Austin Page 5

  I stare at him a minute longer, not as forgiving. He looks at me and asks, “What, Suit?”

  Trying to keep my voice calm, I ask again, “What did you give her?”

  His posture shows his annoyance as he sighs and shrugs. “A sleeping pill. That’s all man. Relax. Nothing happened if that’s what you’re wondering. I watched her sleep. That’s all. I watched as her beautiful aura of darkness disappeared from dealing with suits like you.”

  “You’re sick, you know that? You need help.”

  “No, I need my muse back, but you destroyed her. Her hate was beauty. Her sadness palpable, too tempting to resist. I paint in blues, blacks, and reds, not yellow or white. You turned my beautiful succubus into a seraphim, my inspiration transformed forever.”

  “You’re spewing bullshit and believing it,” I reply, pissed. Needing to get to Jules, I start to leave, but stop. “I’m making you a promise, whatever the fuck your name is. If you touched her, at all, in anyway, I’ll come for you.”

  “And do what?” He puts his paintbrush between his teeth.

  I turn back around, standing in the doorway. My glare harsh as anger courses through my veins. “I’ll make sure you meet that Hell you’re so intrigued by.”

  Leaving him there in his self-important, messed up perspective, I kick the door to the exit on the first floor open and see Jules standing with Henry on the sidewalk. “Get in,” I tell her. Without question, she does.

  THE BUILDINGS PASS outside, the occasional homeless person sitting on the sidewalk. The black car stands out in this part of the borough. The dark tint of the windows protects us from eyes peering in, but I feel Austin’s weighing heavily on me inside the car. When I look at him, his expression is unexpected and tugs at my heart. I hate seeing the pain I’ve caused him. I’m just not sure if it’s from our breakup or finding me at Jean-Luc’s like he did. Feeling small and embarrassed, I whisper, “I’m sorry.”

  His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, his blue eyes darker, his gaze directed at me. Scooting closer, he takes my hand in his and brings it to his mouth, kissing it. I move closer, closing the gap between us and replace my hand with my lips. His hands go to the back of my head, holding me to him. So tight. So close. Our tongues meet in an aggressive collision of passion.

  He moves away from me abruptly, looking away.

  “Austin?”

  “Call Brandon.”

  “Austin?”

  Austin’s voice is stern, his words clipped. “He’s worried. Call him.” Leaning his head against the window, I can tell I’m losing him, again.

  Pulling my phone from my purse, I see all the missed calls displayed. My stomach drops, feeling sick. Brandon answers on the first ring, “Jules?”

  “It’s me. I’m okay.”

  “You’re okay?”

  “Yes. I’m fine.”

  “I was worried,” he says. “I’m stuck in Philly and couldn’t get a hold of you.”

  “I’m with Austin.”

  “I called him, Jules. You weren’t answering.”

  Staring out the window as we cross the bridge, I say, “Thank you.”

  “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “I am. I’ll tell you more when you’re home.”

  His breath starts to even. “I’ll be home late tonight.”

  “I’m tired, Brandon. Can I see you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.” He sighs. “I’m glad to hear your voice.”

  He makes me smile. “It’s good to hear your voice too. We’ll talk tomorrow. Safe travels.”

  “Goodbye.”

  “Bye.” I hang up and look over at Austin. I don’t say anything, nervous to disrupt his thoughts, which seem intense from his expression.

  When he turns, his eyes are as severe as his thoughts seem to be. “I want you to come to my place.”

  “Are you asking me?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.”

  I’VE BEEN INSIDE his penthouse for over an hour and he’s still sitting in the leather and chrome chair he sat in when we walked in. He’s watching me, watching every move I make, so I don’t move much. I tried to open up a conversation, but he wouldn’t respond. I’m finding this new side to Austin intriguing, challenging, nerve wracking, and while being the subject of his intense stare, I find him sexy.

  I readjust on the couch, tucking my legs under me while keeping my eyes fixed on him. His tongue glides over his bottom lip as my tongue slides over my top one. He loosens his tie and starts to unbutton his shirt—three buttons before he stops. I’m disappointed as I look him over, wishing the show would continue.

  When I stand up, I take my shoes off. Tired of this strange, yet fascinating game, I go to him. His gaze traces over my body, causing it to react by warming inside. Standing in front of him, his legs are spread and I sit in his lap sideways. When I lean my head on his shoulder, I’m not sure if I want him to hold me to make it all better or to fuck me to make it all go away.

  He slips his arms under me and stands. Carrying me into the bedroom, he then lays me down on the bed. Austin removes his jacket, then his shirt, taking his undershirt with it. I silently watch as he undresses the rest of the way, no clothes covering him as he climbs onto the bed next to me. He wraps his arm over me and presses his face into my hair and neck. A warm breath escapes followed by his pain. “I would have done anything for you.” With a jagged breath, he adds, “I still will.”

  I turn my head, my cheek against his. “I know.” Moving down until my forehead is pressed to his, I say, “I would do anything to change what happened, to be the person who knew what to do from the beginning.”

  “We can’t change the past, but I’m realizing I can change our fate.” His hand slides under my shirt stopping on my waist. His fingers tighten, squeezing me. “I want you in my life, but wanting you makes me feel weak and I spent years overcoming weakness.”

  “You’re not weak for admitting your feelings. You’re stronger for following your heart.” I kiss his still lips. I kiss him until he responds, his hands pushing my shirt up as his tongue mingles with mine. Our breath comes harder as I lean my head back and his mouth starts covering my neck. My shirt is pushed up exposing my breasts. Austin places kisses over the tops of each just above my bra. My arms are put above my head as his body moves on top of mine. Risking it all, I say, “I love you.”

  Everything stops—his lips on my skin, his hands that held my arms, and his hips that had found a rhythm between my legs. He tugs the shirt off the rest of the way then takes my arms, laying them at my sides. His expression is more serious as the light from outside the window reflects in his eyes. I’m unsure how this is gonna go. My heart starts racing, feeling a distance flickering to life between us as he slides to the side and onto his back.

  “Austin, talk to me. Please.” I hate how pathetic I sound, but I can’t help it. “Please.”

  He looks over at me, and says, “I love you. I’ve loved you since the day I laid eyes on you.” There’s a truthfulness that could be called vulnerability, but I see it as quite the opposite. I listen to him, falling even deeper in love with him. “I used to wonder what your smile looked like and if I could ever evoke it. I even used to imagine us dancing at the gallery.” He chuckles to himself. “Sounds stupid, but it just seemed like something you would like.”

  I roll onto my side to face him, running my hand down his arm until our fingers entwine. He says, “You weren’t a muse like Jean-Luc wanted or something that needed to be fixed like you are for Dylan. You’re this force to be reckoned with, all strong and gorgeous, confident, but sensitive and affected.” Turning away from me, he looks out the window. “I saw you crying the night we met, in the back. I heard the artist yell at you.”

  When he looks at me again, I say, “I’ve always wondered how you found me at the new gallery.”

  “I stopped by and found out you had been fired. The guy said he’d let me know if you got work and he did.” He smiles to himself. “I also paid h
im a hundred bucks.”

  “But why did you want to find me?”

  “Because, like I said, I’ve loved you since the day I laid eyes on you.”

  My mouth crashes down on his as I roll on top of him. My clothes go flying as we both pull at them until I’m freed. Our mouths create a continuum between us as he pushes in and we become one again. Our bodies move with care, taking our time, hands exploring, moans captured and swallowed. Thrusts deepen, my back arching as his fingers elicit, drawing forth my orgasm, his following quickly after.

  Short of breath, we lay there on our backs chasing it until it soothes. When he looks at me, I smile, and he says, “There’s that smile I worked so hard for.”

  The seriousness of the situation arises overtaking the ease of our lovemaking. “Where do we stand, Austin?”

  “Where we always did—fumbling through this world together, making mistakes, making them right, making love, making a future.”

  I snuggle into his side, draping my leg over his. “Together?”

  He sounds positive when he responds, “Together.”

  Worry is replaced by happiness and I smile against his chest. “Thank you.”

  “I can feel how much you love me, Jules. I see it in your eyes, just like I see your remorse. We all make mistakes. You didn’t go after him. As much as I would have loved if you had been the one to punch him, our past seems to always fuck with our futures.”

  Resting my chin on his chest, I turn to see his face. “Tell me about your past, the one that fucked with your future.”

  It’s his turn to smile now. “You want me to make you feel better about your ex, don’t you?”

  I laugh lightly. “Maybe.”

  His body moves with laughter, though I don’t hear him. Austin goes quiet for a moment, then says, “Her name was Christina. We were high school sweethearts. Sounds cheesy already, right?”

  “No. Sounds romantic.”

  After a kiss to my head, he continues, “Well, after graduation, we both got jobs and went to college. I remember it being hard trying to balance the long days at class and the long nights working while dating someone. It wasn’t her fault or anything she did. I wanted to spend time with her, but there was no extra time.”

  I lay back, resting my head on the pillow next to him and wait for him to go on.

  “It sucks to be poor,” he says, glancing my way. “We were both broke. Our families were broke, so our futures depended on us to make our dreams come true.”

  “What were your dreams?” I ask.

  “I wanted to travel.”

  “You do a lot of that. Is it a dream come true?”

  He shrugs. “It used to be. Now, it’s just business.”

  “What do you dream of now?”

  His arm tightens around me and pulls me to him. “Being settled.”

  “You say that like my mistakes don’t matter, like this could actually work between us.”

  Tilting his head downward, he looks me in the eyes, “Jules, what you fail to realize is that I never saw your flaws. I saw the woman behind that shield you carry so prominently. That’s not a flaw, that’s self-preservation.” He sighs. “As for all the other shit going on, I almost had sex in London.”

  I sit upright, turning to look down on him. “What?” The smirk that covers his face and the cocked eyebrow are disarming. “Almost?” I ask quieter, completely jealous.

  “I didn’t do it, but I could’ve, several times.”

  I lay back down. “Now you’re just bragging.”

  “Maybe.”

  Pulling the sheet over us, I turn to my side, facing him. “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because no matter how mad I am at you or how much you hurt me by kissing Dylan, having sex with someone else wouldn’t have made me feel better. It would make things worse.”

  “Am I only in your bed now because of the Jean-Luc incident?” I close my eyes, but feel his hand on my cheek, pushing my hair back.

  When I open my eyes again, he whispers, “You’re here, in my bed, in my apartment, and in my life because these days, you’re what my dreams are made of.” I feel the truth behind his confession. “I love you, Jules.” His words overwhelm me and I scoot closer, letting the tears fall. He holds me even tighter, but says, “You hurt me. Don’t hurt me again.”

  It makes me wonder if I’m capable of not hurting others when all I do is punish myself. The yellow canvas hanging in my apartment comes to mind and I’m reminded that I can be who I want to be. I don’t have the baggage tethered to my heart any longer. I know what I want and Austin is my dream come true. “I won’t. I love you.”

  His chest lowers as he releases a long exhale. Rolling us over, his hand goes from my face over my shoulder and covers my breast, stirring my inner desires. I spread my legs allowing him to fall into position. We make love two more times before the sun sets.

  STANDING IN FRONT of his elevator, I wait to push the button. “Come with me,” I say again.

  He leans against the wall, his head fall to the side. “Why do you want me to come?”

  “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “Then don’t.”

  Giggling, I push his chest. “I need clean clothes.”

  “Forget it all. Leave it. We’ll start over. Buy you all new stuff.”

  Grabbing his shirt, I come closer while tugging. One kiss to his chin, then two on his lips, and I say, “I like this idea.”

  My hips are grabbed and squeezed. “I like you.”

  “I like you.” I swat his hand. “Now let me go or I’ll never make it home.”

  The smile is gone, replaced by sincerity. “I don’t want to ever let you go again.”

  “I’ll be back. Tonight, if you don’t mind a late night visitor.”

  His blue eyes shine with the contentment I’ve always wished for him, the happiness he deserves. “Are we starting over? You staying at your place, me staying at mine with occasional visits back and forth?”

  “No, there’s no going back. I’m fully invested.” I twirl for him. “See? All here. All for you.”

  “You look good fully invested. But I might need a reminder of how good fully invested feels.”

  I burst out laughing. “You’re insatiable and I approve of this.”

  He takes my hand and starts tugging me back. I drop my coat and purse, leaving them to fall on the floor. Austin stops, spins my back to the bedroom while kissing my neck, and I let him because clean clothes are totally overrated.

  BRANDON ANSWERS AFTER two knocks. The door is left open as he walks into the kitchen. “Come in,” he says.

  I shut the door and walk inside. “How are you?”

  He stops, setting the spoon down, his face is one of annoyance. Resting his hands on the counter in front of him, he glares at me. “How am I? How are you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Tense, he asks, “What happened to you?”

  “Do you want me to tell you the truth or a story to make you feel better?”

  “Shit, Jules. Don’t play games. I was worried. I almost called Dylan.”

  “You called Austin though.”

  “I called Austin because I knew I could count on him, no matter what had happened. Now tell me what happened.”

  Walking to his refrigerator, I open the freezer and search. “Do you have any vodka?”

  “Must be bad if you need vodka.” Moving past me, he says, “It’s right here.”

  “The vodka’s for you. I need you calm.”

  Shaking his head, he rolls his eyes, then shuts the freezer door.

  I laugh while moving to the couch. I know I’m not getting out of this that easy, so I settle in for the long haul, also known as an interrogation.

  I DON’T KNOW that Brandon feels any better about the Jean-Luc situation, much like I don’t, but I do know Jean-Luc didn’t touch me. I know he didn’t. I find comfort in that and will try to move on from this.

  A knock on my door interrupts my packing. I walk over
and look through the peephole, spying Austin standing there. He’s making faces at me and I laugh, everything feeling lighter today. Swinging the door open, I grab him by the belt loop and pull him inside against me until his lips meet mine. He kicks the door closed and when we part, he says, “I could get used to that kind of greeting.”

  “I hope so because that’s gonna be the standard from now on.”

  With a smile, I see his eyes go from me to over my shoulder. “That’s new,” he says.

  Following his gaze, I see the yellow painting. “It’s not new. I painted over it.”

  He’s shocked. “You painted over it?”

  “Yes. I love it now.”

  He glances between the painting and me several times, then grins. “I love it too. A happy color suits you much better.”

  “Thank you for saying that. I feel much more yellow than blue these days.”

  His smile lights up his whole face. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

  I lean my head on his shoulder and whisper, “When we’re together, I’m reminded of who I used to be. I prefer who I am with you.”

  “You’re who you choose to be, Jules.” His lips meet mine, tongues caress tenderly followed by a sigh. “But no matter who that is, I see the real you.”

  My breath stalls in my chest as I breathe his words into my heart. “Who am I?”