you’re good at,” she murmurs. She inches toward me, breasts pressed to my chest, the scent of her perfume surrounding me.
A few weeks ago, I would have been ready to take her up to my office and succumb to the pleasures of a convenient quickie to sate both of our libidos. Vanessa’s talented with her mouth.
Not as talented as Poppy though.
The thought comes to me, and I give Vanessa another small smile. I have no interest in fucking her, and that thought alone rocks me. I never cared one way or the other about her personality before, and if she were around, we’d always been good at finding ways to slip away and do the nasty, sometimes right under her husband’s nose. Up until now, I’d never felt guilty about that—mowing another man’s lawn. Yet the idea of it has presently left a bad taste in my mouth.
Vanessa starts rubbing up against me, and I gently put my arms on her elbows, ready to push her away from me. I don’t want to offend her. Not only do I have to work with her to get this opening off the ground, but her husband and his money help keep this particular gallery very much in the black. The last thing I need is her telling him that I’ve been fucking her behind his back for the past few years, which is something she’d totally do out of spite. I know that much about her, for sure.
But… then again, she loves her husband’s money even more than I do, and outing what we’ve done together would have her out on her ass within minutes. So, I’m not overly worried about it, but I’d still rather avoid any stupidity if at all possible. I take a small step away from her, but she follows with a glint in her eye.
“Ooh. Playing hard to get, Nathaniel? I like it. Maybe I can tie you up and have my way with you,” she adds with a smile.
“Vanessa—”
“Or… you could just take me up to your office, bend me over your desk, and give me what I need. You know it’ll be good,” she murmurs, and I glance toward the doorway to the main gallery.
“We should probably go over the final layout for the exhibit to make sure you’re pleased with it,” I tell her.
“You always, always please me, Nathaniel,” she states, drawing herself closer to me and putting her arms around my neck. Her body is plastered up against mine. And all I keep thinking is how much I don’t want this. Not with her, anyway.
Poppy’s face imprints on my brain again, and all I want to do is ditch Vanessa and go back to the penthouse so I can demonstrate to Poppy just how much I’ve missed that sweet little body—despite the short amount of time I’ve been away from her.
“I’m seeing someone,” I tell Vanessa, more abrupt than I intended.
She laughs, low and teasing, and then she lifts herself up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine. “So am I, remember?” she murmurs and kisses me harder.
I raise my hands to her upper arms, ready to gently push her away, when I hear someone clearing their throat nearby. Shit.
I spring away from Vanessa and look toward the door.
The first thing I see is Poppy. And though most people wouldn’t recognize it, I can tell between the raised eyebrow and the set of her jaw that she is utterly pissed. I’m already heading toward her to explain when I notice a small figure come up to stand beside her. Micah.
“Hey, buddy,” I say to Micah.
For some reason, this only seems to piss Poppy off more. She gives me a cold glare and puts her hand on Micah’s shoulder, gently leading him away and into one of the other parts of the gallery. She doesn’t even give me a backward glance, and my heart lurches. My gut twists. She knows he’s my son.
“Your new toy is a bit young, Nathaniel,” Vanessa purrs, and I catch the edge to her tone. Vanessa might come off as a bimbo, at the best of times, but she’s from a wealthy family and is educated. She’s smart enough to call out sexual tension when she sees it. “Not the smartest idea for a man of your position and wealth—to play with girls barely out of high school.”
“Mind your own business,” I mutter, and then I take off, heading toward the doorway to find Poppy and Micah.
Damn Vanessa for being so clingy.
Damn Mrs. Henderson for bailing on Micah today.
But most of all, damn my own stupidity for not at least telling Poppy about Micah so she wouldn’t be surprised by something like this.
Then another realization hits me. If Vanessa saw so easily that there was something going on between Poppy and I, does that mean others have too? Roberto? Bruce even?
Could this single event be the start of a shitstorm that I’m not sure I can weather?