The Prelude (15 page)

“Hm. I’ll make two guesses on how you found out about my artistic troubles,” I say.

“My baby sister worships you, Erin,” he says, coming around to where I’m standing and still recovering from the idea of the panty-drop gorgeous Alek Dostov being in my apartment, a man who has made himself at home. I take the drink he offers and gulp it down. I need something alcoholic at the moment. “Tell me about your problem. The Maestro is here to help.”

I scoff a light laugh. The alcohol I just chugged too quickly hits me fast and hard. I’m now on fire between my legs, and with Mr. Sexy Fucking Accent standing there looking at me in such a way that is making me want to lose hold of my ethical resolve, things can't turn out good. “Right. So, Mr. Maestro, I have this issue with a butterfly logo that I’ve drawn. It seems the little fucker doesn’t want to behave for my color pencils.”

“Language, Ms. Angelo,” he answers, his lips turning up at the corner. He has a beautiful smile.

“I do apologize.”

“May I see this subject of yours? The one who’s giving you the problem?” he asks in a factual tone. He has the snooty psychologist attitude down. That’s pretty damn good for a maestro.

“Certainly.” I take the glass of wine he hasn’t finished and chug his alcohol too.

“Careful, Erin. I don’t see you as the type who handles a shit load of alcohol all that well.”

I raise my left eyebrow. “Follow me, please sir.”

“My pleasure.”

He follows me out to the sunroom. Even though we’re headed well into the evening hours, there’s still a hint of humidity in the air. “I keep my studio stuff set up out here on warm days like this.” The balcony is small, but it allows me to do what I need to with my sketches. I take a seat on the ground in front of my butterfly drawing, the one with no coloring except for the blue in its wings.

“You’re a talented, lady. That’s for sure.” Alek sits in the spot beside me. I swell with pride at the way he’s analyzing my drawing.

“I have the perfect solution for you,” he says and pulls up the sleeve on his right arm. I inhale sharply, taking in the breathtaking view of the tattoo I’ve been wanting to see since the first time we met a few weeks ago. It is of a beautiful phoenix done in a fiery copper color. The flames surrounding the bird create a swirl of crimson colored fog around its body. I place my hands on the picture, caressing his arm.

“Alek, this is stunning,” I don’t tell him how long I’ve waited to see his ink. The tattoo artist put a great amount of emphasis on creating a realistic set of flames. The art pulls me in, and I can’t stop massaging it. Alek’s body stiffens a bit.

“Keep touching me like that, and I won’t be held responsible for what happens,” he says as he glances deep in my eyes. I swallow through a golf ball sized lump in my throat. I fully believe he means every word he just said.

“What’s your story? I mean…”

He gives me a tiny smile. “This is an emblem from a gang I used to be in a long time ago. Each one of us was assigned a color to go along with our phoenix. Mine was red.”

“A gang?”

“It’s not what you’re thinking, Erin,” he says. In Russia, we form gangs for completely different reasons than some of our neighbors do in other countries. I’ll tell you all about it someday.”

I’m totally hooked. The more I get to know him, the more he intrigues me with his mysterious past. What is it about this man who can bring the world to its feet with a song that drives me wild? “What about Nikolai? What’s his color?” I ask, recalling the time when I first met his friend. I saw the ink partially hidden by his shirt sleeve too.

“My my aren’t we the observant one?” he teases. “He was given royal blue flames.” His expression saddens. I want to know why. “Enough chit chat. We need to prepare your masterpiece for his debut this weekend.”

He breaks our gaze, eases his arm out of my grip, and moves around behind me, pulling me up against him the way we did at his mother’s house last week. I'm now sitting between his legs. It’s a pretty bold move on his part, but I’ve kinda gotten used to him taking charge this way now. “What are you doing?” I ask.

“Your butterfly is going to get a set of smoldering flames like mine. We’re going to bring a touch of excitement into his life.” He reaches around my body and opens the bottles of paint I bought and never used as he says this. 

“I hate to disappoint you but it’s a she,” I correct.

“What’s that?” he asks in a seductively low voice, and that accent that makes me forget all reason. I’m beyond lost in this moment. My pulse races, and I can’t think of anyplace else I’d rather be than sitting on a balcony with the Maestro.

“My butterfly is a girl.”

“I do apologize. Does she have a name?”

“Yes,” I answer, watching him prepare the paints even with me sitting between his legs.

“And what would you like me to call her?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a secret,” I whisper, thinking of the day Jada named the butterflies we adopted. Hers was blue like the sky and mine was black like a crow’s wings. I combined the two colors to come up with my label’s logo.

“Alright then, we’ll call her Mystical for now,” Alek says and offers me the brush.

Covering my hand with his, he eases the paintbrush we now hold together onto the canvas and begin stroking inside the areas around the butterfly. The scent of Alek’s cologne mixes with the paint. I’m suddenly very aware of the way we’re sitting with his body wrapped around mine. The Enigma song playing in the background sets every nerve cell in my body on fire.

He’s very good with his hands. “Do you see how this works, Jaybird? The paint requires a smooth touch. Be gentle. Stroke the canvas lightly, then sit back and enjoy the way you’re rewarded by the results,” he explains as he creates a fiery combination of orange, dark blue, and crimson flames around my logo, bringing the design to scorching life.

Holy moly! Every single word he just said fires through my body. I turn my head toward his lips. Dangerous move, I know.
He’s still the boss, Erin.

Oh shut the hell up.

I wonder if the butterfly in my picture is as horny as I am right now. He moves his head toward my lips.
No kissing, Erin
. But that isn’t what he’s trying to do. The paintbrush needs more paint, and he’s dipping it one more time. “The picture is breathtaking,” I say without turning my head. “Should I take charge of things for a while?”

The dazzling half-smile I receive in return for my answer pushes me over the edge.

“I think a woman who takes charge is incredibly irresistible,” he mutters. His mouth is so very close to mine. I turned away from him the other day. Yeah, I know, that was a pretty harsh thing for me to do; but I’ve never been considered easy. Something tells me Alek is the type of man who appreciates something like that.

“
It could be this way for us all of the time,” he says, teasing my lips by moving his closer to mine. He glances back at the canvas. I’ve forgotten all about the painting. Are you kidding me? I have a Russian god sitting here cradling my body. The last thing on my mind is a logo that has been too hard to pin down in a design.

He
’s not going to kiss me again, though, and it's my own fault. Feeling a bit rejected, I make an attempt at a distraction. “What do you mean by we could do this all of the time?”

Crap! I
’m gasping. No, I’m panting.
Control, Erin!

“
I’m saying we agree to pleasure each other. No strings. No slippery emotions. Just two sexually attracted people drowning out the world’s troubles by having a lot of sex.”

“
Are you asking me to swing with you?”

“
No. I’m done with that,” he answers. He looks directly in my eyes when he says this. Call me crazy, but I believe him.

“
You don’t have to kiss me. I know you don’t like that. But I can make you feel like a woman without even touching these lips.” He caresses my mouth with the pad of his thumb, the only part of his hands not covered in paint.

“
Do you accept my proposal?” he whispers furiously, his half-lidded gaze bearing into my soul. “Can you handle me, Erin?”

“You’re easy pickings. Give me your best shot, Maestro,” I gasp out. And he does. Remind me to think twice before I go tempting a man who’s used to leading hundreds of bickering musicians in front of a crowd of thousands on a regular basis.

First, he nibbles my ear. Okay, that’s an easy target, but the perfect one. Quivers tingle inside my breasts. My nipples harden, and I’m seriously hating that I just can't let myself enjoy at least one stolen moment of pleasure with him. 

His hand slides around in front of me. The paintbrush we held on to together falls from our entwined hands, making a colorful mess. Still holding on to mine, he moves his hands across my thighs, easing them dangerously close to the sweet spot between my legs, but stopping just before he reaches it. I don’t even mind the paint he’s smeared across my skin. The sight of red paint on my thighs and the chants coming from the Enigma song still playing on my stereo along with the raw scent of male in Alek’s cologne sends me spiraling into a place I haven’t visited in years.

“Do you see how just the right strokes gets the best response of all?” he whispers against my ear, his tongue playfully flicking over the outside edges and around the inside of it too. His hands ease dangerously closer to my hot spot. If he touches me there, then every single resolve I’ve ever made will go a flying off the balcony.

I should stop this.

Hell no, you won’t!

Holy Moly this man is good with his tongue.

And he knows it too. The word
yes
sits on the tip of my tongue.  The world around us rises and then falls at once as the sound of feet shuffles to a stop.

“Oh, whoopsie!” Adriana’s voice calls out from behind us. I move my head around, glance into Alek’s eyes, and watch the mystery of the moment we just shared slowly ease its way out from inside them. At least I have a complete logo now.

We both turn our heads toward Adriana. She has the widest eyes I’ve ever seen on a human being. She stands in the doorway to the balcony as though she’s glued to that spot. Alek eases out from behind me, stands up, and heads over to where his sister stands.

She mouths the words, “I’m sorry.”

“No worries.” He turns back to me, a wicked gleam still swims in his eyes. “Don’t keep me waiting too long for the answer to my proposal, Erin. There’s only so much rejection any man can handle before he cracks. Good luck Friday night.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says to Adriana as he kisses her cheek and glances at me one last time. So much for Reckless’s agenda tonight.

Erin

The owners of every major design house in Milan have sent a representative from their company here tonight. The building we rented belongs to one of Rafe’s most influential friends, a man who owns several properties in the historical part of the city. 

Luca and Carla worked all day setting up the high rise center stage. The finalized version of the logo Alek and I designed a few days ago hangs above the stage. My butterfly with the light blue and black wings now sits on a plaque situated above the stage. The word Mystical is etched in gold letters along the bottom of the circle surrounded by soft flames.

Seeing my creation in 3D sends fluttery excitement through my chest. Especially when I recall the way I was, eh-em, shown how to add the finishing touches. Rafe doesn’t want anything that looks unprofessional to represent Black Butterfly tonight.

Along with my excitement, there’s this empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I can’t seem to stop the quiver in the top of my left forearm. Yeah, I’m nervous. No, I’m way past nerves. I’m scared as hell. Tonight Mystical will either fly or sink to the bottom of Milan’s well of completely forgettable designers.

I steal a moment to glance out at the crowd. Photographers, industry gurus, gossip columnists, and other moguls in the fashion and entertainment businesses sit along either side of the extended platform, chatting with one another. But that’s not what has caught my attention. About halfway down the middle of the aisle on my left, I spot him. Alek.

Adriana sits on his right side. She’s already snapping pictures of anything that talks or walks. Her enthusiasm excites me. From on the left side, a redheaded woman leans toward Alek. The two of them seem to be really enjoying themselves. It’s Lila Davis, the singer who’s taking my place in Alek’s production.

Wait a minute. Aren’t you the one who turned down his offer?
Yeah, yeah, that was me. I’m guilty.

Still, I don’t know how to describe the way I feel as I stand behind the curtain staring out at the two of them. This must be his idea of a challenge. Is he trying to make me jealous?

It’s hard to believe he’d do something like this after what happened between us the other day. But there he sits with his singer, laughing and pointing at the emblem we created together. Behind Alek and Adriana, Katerina sits. Our gazes lock, and she smiles. I move back behind the curtain. Could she actually be smiling at my distress? I’d bet a thousand pairs of silk undies that she has a sizable part in the Alek and Lila show I just witnessed.