Raising Hell (4 page)

“Waiting for someone?”

“Mmm.”

“Been waiting a while,” the bartender said, glancing up at the clock, which clicked firmly onto six-fifteen even as they watched. “Maybe she’s not coming.”

Nick flashed the man a sharp look, saw him cower back, then heard him start mumbling apologies.

“Not that I meant any offense,” he said, grabbing a nearby rag and wiping down the bar.

“None taken,” Nick said, though his tone surely suggested otherwise. The man was a jackass, an annoyance, yes, but hardly worth trifling with. And although he
could
shift the man’s appearance so that he more closely resembled his true nature, giving the man a donkey tail would sap Nick’s strength. And for centuries, he’d reserved his power exclusively for his paintings. Why tamper with success now? Especially for something as trivial as teaching a fool to mind his own business?

Still, the fool had a point. The girl
was
late. Could she be standing him up?

The idea was almost incomprehensible. His heritage didn’t make him immune to disappointment, of course, but throughout all of his eight hundred years, never once had disappointment originated with a woman. Women, he’d learned long ago, tended to behave exactly the way he wanted them to. On his canvas and in his bed.

Of course, he had to admit that in the past, he’d always selected the women. Carefully choosing females who would satisfy him both artistically and physically.

This time, his father had selected the woman. And despite the fact that she was too shy, too quiet, too altogether innocent, Nick found himself becoming more and more irritated by her lateness.

He told himself that his irritation stemmed not from the girl herself, but from the purpose she would serve. The hint of fascination he’d felt during their encounter by the elevator meant nothing. The only—
only
—interest he had in the girl came from what she could bring him. The satisfaction of painting the perfect portrait. And the even greater satisfaction of proving his worth to his father. Not to mention lording his victory over Jack and Marcus once he took his father’s place on the throne of Hell.

He allowed himself a small smile as he took another sip of scotch. Almost casually, he glanced again toward the clock. Six-twenty-five.

Damn.

He slammed the tumbler down, the drink sloshing out and pooling on the polished oak. He started to stand and then, suddenly, there she was. Standing in the open doorway, the early-evening light casting her in silhouette and giving her an ethereal, almost angelic glow. She turned her head, searching, and when her eyes found him, she smiled. Not just in recognition, but with hope.

His gut twisted unpleasantly, but he forced the sensation aside. He wasn’t doing wrong by this woman. Just the opposite. The file his father had given him revealed the secrets of her heart; he knew she longed to be immortalized. He could give that to her. Hell, he wanted to give it to her.

So what if the price was high? Thousands upon thousands before her had paid with their soul for significantly less than to be painted and revered as a masterpiece for millennia to come. And what did he care of the girl’s fate, anyway?

Nick watched as Delilah crossed the room toward him, so trusting and eager. He stifled a smile. The girl wanted what he could give. There was no way Nick could fail at this task. No way at all.

But if that were true, then why did he feel so damn vulnerable?

Lila gave Nick a little wave,
then hitched her purse strap more securely over her shoulder before navigating through the darkened bar toward him. She almost hadn’t come. The whole thing seemed too, well, bizarre. Her so desperately wanting to be a model, and him showing up and offering her that very thing on a platter. Lila had never thought of herself as a stupid girl, and she didn’t intend to start behaving like one. She had questions for Mr. Velnias. And if she didn’t like the answers, she was out of there, job or no job.

“You have the look of a determined woman,” he said as she approached.

She felt her cheeks warm, and she nodded. “Well, yes, actually, I am.”

“Determined to talk yourself out of this, I think.”

“No, no,” she said quickly, now afraid she’d managed to offend him. She took the stool next to him at the bar, her purse clutched in her lap.

“Glad to hear it. Since you’re here, you must have cancelled your plans. I wouldn’t want you to end up disappointed.”

“I didn’t cancel,” she said. “I just postponed.”

The corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. “So why
are
you here, Delilah?”

Her name on his lips seemed coated with honey, and she shivered as the soft, sweet sound settled over her. She studied her hands, not quite able to meet his eyes. “I guess I just want more information.”

“That’s easy enough.” He paused, and she looked up to find him smiling at her, his gaze hot against her skin. “And if you want a drink, I can arrange that as well. A martini?”

She shook her head. “Hard liquor wipes me out. Just a glass of Chardonnay, please.”

While he ordered, she rested her chin on her fist and regarded him. She’d walked through the door determined to take control. And with no effort at all, he’d wrested all control away from her. And the worst of it was, she didn’t really mind at all.

“Your determination has changed to befuddlement,” he said, his voice laced with amusement.

“I’m sorry.” She pulled her hands back down in her lap, once again awkward.

“Don’t be sorry. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

She licked her lips. “Maybe I’m just not quite able to believe my good fortune. I mean, this is the kind of thing a girl like me daydreams about. You know, rejected by all the modeling agencies, then in walks the handsome stranger to—” She stopped mid-sentence, mortified. “I can’t believe I said that.”

“What? That I’m handsome?” The dimples made a quick appearance again. “I promise you’re not the first woman who’s told me that.”

“That, I believe. But, no. I meant the rejection part. Not exactly doing a good job of selling myself, am I?”

He took her hand, his firm and slightly calloused. This was a man who worked with his hands, wielding a brush, stretching canvas. How sweet would the rough pad of his thumb feel stroking her lips? Her nipple? Her…
there?

Alarmed, she jerked her hand free, her whole body burning from a mixture of desire and embarrassment.

“Something wrong?” he said, and though his tone was innocent, his expression suggested that he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. And that he very much liked her thoughts.

She closed her eyes and counted to five. “I’m fine, thanks.” Another deep breath. “I just meant that I shouldn’t have told you I was a reject.”

“And I just meant,” he said, brushing his thumb down her arm, “that I don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks. You’re perfect, Delilah. You’re perfect for me.”

Lila sighed, then took a sip of her wine. The truth was, she did feel perfect. She didn’t know what it was about Nicholas Velnias, but he made her feel both special and daring. It was a heady combination, and she tried not to lose herself in it. “But how did you find me?”

“You know who I am, right?”

“Of course,” she said, sitting up straighten “You’re… well, you’re Nicholas Velnias. You’re huge. You’re amazing. You’re—”

“Getting a swelled head,” he said with a smile, and right then she liked him even more.

“But it’s true.”

“Maybe,” he said. “All I meant was that I’m in a position to have access to the headshots that modeling agencies receive. I saw yours and, well, here we are.”

“Here we are,” she agreed. Wherever that might be.

“But now I need to know what your intentions are.” He picked up her hand before she could respond, then pressed it against his chest. “Are you going to lead me on? Tease me? Play hard to get? Or are you going to be mine?”

“Yours,” she repeated, looking at their intertwined fingers. “That sounds intense.”

“And it will be,” he said, disentangling their hands and leaning back in his seat. “I expect full access to a model. I don’t pretend to keep banking hours, and I don’t intend to make the muse wait simply because my model is across town or at work or going shopping with friends. You’ll move into my guest quarters. And you’ll keep my schedule.”

She shook her head, startled as much by his words as by his sudden shift to a businesslike tone. “That’s not possible. I mean, Mr. Velnias, my job—”

“Can be performed by a nineteen-year-old college student. You’ll quit, and I will more than compensate you for your time.” He named off a figure that not only had her gasping, but was also almost double her annual salary at Kelley-Hart. “And call me Nick.”

“But… but… you can’t really mean you’ll pay me that much. How long will the job take? I can’t just up and move in with you for a year.”

He chuckled. “Am I really that unappealing?”

“No!” Quite the opposite, actually. Dangerous, maybe. Tempting, definitely. The kind of man a girl could get lost in—and the thought made her blush burn hotter.

“I’m teasing you,” he said, brushing his fingertip over her lips and sending sparks shooting through her body. “I don’t expect I’ll need you in the studio more than a week or so. Once I’ve captured your essence on the canvas, I don’t need you in the room while I work. You can move out then. If you want to.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say.

“The compensation is fair,” he continued. “And if the work is licensed for any sort of advertising purpose, then you’ll receive a royalty on top of it.”

He looked at her, his gaze so hard and penetrating that it seemed as if he was looking at her soul. “I want this, Delilah. I want you. Tell me that you agree. Tell me that I can paint you. That I can capture your soul on canvas for all the world to see. Don’t deny yourself this opportunity. Say yes, Delilah. Say yes, and all your dreams will come true.”

‡
Chapter Four

N
ick kept his eyes on her face
as he waited for her response. It would be yes, of course. No woman had denied him. Still, though, his body tensed with anticipation, and when her sweet lips parted, he leaned closer to hear her response.

Her first words were a whisper, and so startling that he was certain that even with the exceptional hearing that heredity had provided him, he must have misheard. “What?” he asked. “I couldn’t quite—”

“Will you sketch me?” She spoke almost too loud this time, her chin lifting as she voiced the query. It was exactly what he’d thought she’d said, and it was no less bewildering so many decibels louder.

“First, yes. A few rough sketches to test poses, compositions. But that will take only a little time, and soon your image will come alive in oil on canvas.”

She shook her head. “No, you misunderstand.” She took a sip of her wine, then lifted her eyes to meet his. Her cheeks were bright red, but from the wine or from embarrassment, he didn’t know. “Will you sketch me
now?”

“Here? Right now?” He looked around the bar, with its polished oak and equally polished people. Nothing in the room seemed real, and certainly nothing in here was worthy of his brush. Nothing, that is, except her.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The question seemed simple enough, but she took her time answering. “I want to know how it feels. If it’s worth it.”

“If what’s worth it?”

“Chasing dreams, I guess. Especially when this isn’t about ambition.”

He found himself leaning closer, looking at her with interest. He told himself there was no danger in that; the better he knew her, the easier it was to grab hold of her soul. But while he wouldn’t quite let himself admit it, the truth was far more complicated. And, in a way, far more treacherous. He wanted to know what made this woman tick. Not so that he could fulfill his father’s wishes, but simply because, for the first time in his life, he wanted to know more about a woman than how she’d look in the early-morning light.

“Isn’t everything about ambition?” he asked. His ambition was twofold. Become an even greater artist. And prove his worth to his father.

“Maybe,” she said, her eyes lighting with her smile. “But if that’s the case, then it’s a question of choice. Am I choosing to pursue the right ambition? Because, honestly, I’d almost talked myself out of it.”

“Out of modeling?” He couldn’t help the shock that crept into his voice. “And deprive the world of your beauty?”

“You’re sweet,” she said. “But I didn’t come to New York because I wanted to give the world a present,” she said. “I was a little more selfish than that.”

“Really?” Without thinking, he took her hand, tracing his finger up and down between hers. He saw her breath hitch, realized the effect he was having on her, and smiled. “I know all about selfish tendencies,” he said. “Right now, for example, I want to touch you. And I intend to pursue that goal most selfishly until you tell me not to.”

Another shaky breath, and then she said, “I’m not saying anything.”

“Good.” Her hand was warm in his, almost burning. “Now it’s your turn,” he said. “I told you how I am selfish. Tell me now about you. How did you end up in New York?”