Better Than Safe (16 page)

“You are. You turn attention to and from yourself with ease.”

Seth barked a quick laugh. “It must be a hidden talent. I’ll answer whatever you want and….” He drew out the word with a chuckle before adding, “I’ll let you know when you do that funny British thing again.”

“I’m sure you will,” I replied testily. It occurred to me this was the perfect time to ask about Simon, but I was loathe to let that bastard in. Not yet. “Tell me about that painting of the Key Bridge in the next room. It’s fantastic.”

“Thanks. I did that one about a year ago when I first came back to the States. I love the water. It draws me. The potential for ferocity or peace at the whim of Mother Nature is humbling.”

“Hmm. I recall you saying something like that about dinosaurs. Are they interconnected somehow? Paleontology and the Potomac?” I waited for his laughter to subside before asking, “What were you thinking when you painted the bridge?”

He cocked his head thoughtfully as though considering the question carefully. “I was thinking I wanted a new start. To me, bridges represent beginnings. You never know what you may find on the other side. Especially if you haven’t crossed one in a while.” He huffed in self-deprecation as he picked up his wineglass. “I sound like a bad poet, huh? Don’t answer. You’ll only hurt my feelings. Again.” He paused to give me a playful grin before continuing. “When I left the US to model in Europe I didn’t think I’d move back. I had nothing to come home to. I’m not trying to sound pathetic or anything. It wasn’t about being the sad little punk who got kicked out. I had friends I knew I’d miss, but I was seventeen and the idea of starting over where no one knew me was too good to be true. And for a while, I loved it. I got to see and experience things beyond my wildest dreams. I lived in Milan and traveled regularly between Paris, London, and Rome. I met some great people and I’d like to think I grew up a bit. But after I hit twenty-two, my body changed and I wasn’t super skinny anymore. I was more muscular, which meant my agent had better luck finding me jobs as an underwear model and—”

“You were an underwear model?” I gulped, embarrassed by the reverence in my tone.

“Yeah. I still am. At least occasionally. It’s cool but I started to want more. I lucked into my modeling gig, but I’m a realist. I knew it was temporary. And a couple years ago, I decided to take my art more seriously. I sketched or painted like crazy in my spare time until I built a respectable portfolio. Nothing really happened at first. I showed my work to a few gallery owners in Milan but no one was interested. I guess I was a little cocky,” he said with a half laugh. “I kept trying, though, and when I was in London for a photo shoot, I got into a conversation with someone who claimed to be a ‘patron of the arts.’ I can’t remember her name now, but she introduced me to my ex, who—whatever. We won’t go into that, but the guy is well connected. He’s friendly with Harry Weltzer, the gallery owner I’m doing that exhibit for in October.

“So I moved back to DC, signed on with a US agent, moved into this teeny place so I could spend more on the studio rental, and voilà… here I am. In a few months, I’ll see if the risk was worth it, but I’ve got a good feeling. Even if I’m not an overnight sensation, I like what I’m doing.”

“That’s very important,” I replied, picking up my wineglass. “What about music?”

“I’ll always play, but I’m a solitary guy. I’m not interested in being in a band. I’d rather do my own thing, ya know?” He stood abruptly, scraping the wood chair against the old linoleum floor as he reached across to grab my salad plate. “How ’bout some pasta?”

God, he smelled good, I thought when he brushed against my arm. I took a long sip and tried to avert my gaze. Seth was extraordinarily charming with his sparkling eyes and open mannerisms. I smiled at his passionate telling of his life’s story. He’d led an interesting life for someone under twenty-five. I wanted to know more about him, but I cautioned myself. Seth’s brand of bold charisma shouldn’t appeal to me in the slightest, but it was difficult to deny I was more than a little attracted to him. Bad idea, I silently chided myself. Very bad.

Seth placed a generous helping of tagliatelle, marinara, and meatballs in front of me. I muttered my thanks, watching him clandestinely over my wineglass as he served himself and continued speaking in a low, wistful tone.

“It sounds kinda goofy but… that bridge on that particular day stood for hope. I could say I liked the way it turned out and the color scheme is perfect in the living room, but that would be bullshit. The reason I kept it was to remind myself to never stop hoping.”

I nodded. Hope was a powerful motivator.

“It’s beautiful. You’re obviously very talented. I’d love to see more of your work sometime.”

“I have another one in my bedroom, but I keep everything else at the studio. Honestly, the paintings I have here aren’t really my best work. They’re sentimental pieces.”

“How? Because they remind you of why you moved home or—”

“Something like that. Would you like more?”

“You’re being evasive again. You’re very selective about what you give away, aren’t you?”

“Geesh, I just told you my freaking life story! The rest isn’t all that exciting. Besides….” He shrugged with deceptive nonchalance before adding, “Everything I have to give, I give in my work.”

“Spoken like a true artist.” I couldn’t help my derisive tone. Perhaps it was his youth, or maybe he really believed what he was saying, but either way the sentiment sounded pretentious and affected. I’d grown up surrounded by that unyielding sort of selfishness. I’d seen firsthand how one man’s desires could overrule common sense and even sanity.

“Ouch. Now what did I say?”

“Nothing. This is excellent,” I commented as I twirled a forkful of tagliatelle.

“Thanks.”

We ate in silence for a moment. I willed myself not to speak, knowing I wouldn’t be kind. I was relatively successful until he reached out and tapped my hand in a childish request for attention. He knew he was under my skin and he wasn’t letting go. With a quick twist of my wrist, I grasped his fingers and squeezed hard.

Seth looked down at our joined hands and then at me, his eyes alight with humor. “That hurts.”

“You want me to let go?”

“I’m not sure. You look dangerous, like you wanna claw me to shreds or….”

“Or?”

“Fuck me.”

My heart beat so loudly I was certain he could hear it in the quiet kitchen. I couldn’t tear my gaze from him because yes, he was right. I wanted to fuck him. Who was I trying to fool? I couldn’t be his friend when every other thought in my head was a memory of writhing naked with him in a hotel room in Baltimore. I’d loved having him buried inside me. He’d been perfectly primal. Rough enough that I felt him the next day, and yet he’d shown a sweet side too. Nearly a month later, I thought I’d put the experience behind me. But here I was again. The only thing keeping me from upending the table and launching myself at him was my pride. I wanted to fuck him. Badly. But he was no good for me.

I tried a lopsided smile as I yanked my hand away. “Not happening.”

Seth cocked his head and sat back. He took a sip of wine and studied me closely over the rim of his glass.

“I think it will.” He held up his hand to stop my protest. “Not now, but soon. Let’s go back to your crack about me talking like a real artist.”

“That’s probably unwise,” I said, picking up my fork.

“I can take it. What did you mean?”

I skewered him with a scornful stare. “You sounded rather… pompous, presumptuous, and narcissistic. And when you make imperious statements like ‘I give through my art,’ you sound like an arse.”

“Hmph. I don’t think those were my exact words.”

“Close enough. The meatballs are terrific,” I said, taking an exaggerated bite.

“I don’t get you. One minute you seem to underst—”

“I understand enough. For instance, when you told me on the train you paint to breathe, I understood. Yes, it’s a bit melodramatic, but my father is an artist. He literally lives to paint. The fact he’s made money from his craft doesn’t mean a thing. He doesn’t care about material comforts or currency. His art is how he breathes. He’s a bloody great artist, but quite possibly the world’s shittiest father.” I pushed my plate back, feeling a sudden loss of appetite. “And he loves to say things like ‘I give through my art.’ Lovely. There’s a thin line between creativity and selfishness. And my father never knew the balance. And neither did my ex. I think you know him… Simon Pickard. World-renowned artist and a true prick in his own right.”

“Whoa! What the fuck?” Seth’s astonished expression was priceless.

I let out a huff that resembled a chuckle, then finally gave into a full-fledged belly laugh. It was comical really. Kismet. Like some odd force in the universe was playing a joke.

“Are you saying—It might not be the same guy. Simon was—It’s too fucking weird. Is he tall with dark curly hair and—”

“Yes. Same man. I put it together after I ran into you at the museum. It’s not important. It’s just very… odd.” I sighed deeply wondering if “odd” was right word.

“Crazy.” He shuddered in distaste. “Think about the war stories we could share. Ironic, huh?”

“The definition of irony is the opposite of whatever you’re trying to convey. Its root is in sarcasm, Seth. This is not irony. It’s just bizarre. Look, I should have mentioned it earlier. I—things didn’t end well between Simon and me. It was a long time ago and he’s the past. But be careful when you claim you give through your art that you don’t end up using it as an excuse to not give what you should in your daily life. In the real world. It smacks of something he would have said.”

“Fuck you. I’m nothing like him and I don’t hide behind my art. I know what’s real.”

“I’m sure you do.” I smiled weakly, then dabbed the corner of my mouth with my napkin and stood. I didn’t know what I was saying anymore. I was as confused by my outburst as he looked. It was time to retreat. “Thank you for dinner. It was ver—”

In a preternatural move worthy of a vampire, Seth was out of his chair and I was trapped with my back against the kitchen counter. He shoved his knee between my thighs and pressed his hips into mine. The feel of his hard shaft through our clothing was as puzzling as it was intoxicating. But my instant response wasn’t a surprise. My cock swelled, urging me to make the next move. Seth did it for me. He locked his gaze on mine as he slid his talented hand between us and palmed me through my suit like a slutty rent boy. I should have pushed him aside and walked out the door. Later I could mull over my second close call with the extraordinarily seductive model who spoke like an immature college student one minute, then a sage old soul the next, and who moved like a preying panther.

Instead I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch.

“This is real. Open your eyes, Paul. I want you to see.”

I could feel his breath on my lips. He smelled so fucking good. Wine and olive oil and something that was his alone.

I obeyed, transfixed by his proximity and intensity. I wanted to see what he’d do next. His roguish grin lifted one corner of his mouth, giving him the look of a dangerous pirate. I tilted my head and met his stare, expecting him to kiss me. I licked my bottom lip and watched as his eyes followed my tongue. He seemed mesmerized by the movement. His stillness gave me a false sense of control. Until his smile widened slightly as he moved his fingers to my belt. His stare was unwavering. He didn’t blink when he unbuttoned and unzipped my trousers. When his hand dipped inside the elastic of my briefs and covered my leaking cock, I bit my cheek hard and bent my head forward to kiss him. He backed away.

“No.”

“What are—”

“Shh.”

He pushed the fabric over my ass, sliding his fingers along my crack before he turned his attention back to my heavy member. He held me firmly at the base, then stroked me slowly with both hands. The dual sensation of one finger pressing into my slit as another fondled my balls had me clutching the counter’s edge with white knuckles.

“Does this feel good? Or do you want something else?”

My eyes flew open. He didn’t look roguish anymore. He looked as tortured as me. His nostrils flared imperceptibly as his grip tightened. I heard myself groan with desire, but was too turned on to be mortified that I was literally standing with my trousers around my ankles with a painfully erect cock, hoping he’d speed his movement, or hell… kiss me. The sexual tension was so thick it was difficult to breathe, let alone speak. I tried to swallow and work up the strength to ask what he was suggesting, but he stopped me with a quick grin before falling to his knees.

“Seth….”

“I’ve been thinking about this for way too long.” His voice sounded strained and low as his hands kept a steady motion up and down my shaft, spreading precum liberally at each pass.

“More.” I pushed my hips forward.

“Mmm. Watch me suck you, Paul,” he commanded with his gaze trained up at me.

He may have been the one on his knees, but he was in complete control. I couldn’t look away if I tried. Though when he stuck his tongue out and licked me from base to tip like a lollipop, I had a difficult time standing, let alone keeping my eyes on the action. He repeated the same up and down teasing motion until I reached out and pulled his hair, silently demanding more.

Seth looked up with a maniacal grin before swallowing me whole.

“Fuck!”

He pumped my shaft with one hand and sucked wildly, angling his head to take as much of me into his mouth as possible. He was beautiful and wanton. The way he swayed into my body as he sucked and stroked was hypnotic. He pulled back slightly and flattened his tongue to bathe my balls with saliva before returning his attention to my impossibly hard shaft. I held his head and ran my fingers through his hair. Fuck, he looked like an angel at my feet. No. He looked like a devil. He was anyone’s idea of a bad influence.

But when he slipped a wet finger behind my balls and nudged my hole, I didn’t care. I felt the telltale tingle of orgasm at the base of my spine as I gave in to the onslaught of sensations. His tongue, his fingers. I pushed at his forehead and heard my muffled cry of warning. Seth released me and sat back on his knees, fumbling with his belt buckle and zipper. He grinned up at me lasciviously and recaptured my dick in his mouth as he stroked himself furiously. The visual alone was my undoing.