And The Beat Goes On (7 page)

He pulled his hands from his pockets then placed them around my waist. His large palms made me feel small. My breathing hitched and I suddenly felt my nerves fire in spurts. When we touched, I thought I would explode.

Mr. Clearwater pulled me to his chest and placed his forehead against mine.

Oh my god…oh my god.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” he whispered.

No. Yes.
Kinda. No. Yes.
“I don’t know…” That was the honest truth.

“Let me know if I do.”

Now I didn’t want the car to come. I could stand like that forever. My desire conquered my fear, and my arms automatically hooked around his neck.

Why did I just do that?

He pulled me even closer. Our faces were pushed together, his lips close to mine. If we were going to kiss, it would be now. I waited but nothing happened. He must feel my beating heart against his chest. It was going haywire.

The car parked against the curb and the driver opened the backdoor. He cleared his throat but said nothing.

Mr. Clearwater’s hands dropped from my waist.

No. Put them back.

He stepped toward the door and extended his hand. “After you.”

I
got inside and watched him move into the seat next to me. He didn’t hold my hand or show me any affection. He told the driver the name of the restaurant and we took off.

Nothing was said for the entire ride. I’ve never been so nervous in my life. If we stood on the curb for a moment longer, I probably would have kissed him because I was so hypnotized.

I wondered if he was a good kisser. Probably.

When we arrived at the French restaurant, there was a line outside. I recognized the place from my travels across the city. It was a place I could never afford.

When we walked inside, Mr. Clearwater walked to the booth. Without identifying himself or even speaking, the host extended his hand and shook his.

“How are you, sir?”

“I’m well. Thank you.”

“Right this way, sir.”

He guided us past the noisy tables and up the stairs.
Was this restaurant two stories?

On th
e landing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, was a table for two. It was secluded and quiet, and a waiter stood in the corner.

This was fancy.

The host guided us to our seats then nodded. “Have a good evening, sir.”

‘Thank you,” Mr. Clearwater said gracefully.

When we had our privacy, he stared at me like he usually did. I still wasn’t used to the look.
Did he stare at everyone like that?

“Since this is the time I get to question the artist of my painting, can I ask you a few questions?”

He was interested in my artwork?
“Sure.”

“Where do you paint?”

“In my apartment, usually on the coffee table.”

The waiter approached our table then poured two glasses of wine. Mr. Clearwater didn’t even order it. A basket of bread was placed in the center.

“Anything else, Mr. Clearwater?” he asked.

“No, thank you.” He didn’t look at the waiter on
ce. His eyes were only for me.

“Very well, sir.” He retreated to the corner
, out of earshot.

I stared at the waiter then returned my look to Mr. Clearwater. “How do they know your name?”

His hand moved to the top of his tie. He adjusted it gently then placed his hand on the table. His fingers wrapped around the stand of the wineglass. “I’m his boss.”

How was that true?
“You are?”

He nodded. “I’m the owner of this restaurant.”

Of course he was.
“Oh.”

Mr. Clearwater stared me down. “Why did you decide to sell that painting in particular?”

I shrugged. “It’s the only one I’m ready to share with the world.”

“I would love to see any others you have, especially as a potential buyer.” He drank the wine then returned it to the table. He grabbed a piece of bread and took a bite. Th
e crumbs didn’t fall. He was that meticulous.

“You want to see my other work?”

“Most definitely.”

The continuing praise was making me feel more and more
elated. I never expected such a positive response. Maybe I should have been more forward with my work from the beginning.

“You seem surprised.”

“Because I am,” I said honestly.

“Why?”

I looked at my wineglass. “I never thought I was good.”

“You? Or did someone else tell you that?”

Well, a few people did. My dad was never supportive of my dream, but my biggest aggressor was Chad. He thought my artwork was unproductive and just a waste of time. I didn’t miss him at all. “Possibly.”

“Who?” he asked.
“Your father?”

“Among others.”

He rubbed his chin. “Who else?”

“No one worth mentioning,” I said quietly.

I thought he would press for answers but he didn’t. “Fuck them. You’re extremely talented. I have no doubt you’re meant for something better.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know you better than you think.”

I found that hard to believe.

“I know what your painting is about.”

He did? I didn’t think that was obvious. The small number of people who saw it had some ridiculous theories
about its meaning. No one even came close. But Mr. Clearwater might be different… “Is that so?”

“Your whole life, you were told you were going to run a carpet store. But of course, you discovered your own passions in life. You appreciate art, music, dance,
the human ability of expression. Only when you’re alone, covered in paint and in the sun, do you feel whole. Because it’s where you belong. No one can pull you away. No one can touch you.” He stared me down. “I think I know you pretty well.”

I felt the tears burn under my eyes. His examination of my painting was perfectly true.

“And I think that makes you beautiful.”

I averted my gaze so I wouldn’t give into the tears. After Chad cheated on me, I promised myself I wouldn’t cry again. It was weak and pathetic, and not productive at all. Plus, it was a waste of time and I refused to do it. When Jasper hurt me, my initial impulse was to cry.

Nope. I didn’t do it.

And I wouldn’t do it now.

I controlled my emotions and kept them from being noticed. But since Mr. Clearwater was so observant, that might make it difficult.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Damn it!
“I’m fine.”

He reached across the table and placed his hand on mine. I immediately wanted to pull away because it burned me.
But I loved feeling that heat. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

“But I am…”

He didn’t take his eyes from mine. “I didn’t get to such a high place in life from being gullible and ignorant to the thoughts and emotions of those around me. I can see through people’s bullshit and their lies. Don’t bother feeding them to me now. I can see right through it.”

His candor was sweet and refreshing
, but intimidating at the same time. “Okay.”

He pulled his hand away and leaned back. “Now tell me.” The command was in his voice. I knew he wasn’t a man that heard the word
“no” very often.

“I wanted to go to an art academy right after my traditional education. I applied to Julliard and was accepted. I even had a scholarship. But my dad wouldn’t let me go…”

“Why?”

“My mom passed away shortly before that. He told me I was selfish for leaving him behind when my mother wasn’t around. My brother was already in college and had his own obligations. I felt too guilty so I stayed. I thought I could go to an art academy here, but my father said that was
unacceptable. Artists never make any money to survive. I had a profitable business right in front of me but I didn’t want it. I was ungrateful…”

I couldn’t tell what Mr. Clearwater was thinking. But the flame in his eyes told me he was furious. “That’s unacceptable.” That was all he said.

“Me or him?”

“I think the traitor is very clear. Your father’s behavior is unacceptable. He put his happiness before his daughter’s. Growing up is about finding your own place in the world, not following the footsteps of others. He’s selfish and wanted to hog you so he could keep you to himself. And that’s unacceptable.”

“Well, my mom…”

“Don’t give him any excuses.” His voice was cold.

I knew he was right.

“Lif
e is too short to live for another person. Athena, you need to pursue your dream. Don’t stick around just to make your father happy. Claim your fine arts degree and leave the university.”

“I’m almost done…”

“Who cares?” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “You’re very talented. And you don’t belong in my classroom.”

“I don’t?”

“No. You’re too smart for it anyway.” He smiled at me, making goose bumps appear on my arms. “And there’s always modeling…”

“I seriously doubt I could be one.”

He eyed my body then returned his look to my face. “I don’t.”

Did he just check me out?
Right in front of me?
If he were some other guy, I’d throw my napkin on the table and storm out. But with him, I didn’t want to. In fact, I wanted him to look again.

The tension increased the longer we stared at each other. I’ve never had such a strong chemistry with another person, especially someone I hardly knew. But we conversed silently across the table, speaking with our eyes and not our mouths. The relationship between us changed quickly. Bu
t I didn’t know what we had become.

The waiter approached our table and took our order. I hadn’t look
ed at the menu once so I glanced at it and picked a random dish. I’m sure everything was good. I wasn’t worried about disliking my food.

Mr. Clearwater ordered in French. Of course he did. His perfection started to get old. But he was still sexy as hell.

When we were alone again, he burned me with his heated gaze. “I want to know something about you.”

“What?”

“What’s with you and that blond loser?”

“Blond loser?”

His eyes narrowed. “That jackass that grabbed you.”

“Oh. Nothing.”

“Really?” He made good on his word. I couldn’t lie to him.

“We went on a date a month ago. I really liked him and was excited when he asked me out. After dinner and dessert, he took me home. But he didn’t want to leave my apartment. He i
nsisted on coming inside and tried kissing me, making it more…sexual than it needed to be. When I refused to have sex with him, he left with an attitude and never called me again. A few days later, he was dating a well-known slut. And it was pretty clear why.”

He drank from his wine, his eyes never leaving my face. “Why didn’t you sleep with him?”

“It was our first date.”

“Is that your rule? No sex on the first date?”

“I wouldn’t say that. But I don’t just sleep with anybody. I know most people have one-night stands and meaningless sex. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, but I’m not that way. I prefer to be in a relationship with someone before the sex is had.”

Mr. Clearwater didn’t speak for over a minute. He rubbed his chin then stared at his wineglass. It was the first time he removed his gaze from my face. I had no idea what he was thinking but he seemed flustered, like something was wrong. “Have you ever had meaningless sex? Is that why you don’t prefer it?”

“No. The sex I had was in the paradigms of a relationship.”

He narrowed his eyes.
“Are you saying you’ve only had sex with one person?”

That was a personal question. But I felt cornered. And unfortunately, I think I made that pretty obvious. “Yes.”

Mr. Clearwater didn’t react. His hand still rested on his chin like he was deep in thought. “Did you love this person?”

“Yes.”

“Did he love you?”

“I don’t know.”
Probably not.

“You don’t know?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “Did he say he did?”

“Yes. But he cheated on me. I think that speaks louder than a few simple words.” Even after all this time, it still hurt to say it.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently.

“It was a long time ago. “I tried to dismiss it.

“How did it happen?”

I shrugged. “He had a relationship with another woman behind my back. They are getting married soon…”

He took a deep breath while he stared at me. “I’m so sorry.” It seemed like he meant it.

“I’ve dated nothing but jerks for a long time. I’m not sure why I surround myself with them. But I’m sick of it.”