Better Than Safe (28 page)

“That’s good. Ah, more,” he demanded in a low guttural tone.

I squeezed the tip and tried to twist my wrist to get a better grip to stroke him, but our position didn’t allow me to do everything he wanted at once.

“Turn around, love. On your back.”

He obeyed, quickly lifting his legs and drawing me in. We chuckled when I fell on top of him, but when I steadied my weight and guided myself back inside him with my eyes locked on his, something changed. I brushed his hair away from his forehead and kissed him softly as I rocked gently into him. The heat was all consuming. Except now it seemed to move beyond the act of physical connection. There was something under the surface, and every thrust and sigh was a testament to its existence. It couldn’t be ignored. I screwed my eyes shut and reveled in the intense sensations, willing myself not to be guilty of romanticizing the moment. But when I opened them to find him staring up at me, I knew with an odd certainty that I was correct. He felt this too. I wasn’t alone. The enormity of the realization, while wrapped in his embrace with his legs firmly holding me in place, was my undoing. I came apart with no warning, flying high above a beautiful moment as though I had wings. I shook and struggled to bury myself deeper while hoping to cling to the high. When he came a second behind me, I got my wish. I held him tightly, wrapping myself around him and fusing my mouth over his. He gasped for air, trembling in my arms.

The stillness in the aftermath frightened me. It was potent. I couldn’t be the one to address the change. I would surely muck it up or scare him too. Silence was better, I thought. I lay flat on my back, listening to the sounds of him moving about. Running water, footsteps. He nudged my side with his bare foot when he returned with a warm cloth and a box of tissues.

“What am I to do with the Kleenex?” I asked, taking the cloth from his hand.

“You have a used condom on your dick, dude. Time to get rid of it. Put it in the—never mind, I’ll take care of you.”

I started to protest, but the sight of him rolling the condom off me then neatly disposing of it in tissue was sexier than it should have been. And his hands moving over my spent flesh with a warm cloth felt too amazing to question. I sighed and beckoned him to lie at my side. He cocked his head and smiled shyly before lying naked, facing me with his head propped on his hand. We stared at each other and let the silence take over again.

“Thank you.”

“For?”

Sappy, sweet words sprang to the tip of my tongue.
Thank you for being amazing, original, and utterly unexpected in the best possible ways.
But I wasn’t a complete fool. If I didn’t want him to bolt, I had to play it cool.

“For inviting me here. It’s brilliant.”

“You say everything’s brilliant,” he chided playfully. His smile was beguiling. He was pleased his invitation hadn’t been taken lightly.

“I was sure it would be an old warehouse space. This is nice.”

“Yeah. The rent is manageable and the lighting is great.”

“Hmm.”

“Hey, I don’t necessarily want to do this, but what got into you? Don’t get me wrong, the end result was sexy as fuck, but… he doesn’t belong here and—”

“I saw him today. He was leaving the office just as I was entering and—it was the first time in years.”

“Ah. Out of curiosity… how long were you with him?”

Talk about a buzz kill. Ugh. I flopped to my back and looked for cracks in the ceiling.

“Five years.”

“What?” Seth scrambled to sit up, staring down at me with an incredulous expression. “You have got to be shittin’ me.”

“I shit you not. Lie down. You’re too far away.” I pulled his left arm and turned so we were facing each other.

“I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah. I’m a sucker. He was wonderful, then he was questionably sane and I was too stupid to figure out I was quickly becoming my mother. All the worst parts, that is.”

“How so?”

“My mother enables my father’s art, which in turn means she enables his capacity to overlook all common sense and decency when he decides he’s above mere humans. His work is his world. It always was. I was a bystander they hardly noticed.”

“But five years….” He shook his head in disbelief, plucking at the blanket.

“Yes, five years I’ll never get back.” I tried to infuse the statement with levity when I noted Seth’s knit brow. “It wasn’t all horrible. You probably know firsthand how charming he can be. But his volatile side… it was déjà vu. You’ve heard the saying you end up marrying someone like your mother or your father, right? Simon was self-serving like Dad and I was his puppet like Mum. Or a pushover.”

“You aren’t a pushover.”

“Not now. I like peace and order in my life, but I think I’m past trying to appease others to get it. I don’t come from a so-called normal world, Seth. My parents live on canvas in a cottage behind a stately manor in the Kent countryside. My father creates. My mother provides inspiration. That’s how they work. The simplest provocation can lead to World War III. They have two gears… love and hate. The process of getting from one state to the other to fuel inspiration is what drives Dad’s art. It’s not uncommon really. But think about it from a child’s point of view. Days of screaming and crying followed by declarations of love and a steady thumping of a mattress were my commonplace. Then silence. I was afraid of the quiet too. It meant another storm was coming. Something dysfunctional. Like the time Mum broke her leg and gave the doctors two different stories… she tripped in the garage or she fell down the stairs. I remember visiting her in hospital and asking her to cooperate. To get help. She wouldn’t tell the truth, but of course I knew he pushed her.”

“What do you mean, your dad pushed your mom down the stairs? Is that British code or—”

I chuckled as I slid my foot between his legs. It was warm in the room and we were still covered in sweat, but I had to touch him somehow. “No. Unfortunately I mean it at face value. It was fucked-up, as you say, but….” I shrugged and rolled my eyes in self-deprecation “It was home.”

“Do you talk to them anymore?”

“Of course. Dad and I will never really move beyond surface pleasantries, but Mum is relatively normal. She visited me often when I lived in London, and I swear it was as though I were meeting someone new. She’s a gifted curator. If it hadn’t been for Dad, I think she could have had a career at any major international museum. I love my parents in my way, but I’m desperate not to be anything like them if I can help it. Simon was my road to repeating their dysfunction.”

“Sounds like he did a number on you.” Seth let out a long breath of air. He reached for my hand and entwined our fingers.

“A restraining order and an ocean have helped more than I can say.”

“What are you talking about? What did he do to you?”

I sighed and lifted my arm to show him the scar on my wrist. “It’s faint now and smallish, but I’m sure you’ve noticed it. Courtesy of Simon. He turned into Jack the Ripper one night. Slashed my arm in a rage and—” My breath caught. I realized I hadn’t actually told this story to anyone other than a therapist. Seth ran a soothing hand over the old wound, silently waiting for me to continue. “There was blood everywhere. I passed out and when I came to, I was in hospital with kind-faced nurses begging me to tell them what really happened. Just like Mum.”

I bit my bottom lip and glanced over at Seth. I was calmed by his presence. The shame I usually felt at dredging up this unpleasant chapter in my life was noticeable in its absence. I looked over at him with a weak smile. “I lied. I made up a story about fumbling with a sharp knife or something equally ridiculous. Everyone looked uncomfortably at one another and moved on. Maybe it was the knowing glances or the fact it was the same story at a different hospital from Mum’s. Either way, it was a wake-up call.”

I smiled when he lifted my hand and kissed my fingers. “Now you know what a bloody mess I am.”

“Now I know you’re human. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Telling me about them. About Simon. And you. I like to think I’m relatively normal, whatever that means, but Paul….”

“Hmm?”

“There is no triangle and no—”

“Shh. I know. Leave it now. Forget about him. Forget about my parents and their brand of madness. There are too many crazy people in the world.”

“I think that saying is true… it doesn’t matter where you come from, it’s where you’re going that counts. Some people, some places, are only tests of your strength. You’re a survivor. I am too. I used to hate my parents, but now I feel sorry for them. They don’t know what love is. Love isn’t rooted in jealousy or in following rules from a book written thousands of years ago. They’ll never understand that. But I still think about them more often than I should. I wish I was immune or numb. It’s unfair in a way that love isn’t clean-cut and evenly divided. Nothing in life is fair.”

“Well said.” I studied his profile in the shadows, thinking the darkness made it easier to be completely honest. “Simon is someone I left behind with good reason. Seeing him was disconcerting and I wasn’t prepared. It’s been a long time and—” I brushed a strand of hair behind his ear and tugged at his lobe when Seth’s expression turned guarded. “What is it?”

“He’s going to be at the opening at Harry’s gallery next month. Simon is good friends with Harry. He weaseled a few of his pieces into my ‘exclusive’ show. Asshole. I don’t know that for sure, but it’s probably the reason he’s still in town. He won’t go back to London until the end of October at least. I’m only guessing. I haven’t talked to him in a month.”

“Lovely,” I grumbled sarcastically, swiping my hand over my jaw. “I suppose I should be grateful for the warning.”

“Maybe I should talk to Harry and—”

“Don’t. It’s over. I think the worst is over now that I’ve seen him.”

“Don’t waste time worrying about him. He’s over. The past.” He smiled. A slow, sweet grin tinged with a soulful, thoughtfulness that was pure Seth.

He pressed a gentle kiss on my mouth as he pushed me onto my back and crawled over me. We shared a long look I was tempted to quantify as meaningful and special, but I let it go and surrendered to the moment.

Perhaps it really was all about where we went from here.

S
ETH
SPENT
the remainder of September in his studio finishing his final piece in the collection for his upcoming exhibit. He claimed it was his pièce de résistance. Though it was still propped on a giant easel in his studio, it was the only canvas I hadn’t been invited to see. He’d happily turned every other one from the wall for my inspection, and I was suitably impressed. The color, the texture, the vibrant moodiness apparent in each piece was… magnificent. I had no doubt I’d love the one he was putting his final touches on, but he was adamant. I would see it at the exhibit and no sooner.

“That’s hardly fair. Shouldn’t I get a sneak preview?” I asked one weekday morning.

When he didn’t answer, I glanced across the car to find him staring at his phone. I was about to drop him off at his studio on my way downtown. It was part of our new routine. I would pick him up on my way home from my office. We’d eat dinner, watch television, and chat about nothing and everything. Occasionally he’d talk me into playing a video game. He’d left his gaming console at my house months ago and tried hard to teach me his favorites, but I think he was beginning to realize I was hopeless. When one of us became too frustrated to continue, we settled into opposite ends of the sofa with a book or, in his case, a sketchpad. We’d come together later with soft kisses and tender sighs or impassioned embraces and fevered thrusts. He stayed with me most nights and woke sleepily to make coffee and putter about while I got ready for work. I’d made a conscientious effort to spice up my life with travel and adventure, but now I was extraordinarily content where I was. Seth was my adventure. He was maddening and mischievous, but he was full of life with a magical outlook and a flare for nonsensical reasoning that I was beginning to understand.

He smirked at his cell before turning to give me an amused look. “You’re looking for the special boyfriend treatment, huh? Sorry, Charlie. Only one week to go. You can wait.”

Boyfriend. Hmm. The word fell so easily from his lips at times, like it had been there all along. It was in the same vein as “let’s go to Starbucks” or “I prefer The Coffee Bean.” As though it were a title or a name we agreed suited us without having to muddle over any fine points, such as “is this a good idea?” But it was a good idea. It fit in a way that didn’t require explanation. It was understood.

“Hmph. Who has your attention?”

“It’s Rand. He decided he’s moving to New York. He wants me to drop everything and try my luck in the Big Apple.” He snorted as he punched a message, then put his phone in his pocket. “As if.”

“It’s not a terrible idea for an artist, you know. I’m actually surprised you didn’t try your luck there rather than DC when you returned home.”

“I would have, but there were a couple things pointing to DC. If I moved to New York, I would have been tempted to take the types of modeling jobs I’d done in Milan. Plus there was Harry’s gallery show and that was all tied to the ex, who wasn’t my ex at the time.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Sorry you asked?”

“No.” I gave a short laugh as I pulled in front of his studio. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” He leaned over to kiss me before gathering his things. “Hey, I was gonna tell you, um….”

“What?”

“If you wanna invite your friends or whatever to the opening, it would be cool by me. You know, like Aaron and his guy or whoever. If you want. I’ll see ya later.” He jumped out of the car before I could respond, but turned back at the last second with a devilish grin and a piece of folded paper in his outstretched hand. “This is for you. Nah ah! No peeking until I’m upstairs, deal?”

I took the paper and rolled my eyes. “Of course. What is it?”

“You’ll see. Later.”