Bare Skin: A Billionaire Romance (11 page)

Because
I would
see her again, that I knew.

I couldn't explain why, why I felt this urge to learn about her. It was just there, and it all came from one chance meeting. One night, one tattoo, one dip into her inner warmth.

And I was hooked.

Her face had turned into my nightly dream, her body had become the material I jerked off to. And she made that easy, my cock came to life with one thought of her, with one picture in my head of her flesh.

The idea of her excited and angered me all in the same captured breath. I'd never wanted one woman so badly.

For years no one claimed my most personal space, the one place that was unreachable and only for me; my mind.

But she was, every minute for the past seven days she floated through my skull on a movie screen I couldn't shut off.

Feeling her pussy that night, it was a taste of what's to come. Her curves ate away at my insides, heating my core. The scent of her pussy was so close to my nose I could smell her dulcet musk, and the taste of her sweet juice was just inches from my tongue.

If her friend hadn't been there, had she been alone... I would've slipped the tip of my tongue under her panties, quench my ungodly need to have her.

Instead I had to savor what flavor was left on my fingers. And let me just say, she was delicious.

My brain had been consumed with images of her lips, coiling softly around my cock, tongue slurping down my shaft. Every fucking piece of her made me hard, every damn inch of her skin looked velvet smooth.

I needed Willow, I had to have her. There was no denying the fact my dick was going to make her scream.

I was planning on sending her voice into a tone she never knew existed. A high pitched coo would spill from her lips and hit my ears, my cock would throb to the edge of insanity.

And when I finally thrust deep inside her, when her pussy sheaths my shaft, it would be explosive.

She was already mine. She just didn't know it yet.

With my name on her thigh, no other man would dare lay a hand on that girl. Not now, not ever. Especially if they knew what was good for them.

My mark, my woman.

End of story.

I'm Kash Slade,  and these hands were made for two things: Tattoos, and women. Her flesh was my canvas, her body my masterpiece. The ink I gave her ran further than skin deep.

It claimed her body.

Now, I'm claiming her heart.

Willow was going to be mine. She didn't have a choice, I wasn't giving her one.

Glancing at the clock, I had a meeting to be at in thirty minutes. While tattoos were my calling, I had my fingers dipped in several other pockets.

You don't go from nothing to billions without branching out, taking risks, and reaping the rewards.

Body art gave me the purge to do what I loved, but I realized early on that I had a gift for business. For some reason my brain was able to see the rise or fall of another.

If I felt the rise, I'd take the chance.

If I didn't, I'd walk out voiceless. No explanation as to why, I didn't need to give one.

I didn't owe anyone else anything.

They owed me, especially if I felt they wasted my time.

Yanking the cuff down on my wrist, I pinned the edge shut, covering my skin. The black coat morphed my body into the man I played by day. The man with money, the man with power.

And I loved my power.

With power came respect.

With power came everything I wanted.

With power, I will have Willow.

Pressing the dark sunglasses over the bridge of my nose, I flattened the collar, and headed out the door.

Was I still myself inside the jacket, still myself as I sat across the table listening to others poor their life blood into emotion filled words that felt dead to me?

Everyone had a story, everyone had a past.

In the end I didn't care about what trials and tribulations those people went through. My life had been far from perfect, the world wasn't handed to me on a silver platter.

And if I was to give in to every tear that rolled over a cheek, every painful experience that spilled from someone's lips...

I'd end up with nothing.

Business was cut-throat, it was dirty, I wasn't there for hand outs. I expected to get everything I put in back and then some. This wasn't a fucking charity, it was my money.

My grandmother granted me a second chance, a do over to a new beginning. I didn't view that lightly, but I made what I had. I turned my life into what it is.

No one else.

I'm not about to just give my wealth away.

Those who deserve it, get their second chance.

But that was for me decide. That's how this worked, by my choice.

Not the tears, not the stories of homage.

Willow

W
aking up, the normal thump of my heart was enhanced by a thousand. My alarm clock was internal, eyes opening before the sun even had the chance to hit the horizon.

Today is the day. Holy shit...

The air felt thick and stale, my body jittery with a tremble I couldn't stop. To say my nerves were on edge, was an understatement.

I could barely breath, barely think. The ground was up, the sky was down. My chest was in a permanent freeze, muscles sticking to the bone. Nothing wanted to work, not one piece of my body seemed to function the way it should.

Today was the culmination of all my hard work, everything I'd wanted.

And it was going to be placed in the hands of another. Their choice to give for my benefit, their decision to support my dreams.

My dreams.

Not theirs, not the dreams of someone they loved... Mine.

A nameless person they would meet for the first time, a person they had no connection to, no debt to.

The thought made me sick to my stomach. I was drowning in an excited twitch of boiling butterflies. I couldn't stop them, I couldn't tame the swarm.

I want to throw up.

Today wasn't just the moment of hopeful generosity from another, it was more than that.

This was the day of realization, learning if my eyes and hand are worth everything I thought they were. It was going to define my ability, confirm that all the years of practice and love for painting weren't wasted minutes of my past.

This was my day of reckoning.

I had done nothing but dream about this day. In my fantasy, I would walk in, the investor's eyes would be large and engulfed in a painting they couldn't look away from. Their jaw is hanging open, fingers gliding across the edge of the frame in awe.

And then they'd crack open their checkbook, asking me how much I needed, and who to write the check to.

But I knew that was just a dream, a childish wish. No one does that. Not one person would just open their bank account without set terms, a contract, deadlines.

This wasn't a charity, I wasn't asking for a grant, or scamming to take their money and run. I was looking for an investor. That meant I was promising to pay them back,
with interest.

I was calling on someone to come aid me in what I'm supposed to know is a sure thing. Confidence is what would sell my work, confidence is what was going to open the doors to my gallery.

Confidence... I should probably find some first.

The one thing I'd always lacked was the one thing I needed to lean on to make this happen.

How do I grasp something I've never felt?

All my life people had praised my paintings, told me they were amazing, incredible. They said I had a gift, and I would laugh.

Always taking those compliments with a grain of salt. I needed to succeed, I needed people I didn't know to want to buy my work.

I knew that on the day someone was willing to pay for one of my pictures, then that was the day I had made it as an artist.

And today, today was the beginning. This was where it was all supposed to start. My chance to prove to myself that I could be somebody, that I was more than just a small town country girl.

My life needed meaning, purpose... My life needed confirmation.

Running my nails through my hair, I pushed myself up on the bed. I still had three hours before the meeting, and there was no way I was going to be able to fall back asleep.

I can't believe it's happening. I really hope I don't make a fool of myself.

Public speaking, I was awful at it. In school when I had to do presentations I would speak so fast that I would finish a mandatory ten minute speech in two minutes flat.

And that was me trying to take my time. I sucked at it, and all I could hope for today was a mild interpretation of my teenage self. It had been years since I spoke in front of anyone.

Yes, this meeting was only going to involve two people. The investor and Dana.

But that was enough. I didn't know the investor at all, and I had only met Dana a handful of times. To me, they were both strangers.

That was enough to send my stomach into my throat.

Time was a snail, the clock ticking as if it was running on a low battery. I was ready to get this over with, take my shot at the world of art, and wait with fingers crossed.

***

D
ana had set up an area for me in her office building. Arriving an hour early, I stumbled up the three flights of stairs with my fifteen paintings crammed under my arms.

The pictures slid over each other, colliding in metal pings as they shifted around. The heels on my feet rocked and swayed under my ankles as I crept up the steps, my dress inching closer and closer to my hip with every lift of my leg.

And since my hands were full, I couldn't adjust the hem. It was going to have to wait until I reached the top, hopefully no one would end up underneath me. My ass had become prime real estate for any eyes that might happen a flight below.

I Should have worn nylons. Why don't I think of these things till it's too late?

This wasn't the first time I bared the goods on accident. A year ago I was riding the train back home, a simple trip that should have ended there. But that's not how shit goes for me.

I was sitting in the back, just watching the buildings as they streamed by, minding my own business. An old woman hobbled down the aisle, making her way to the bathroom. Innocent, right?

No. My seat was directly in front of the bathroom door, and the dress I had on was way longer than it should have been.

The woman's cane gripped the edge of my skirt, pulling it into the bathroom. I tried to get her attention, but she was either hard of hearing, or completely oblivious to the world around her.

Long story short, after every attempt to get my dress unhooked, it tore up the side, falling away like wet paper. And I was left in my underwear, white as a ghost, and traumatized from all the gut wrenching laughter.

Needless to say, I won't ride in a train anymore.

Each snap of my heel against the hard granite tile crashed into my skull. My heart was still stuck in overdrive, beating at speeds that were probably dangerous to my health.

I need a spa day.

Reaching the top, I let out a heavy breath.
Thank God, I made it.

Scurrying to the conference room, I felt relieved to see the door was open. I wasn't going to have to juggle these frames and try to turn a handle.

That would have ended in a disaster, and tears. The last thing I needed was to destroy everything I brought.

Stepping inside, my eyes grew in amazement. The room was a lot bigger than I expected.

Maybe I should've brought more pictures.

A long table with twelve chairs was set in the center of the room, a huge set of glass windows ran the length from floor to ceiling, overlooking the city below.

The room made me feel small and more aware of how nervous I actually was. It was more than I needed, but definitely gave the impression I was going for.

That I was important, that I was worth the risk.

That this investor wasn't going to want to pass on me, because
I am somebody.

“Ah, you made it. How are you doing? Are you excited?” Dana asked. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, a huge smile gleaming from ear to ear.

“Uh, yeah. I'm nervous, but excited. Thank you again for this, I really appreciate your help, Dana.” Setting the frames down on the rich mahogany tabletop, I wiped light beads of sweat from my forehead.

“Honey, please, there is no need to thank me. Your work is amazing, if Theodore doesn't think so, then he's insane.” Waving a hand in the air, Dana rolled her eyes as she giggled. “Oh and I'm going to warn you now, he's a bit of a character. So please don't take offense, he can be blunt at times, but he always means well. I promise.”

Gritting my teeth, I tried to force a smile. “That doesn't really help my nerves.”

“Trust me, he's going to love your stuff. Here, let me help you set up.” Unfolding the easels she brought, Dana started placing my art out on display.

My stomach was working overtime, turning and twisting around itself. I couldn't believe I was actually doing this.

I had been trying to talk myself down, calm the nerves so they didn't explode all over the place and ruin my chances.

“I'm so nervous, I can't believe this is happening.”

“Believe it, Willow. This is your day, and from what Beth told me...” A giddy smirk lifted to one side, her eyes bright and full of energy. “You deserve this.”

What did Beth tell her? How much of my past did she unleash?

I wouldn't be surprised if Beth felt the need to share my awkward ways, the uncomfortable itch I had as a kid for all things art-related.

I was a nerd.

The sweat on my palms seemed to keep thickening, wiping my hands on my thighs, I took in a deep breath.

Relax, Lo. You can do this.

“I hope so,” I said, releasing the air from my lungs with a loud whoosh. “It's now or never.”

“This all looks great, it really does.” Stepping back, Dana held her hand under her chin, eyeing the pictures dotted in front of the glass windows. “This is a great spot for these, your eye is drawn right to them when you walk in.”

A loud cough broke the air, both of us jumping in surprise.