Lace and Paint (True Colors Book 1) by Ally Sky (8)

I open my eyes after what seems like a sleepless night, make a cup of coffee and, still wearing the sweatpants I love (grey and worn out from all the washing), I go out to the patio to smoke my Thursday-morning cigarette. It’s ten o’clock and the house is deserted.

My eyes are burning and my heart is crushed. Pathetic.

What am I supposed to do now?

I need to call Sarah and update her on my visit to Brick Lane yesterday. I open my phone and find a new message from last night waiting for me on Facebook. Ben sent it. After everything that happened, I was so confused and the last thing I wanted was to talk to him. What’s the point? All he’ll say is how shocked he is and what a mess I am. I open the message, terrified.

I stare at the single sentence.

I expected something more along the line of “You’re fucked in the head. Go see a doctor. I know a really good one who does house calls.” Instead he completely ignores his discovery in the basement.

I type a message back.

I press send, more confused now than ever.

I see that it was sent from his mobile. So he installed the Facebook application on his mobile? The man who is staunchly opposed to Facebook, installed the application, so that, God forbid, he wouldn’t miss out on anything that happens?

Is he insane? Is he planning on completely ignoring what happened?

Is that what he thinks?

I quote Freud. I love that quote.

I just can’t ignore his last sentence …

Well, it’s pretty obvious the man isn’t normal. Whatever game he’s playing, he’s fucked in the head. He’s not disturbed by all the bad things he found out about me—nothing fazes him. What’s his deal? Maybe he doesn’t really care about me. That would explain it. Maybe, as far as he’s concerned, I can cut my wrists all day long and put out burning cigarettes on myself.

But he kissed me. Really kissed me. I can still taste his lips and smell his aftershave. I like it when he annoys me and teases me, and I like it when he kisses me.

Maybe I need to excite him in some other way. If my quirks don’t scare him, I’m sure I can go a bit nuts.

I open my laptop and go to my blog.

Wow. I’ve already decided the office is off-limits, at least for the time being. Also, Ronnie K’s offer is slightly too extreme for my current game plan. But I can definitely prepare supper and persuade Danny to invite him.

I close my laptop and, since I’m no longer sleepy, I dial Sarah’s number.

“How was yesterday?” she asks. She sounds keen to hear from me so I assume she’s happy with her decision to hire me.

“I think it went well.” I’m hesitant, not sure what she’s expecting to hear.

“What did you think of the exhibition?”

“I didn’t really like it,” I answer honestly. It was a collection of horrible paintings and I didn’t quite get the connection between them. I can imagine my first exhibition—not that there’ll ever be one—and I already know exactly how I want it to look. “But Gary was charming.”

I smile as I remember the pleasant man I met yesterday. We talked and laughed about life in London and about modern art and Barcelona.

“He said the same thing about you.” I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Oh.” I’m confused. Gary thought I was charming? “Have you spoken to him?”

“Of course. He was expecting you. I also thought that the exhibition wasn’t too great,” she laughs.

Okay, so that was my test. I hope I passed it, as I don’t have another job.

“So you saw the exhibition?” I ask tentatively.

“Yes, I wanted to make sure you gave me your honest opinion and not what you thought I’d want to hear,” she answers, her voice serious. “In any case, now that I know I can trust you, I’d like you to go and see another gallery I’m interested in.” She gives me an address and I immediately type it into my laptop.

“Oh, and, Talia, if you could come by the office afterwards, I have something to give you.”

“Of course,” I respond and end the call. It appears I have a new job.

I pick out some clothes from my closet: a black mini skirt that hugs my waist, hanging from the protruding hip bones I’m not supposed to like, but do, and a pale green blouse (the only shade of green I’m willing to wear), and black high heels, which make my unbearably short legs look longer.

I put make up on in the bathroom, making an extra effort to conceal the signs left over from my late-night weeping. When I leave the house around noon, it’s glorious and sunny. Now that I don’t have to find a waitressing job, but just cruise from one gallery to another, my mood improves incredibly. And I’m getting paid for it! My day is certainly starting out well.

At lunchtime, I take the elevator to Sarah’s office on the fifth floor. Sharon isn’t at her desk, which immediately brings me some relief. I approach the second door to the left.

Again, he’s so close to me…

I knock on the door and go in.

“Talia.” She smiles at me.

“Hello, Miss Gibson,” I answer with a slight smile.

“Miss Gibson?” She laughs. “Please, call me Sarah. How was today?”

I fill her in, informing her that my visit was a success and so was the exhibition. We laugh together and I decide she’s certainly not the tough boss I was afraid she’d be.

“Anyway,” she opens her drawer, “you’ll need this.” She gives me a small cardboard box. “It’s your new mobile phone. It’s already been charged and the number is written on the box.”

I check out the package. Samsung Galaxy. I don’t understand much about phones.

“You'll need a phone. I understand you like taking photographs and I’m sure you will enjoy a nice music player.” She smiles.

Who told her all this? “Thank you,” I smile self-consciously.

“You’re welcome.”

We say goodbye, once I’ve asked her exactly how things will work from now on. We agree that we’ll speak to each other every morning around ten o’clock. Sarah seems to think that in no time at all I’ll know which places to go to. I think that she’s putting way too much trust in someone she’s just met. I leave her office and glance in the direction of Ben’s office. It’s extremely torturous. Here I am, ten meters from him, from his lips, and I don’t know what to do. I enter the lift, take out my new phone and send him a message.

I press send. As I leave the building, my phone rings with a new text:

I can’t stop smiling. He chose the phone? And he thinks I’m great?

He has to come to supper.

I dial Danny. The chances of Ben saying no to him are slim.

“Hi, what’s up?” I ask, a huge smile spread all over my face as I walk toward Portobello Market.

He thinks I’m great. And I don’t care what game he’s playing. I’m in.

“Everything’s fine. What number are you calling me from?”

“From the new phone Sarah gave me.”

“You got the job?” He sounds pleased. No, more than pleased—happy. “I knew you’d be perfect for it.”

“I passed the test successfully,” I rejoice. “And now I’m going to cook a celebratory meal. Maybe you’ll invite my new boss? I want to thank him.” I provide my premeditated excuse, one that won’t raise unwanted questions. I’m starting to get good at this, my blog readers will be happy to hear.

“Great idea. What are you making?” he asks, and I take a quick look at my watch. Three thirty. What can I make in such a short time that will be good enough?

“Don’t know,” I murmur. “I’ll see what they have in the market.” My head is spinning. I have to make a delicious supper and I don’t have a lot of time.

“What time are we eating?” Danny asks.

“Six thirty, okay?”

“Excellent. I’ll see you at home. Mazal tov on the new job.” We finish the call and I join the flow of people making their way to Portobello Market.

I walk around the different stands and decide I’m going to make my famous pasta in cream-and-mushroom sauce, antipasto, and a green salad. For dessert, apple crumble with vanilla ice-cream. I finish my shopping and make my way home with all my parcels. I’m ready to start cooking. I mustn’t forget to leave time to shower, dress, and put on makeup. I don’t even know if he’s coming.

At five thirty, I put the last tablespoon in the sink after preparing almost everything. I need a shower. I peek at my phone and see a message I hadn’t seen earlier.

I quickly type an answer.

A huge grin spreads across my face. My plan worked. He’s coming for supper. Thanks again to my blog for another successful idea.

My men are going to arrive any minute so I rush into the shower. After a quick shower, I go into my room. What should I wear? I rummage through my closet and choose a tight, knee-length black dress. The cleavage is V-shaped, not over-the-top, but on the other hand, it doesn’t cover up what isn't meant to be hidden. Danny won’t notice it, but Ben won’t miss it. I quickly slap on makeup, then hear the front door open.

I shake out my mane of curls and go out to the kitchen, barefoot. I love being barefoot.

“Hi.” I smile, putting on a show of indifference. I manage to hide the excitement growing inside my body, like a storm coming out of nowhere and sweeping away everything in front of it.

“Smells great.” Danny smiles back at me, completely oblivious to what’s going on with me. I look straight into Ben’s green eyes. He’s smiling at me formally. He’s wearing a black suit with a matching tie, and looks amazing. But his body language conveys some tension. I can relate to that. He still doesn’t trust me and can’t help but be worried.

“Another twenty minutes.” I smile at him in an attempt to reassure him, then turn to John, who’s busy opening the fridge. I could stand in the kitchen all evening, looking at Ben, not taking my eyes off the man who makes my body respond in ways I’ve never known. But, with Danny around, it’s probably not such a good idea.

“John, do you mind opening the wine?” I try to distract myself.

“Gladly.” John smiles at me and takes out the white wine I’ve bought specially for tonight.

“What did you choose?” Danny takes the bottle from John.

“Something that reminds me of home, ‘Carmel Mizrahi’s Emerald Riesling’.” Danny uncorks the bottle and pours wine into our glasses. The aroma of the food is wafting through the house and smells great. I feel a sudden sharp pang of hunger.

I have to make an effort to eat in front of him tonight. He’s seen enough things he shouldn’t have. There is no way he’s getting another taste of my demons.

“I’m going out to smoke.” I take my wine and go out to the chilly patio, sitting down on the couch and crossing my legs. I light up a cigarette, lean back, and look up at the sky.

“Aren’t you freezing out here in your tiny outfit?” I hear his voice from the door.

“A little.” I turn to look at the amazing guy standing there, checking me out, and I can’t decide if he’s concerned or amused.

“What can you do? A girl needs to suffer in order to look good.” I laugh.

Ben sits down on the big couch, at a safe distance from me.

“You look good in anything,” he murmurs, trying to conceal a smile.

I don’t know whether to believe him or not, but I can’t help the smirk on my face. The evening is going exactly as planned.

“Nice of you to decide to come.” I stare at him in amusement.

“I think it was decided for me.” He raises an eyebrow.

“You don’t look like someone who lets others decide for you, so cut the bullshit. You were just waiting for an invitation to come over.” I don’t take my eyes off him.

“I just hope there’ll be no bombs flying here tonight. You have a short fuse, and I don’t want to get into the line of fire.” He laughs.

“The closest trench is behind the grill.” I laugh in return. He’s in a good mood. And when he’s in a good mood, so am I. I’m not certain if it’s a surefire recipe for a fun evening or for trouble with a capital T.

“Now, let’s go eat. I’m hungry.” I get up from the couch and straighten out my dress.

“I’m happy to hear that. And I’ll be even happier if you went inside before you catch pneumonia.” His eyes sweep over the dress I chose to wear.

“Well then, you’ll just have to take care of me. Bring me food in bed, make sure I’m covered, keep me warm…” I smile playfully.

“Talia!” he whispers, shushing me with his hand.

“Calm down. Do you think those two take notice of anything happening around them?” I giggle as we walk into the kitchen. Danny and John are setting the table, still having a boisterous conversation.

“I don’t think I’ll be eating for the next few days,” Danny says as he relaxes at the end of the meal. “Talia, the food was amazing.”

I smile triumphantly. My men ate everything I made. The apple crumble was piping hot and a great success. Ben hardly looked my way the entire meal. I had some salad, some antipasto, a little pasta and I made an effort not to say anything too flirtatious or naughty, even though a few sentences did come to mind. Instead, I concentrated on the green leaves on my plate and was on my best behavior.

After the meal, I manage to sneak out to the patio for another cigarette. We finished off all the wine and I think I drank too much.

John and Danny are cleaning up after supper and Ben does his part by clearing the table. I lie back, close my eyes, and try to deal with all the alcohol I’ve consumed.

I hear voices from the direction of the door and open my eyes, smiling. My men join me on the patio. John and Danny sit down on the larger sofa, leaving Ben the only available place to sit—next to me on the loveseat.

Oh, God. With all the wine I’ve drunk, the smell of his aftershave next to me is the last thing I need. I have no choice but to make some space for him. I move aside and he sits down next to me, so close. He folds his arms across his chest so he won’t touch me, not even by mistake. Right away my pulse speeds up. I hope he won’t notice.

John lights up a cigarette, Danny is drinking his wine, and I’m trying (in vain) to calm the involuntary reactions running riot through my body.

God, what can I do to make it stop?

“So what’s happening with Ronnie?” John inhales his cigarette and looks at Ben seriously.

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen him all week,” he answers, showing concern. I know Ronnie is the guy Ben’s been worried about, but I don’t know why. “I dropped by his house, but he wasn’t there.”

“Did you see his dad?” Now John looks worried. What’s the story with this Ronnie?

“Yes, I can still smell the beer coming from him.” Ben looks disgusted by the thought of Ronnie’s dad.

“If he doesn’t show up next week, we need to do something,” John says. Seeing John worried isn’t something I’m used to. And that alone is reason enough for concern.

“Yeah. I’ll try calling him again tomorrow.”

“Let me know.” John puts out his cigarette. “Okay, kids, my husband and I are going to get out of our suits. Thanks again for the amazing meal, Talia.” He smiles at me and gets up. Danny joins him wearily, which is only natural considering how late it is. They enter the house, leaving me alone with this amazing man, whom I want so much. In my current intoxicated state, I’m not too sure how wise that is.

Now he’s sitting just inches away from me and the smell of his aftershave is arousing and seductive.

I still haven’t figured out his game. He keeps his secrets close to his chest.

I know that any moment now he’ll excuse himself apologetically, say good night, and run, but I don’t want him to go.

He turns his head toward me slowly and stares at me with his green eyes. My head is leaning back against the couch and my eyes are staring at his lips…and he smiles at me.

I don’t know if it’s because of all the wine he’s consumed, or the fact that we’re finally alone, but he’s smiling at me. My breathing quickens, and the alcohol…

A nice, surprising feeling creeps up my thighs as I sit so close to him.

And I can’t restrain myself any longer.

I lift my head and his eyes open wide in surprise. I press my lips to his and kiss him.

I close my eyes and feel his strong hands and demanding fingers in my hair. He pulls me to him, bringing me even closer and his kiss is addictive. His tongue explores my mouth passionately. He bites my bottom lip and I can feel his heart racing. My arms embrace his neck, pulling him close, and I kiss him, kiss him over and over again. I just want to inhale him.

Then he pulls his head back abruptly, tearing himself away from me.

Wow. He stares at me and smiles, his chest heaving.

“You drive me mad…" he whispers, and my heart almost explodes.

I drive him mad.

“I thought nothing was going to happen between us,” I stammer in confusion.

“Then stop inviting me to supper and kissing me.” He tries to tease me again.

“I actually like having you over for supper. And kissing you,” I murmur self-consciously and blush all over.

“I know.”

“So what’s happened to ‘just friends’?” I ask softly.

“We’re still just friends. And that’s not going to change,” he says. A huge wave of disappointment washes over me.

“And if Danny would’ve caught us?’ I stare at him, unsure whether the idea is supposed to amuse him or frighten him.

“Then I would have blamed you. Again.” He’s still smiling. “I told you, I have no intention of getting into trouble with Danny.”

“Kissing me on his couch doesn’t seem like the best way to avoid trouble with him,” I utter, feeling frustrated. Again the story with Danny?

“So maybe we shouldn’t do it again.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t.” I’m getting mad now. I thought he liked kissing me.

“Are you looking for reasons to be miserable again?” he continues. “Maybe you should go inside. We don’t want you all miserable on the patio, especially in that tiny outfit…” He smiles and then, suddenly and shamelessly, runs his finger over the strap of my dress and tugs it down, toward my cleavage. I knew he couldn’t ignore it. But I expected smug scrutiny, not roaming fingers. My heart pounds like never before, my chest rising rapidly, and I can’t utter a word. I just follow his finger, which moves uninhibitedly to the line of my cleavage, gently touching my skin. His touch sends goose bumps through my body. He smiles smugly—so smugly.

And then, in one painful moment, it comes back to me. My thoughts wander back to a small office and a masculine hand inside my blouse. I flinch in pain.

Why are you thinking about that now? He’s not like him! He’s not like the others! He’s different!

“Don’t you think you’re overdoing it?” I whisper shakily. But he’s still staring at my breasts, and then, without warning, he slips his hand into my bra, grabs my breast, and squeezes it, softly.

I let out an excited moan.

“I think you’re getting me into trouble with your tiny dresses,” he says quietly. His hand kneads my breast ardently and my nipple hardens to his touch. The warm feeling between my legs intensifies. I want him. And I want his hands inside my bra, his lips on my mouth, and his body on top and inside of mine. This isn’t like the past. He’s welcome and invited.

I drive out the damned thoughts, which persistently try to creep back into my head, and surrender to the feeling of his hand on my breast.

“In a second Danny’s going to catch you,” I whisper, my eyes unfocused, “and you won’t be able to blame me for that.”

“Danny’s not here,” he whispers, “but I think we should go as well. To sleep.” He slowly removes his hand from my dress, then straightens it. I try to catch my breath and calm my shaking body.

Ben stands up with surprising hastiness. I look at him while he adjusts himself in his pants. I can see his hand on my breast has excited him as much as it excited me.

“Good night, Talia. You’d better go inside, before you catch a cold.” He stares at me in a way I can’t fathom. His smile, which was there before, has disappeared.

“I’ll go in when I feel like it.” I try to maintain what little independence I have left, now that he’s captured my body completely.

“Whatever you want. Sweet dreams.” He shrugs carelessly.

“I’m sure they will be,” I smile at him, and we both know exactly what I mean.

He goes inside—taking my heart with him—and disappears.

I lie in bed, totally unable to calm down. I can still feel his bold hand wrapped around my breast, and the thought makes my nipples harden again.

What kind of game is he playing with me? I can’t figure out his intentions.

Maybe he doesn’t have any intentions other than to drive me mad? Drive me crazy? And he said I was driving him mad…

Maybe that’s his thing? Causing girls to go crazy for him and then crushing them once he’s had enough? No, he doesn’t look the part. He really doesn’t. He can be funny and charming and understanding, yet at the same time he can be annoying, so annoying that I feel like throwing him down the stairs. But then I remember all the things I’ve told him and how he wasn’t scared off and didn’t run away…He’s still hanging around me, searching for me, just as I search for his green eyes each time I see a tailored suit on the street.