Bare Skin: A Billionaire Romance (18 page)

And my heart broke, it obliterated, it turned to ashes like the building before us. Her eyes were weeping, streaks rolling down over her cheeks. Mascara had smeared beneath her lids, and the bright, life filled, blue of her gaze was clouded with sadness.

“Why?
Why?”
Wiping her nose with the back of her hand, she sniffled to hold back more tears. “Maybe you would know why, if you used your brain more than your dick.” Lifting herself from the street, Willow's entire body changed from weak and frail to strong and purified.

“What does my dick have to do with this?” Arching a brow, confusion clustered my expression as I stood up.

I have no fucking clue what the hell she's talking about.

My dick has nothing to do with this place burning to the ground.

“Why, Kash?” Her head drifted back and forth, eyes veering at me through broken tears. “Maybe if you had taken the chance to listen to me earlier, maybe then you would know why I'm so upset. But no, instead your cock took over.” Her hand shot up, palm sternly resting in the air. “Forget it, it doesn't matter now. My dreams are over, my life is shit, and now...” Her lips pulled tight, eyes closing firmly. “Now my dream is just a dream.”

I still couldn't make sense of it. She was speaking as if what happened between us had anything to do with the small shitty shop that was burning and lighting the night sky.

It didn't. How could it?

Willow was talking nonsense, taking the best night of my life and linking it with the ashes floating around us like snowflakes.

She— She—

Right then, right as the world around me increased in volume with the charge of water shooting from hoses, and screams of firefighters all yelling to one another that it was safe, and no one was inside; it was then it all became clear.

Glancing to the place Willow had been standing, the empty spot was now filled by a face I didn't know or care to see.

Looking around over my shoulders, I turned, raising up onto my tippie toes. But she was gone, disappearing into the night, and vanishing from my side.

And I was hit with the realization of what she was insinuating...

Her dream, her gallery, her life... She wanted that place. That was where she envisioned herself, her art.

That small broken shop, the forgotten space left to decay;
that was hers.

I'm a fucking idiot!

How did I not see that?

Willow wanted that place for her work, to sell, to create the life she wanted, to create the world she imagined inside her head.

And there it was, turning from walls to rubble, wood to ash.

It had disintegrated in front of her eyes, the reds and oranges, the bright yellows...

Colors had consumed her dream for fuel to feed the fire tearing it down.

And my heart was smashed, my lungs struggling to grab clean air. I had never felt so sorry for acting on my own needs then I did right then.

I have to fix this.

I need to fix this.

For her.

Willow

“I
t's gone, Beth. All gone.” Those two simple words— All gone— They had so much emotion, yet tumbled from my lips as if I was talking about my lunch.

Two words that on a normal day would mean absolutely nothing, now held all the power over my feelings. And yet, I felt nothing.

I was empty.

“What do you mean it's gone?”

Could it mean anything else?

Gone is... Gone.

“It burned down. That's it, I have nothing left.” Cupping my forehead, having to say the actual words out loud made my head explode in pain. My heart soon followed, the pain seeping in and curling around the spent muscle.

“Oh my God, Lo, I'm so sorry. But Willow, you'll find another place. You will.”

“Beth, that one was perfect. I don't want another place, I wanted that one. I looked over this whole city for weeks before finding that storefront, I liquidated my entire bank account to make it mine. And now it's nothing but dust, what am I going to do?” I tried to stop the tears from hitting my eyes, but they came.

They came, and flowed, they gushed, and dissolved my words. It didn't matter how much I tried to hold them back, there was no turning them off. And there was no amount of talking myself down that could stop them.

“Lo, you're not just going to drop your dream because of this. We will find you another place.” The seriousness in her voice was comforting. But she knew as well as I did, money didn't just poof into your hands.

“It's not even just that. The investor was a fucking sham, he isn't going to help me, not now.”

Not after I verbally assaulted him, not after I gave him all he really cared about anyway.

I tried to tell Beth about what happened between Kash and I. The sentence started, but instead of it coming out as, 'I slept with the investor, who was also that jerk tattoo artist,' they came out as, 'I slept wi— in late, who ate the jerky?'

She of course giggled, and told me I was crazy.

I guess I just figured it wasn't a phone conversation.

“Lo, don't worry, I'll help you figure this out. I will.”

How could she help me? Beth was a world away, an entire lifetime from this shitty city. There was nothing she could do, not now, not ever. And I wasn't about to ask her to open her wallet to me.

I owed her enough as it was, and money could ruin our friendship. It was the pit of all evil, the root of everything dark.

People steal, rob, kill... And for what?

Money.

Borrowing from Beth was not an option, it never would be. I wasn't willing to risk that type of stress on our friendship, it wasn't worth it.

The big city had shattered my dreams, it stomped my wish to bits.

And it left me with a giant hole in my heart. Broken, shattered, busted beyond fixing.

Kash had only been interested in one thing; one thing I gave up way too easy.

And the small place I found and had already pictured myself in, it was now an empty, char filled, box.

The keys hadn't made it into my hands, my money was gone, and my world crumbled around me like soft sand. From a distance it looked strong, sturdy; but close up it was nothing more than loose grains that had been blown apart.

And I had no clue if I could even get back what I already gave the landlord. The contract was signed, the deal was done, my name was on the place.

The once lonely, only needing a tender touch shop, had just turned into a complete rebuild. I heard that the place had gone up in flames because of old, faulty wiring. Luckily, the businesses on either side weren't damaged too badly.

They had their fair share of smoke damage, and water damage from putting out the blaze. But in the grand scheme of things, they were extremely lucky.

The next day I walked down to see it in the light (A bad idea on my part), it looked even worse under the sun's rays. Smoke still billowed out of hot spots, the charred wood was shiny and crisp, glaring at me with an evil smile.

And I swear, every time the sun broke across the glimmering surface, the coals would look like they were winking. The subtle flash would flicker, taunting me under blackened lids.

The old woman in the bookstore was standing outside, and she said most of her merchandise was fine, there was only a certain section of books that had really been destroyed beyond restoration.

And I was happy to hear that none of the ones she had to throw away were antique or history based. She was smart enough to lock away the most important books she had.

But the place I had already signed for was brought back to the earth it was built from.

As I stood there, the ash would lift into small funnels under the breeze, sending hot air into my lungs. The remaining walls were frail, beams that were once thick, now resembled the broken claws of a wounded animal.

Distant cracking and crunching noises echoed off inside the crumbling structure. Every creek, every snap, it sent my heart further into a nestled sleep inside my chest. It didn't want to beat anymore, all the life had been sucked out by a fiery demon.

I should have seen this coming.

It's my luck, nothing comes easy.

My small apartment was filled with paintings I wanted to showcase, wanted to use to spotlight who I was.

Dana had been nice enough to drop them off after the catastrophe of a meeting, and now they were useless too.

I had nowhere to put them, no one to buy them, and no way to drag myself out of this fucking ditch.

Shoving my hand through my hair, I let my head fall back. I felt lost, completely and utterly lost. There was no other shop around that was vacant, and if it was, I sure as hell couldn't afford it.

A bath, I need a bath.

Forcing myself up off the couch, I slithered my way into the bathroom. My feet moved like the belly of a snake, barely lifting off the ground, and making no sound.

It had been two days since the fire, and I hadn't made a damn sound. I was mute, walking lifelessly around my apartment. I didn't know what do with myself, or how to fix what nature had destroyed.

Turing on the tub, I felt the temperature with my wrist. A nice hot steam bath would at least help me a little. Accompanied by a full glass of wine of course.

Two of my favorite things, that I desperately need right now.

I came really close to destroying all my paintings the night of the fire . I stood over them, brandishing a large pair of scissors, ready to take out my anger by slashing them to pieces.

Just like everything else around me had become. Pieces, fragments, a life brought to this point, only to watch it burn.

But I stopped, turning my rage onto a few old pillows instead. I couldn't do it, I couldn't bring myself to trash the last remnants of who I was.

Because that was me. I was words on the canvas, I was emotion in vivid colors, I was the painting that transformed the blank paper.

To destroy them would be like destroying who I was. Some people had diaries, others had blogs; I had my art.

Feathers decorated the room, taking place of confetti. Watching a few of the lone survivors flutter across my floor as I passed by, Kash popped into my head.

Like he had everyday, all day. And with his name tattooed into my thigh, it made it even harder to forget the man who clawed his way into my heart.

The dress he gave me hung on the hook in the bathroom, a dismal reminder of the hottest night of my life.

One I couldn't force out, one I couldn't stop from mashing my brain in full color images of how he touched me, how he took control over me.

Gliding my fingers over the velvet material, his hands, his chest, his cock...

It flashed in my mind, hanging there like a damn portrait. He made my chest flicker, my stomach whirl, my thoughts explode.

And I wanted to see him again.

Why? I had no clue.

Kash had been nothing but a walking prick, letting his cock lead his lips. He was oblivious to what was important to me, and he didn't take me seriously. All he wanted was to get between my legs, and once he did...

He had won.

Kash had gotten what he wanted, that was all he needed. He didn't need me, and he didn't care about my life.

So why can't I stop thinking about him?

Why is he always on my mind?

I knew the answer, I knew it was because I felt something. There was an attraction I couldn't deny, and he felt it too.

Kash wasn't shy about saying it, I was just too stubborn to admit it.

That night, when he tried to console me while I sat in pure dismay watching the building engulfed in flames, I wasn't really angry with him. The fire wasn't his fault, and he had no clue I had rented the place.

I was just overwhelmed, everything seemed to go from being fingertips away to completely out of reach.

Rumor had it that bad shit happens in three's.

Strike one— Meeting Kash

Strike two— Meeting Kash; the so called investor.

And strike three— The fire.

Maybe my luck could change?

Doubt it, it was never that easy for me. My life has been nothing but three's.

I wasn't sure what I wanted anymore. My focus had always been so easy to control, and when Kash came into the picture, I questioned everything I thought I wanted.

Was life supposed to be so confusing?

Why couldn't I just admit to him that I felt it too?

Sliding into the hot water, I tied my hair up in a high bun, and let the water consume me. My fingers danced across the surface, small waves popping up and riding the momentum to the porcelain wall.

My brain hurt, my thigh was still itchy, and my heart was blackened just like the dream that had been singed.

Closing my eyes, my phone vibrated on the fluffy purple rug next to the tub.

What now?

Peeking over with one eye, an unfamiliar number lit across the screen. Shaking my hands dry, I lifted the phone and slid the screen open.

'Willow, six o'clock, Gaston's Warf, don't be late.'

“What the he— Who is this?” I said out loud to myself.

The phone pinged again, erasing my wonder.

'I know what you're thinking, and it's exactly who you think it is. Don't ask me how I got your number, I won't tell. But bring two of your favorite paintings.'

“Kash.” The single word floated off my tongue on a cloud of angry, lust-filled desire.

How could he not expect me to be curious about how he got my number?

He found out where I lived, now he had my number. The man was able to get things without having to ask.

But how?

He had power, that I knew for sure. The tag on my body made that apparent, it had granted me immunity in the city I called home.

Curse or blessing... That still wasn't clear.

And why did he want me to bring my paintings?

Curiosity was raking my insides, and it was twisting around my spine, taking me hostage.

Checking the clock on my phone, I had two hours to get ready. Tapping the rim of the tub, I bit the inside of my cheek as I questioned if I should go.

I knew what happened last time he asked me to meet him somewhere. That was hard to forget, even though I tried.