Crushing On The Billionaire (Part 3) (7 page)

“As if I would miss it,” he admonished, giving me a hug. “This is seriously the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I thought our senior project was the greatest thing.”

He grinned. “You’re right. Our senior project was the greatest thing.”

I laughed as I watched him exit the gallery. If possible, I loved my best friend now more than ever. Maybe it had been because I’d almost lost him. But I liked to think that all of the tragedy actually transformed him, brought him into a place of better mindfulness, and helped him understand what he could take seriously and what he could let go of. Shawn was more mature and emotionally steadier now.

I started to circulate around the room, introducing myself politely to people who were examining the prints and asking if they had any questions about any of the shots I took. I spotted Mercedes across the room, and was about to go say hello to her, but Mere approached me instead, her face alight.

“Loren, someone wants to buy the big one.”

  “The big one?” My eyes lit up with recognition. “You mean the Golden Gate Bridge? But that thing’s like a thousand dollars!”

“A buyer’s a buyer,” she said. “Aren’t you excited?”

“Of course I’m excited, but who would want to drop a thousand dollars on one of my photos?”

I peered around her to the display to see who was a big enough fan to want my piece, and locked eyes with Patrick.

Everything made sense, then, even as my stomach dropped out from beneath me. He was the only one in the room who understood the significance of that specific photo, and I approached him, leaving Mere speechless behind me.

“You don’t have to buy the photo,” I told him. “If you want it that bad, I’ll give it to you.”

“I will be buying this photo,” he said roughly. “I can more than afford it, Loren. And I want it.”

“I don’t need your charity, Patrick.”

“It isn’t charity,” he said. “And this piece should be priced much higher. I can afford to invest in art I believe in, and I believe in this piece.”

“This piece wouldn’t have been possible without you,” I said, my tone softening. It was such a shock to see him here. I hadn’t even realized he was aware of the show.

He shook his head. “All I did was give you a ride and put a camera in your hands.”

“And you told me to look,” I said, my voice sounding funny to my own ears. “You opened my eyes to this moment, and I saw both you and the bridge.”

He reached for me for a brief moment, seeming to forget himself, before remembering, putting his arm back down by his side, firm. I looked at him, longing. I wanted that arm around me, the hand smoothing down my back.

 I wanted him back in my life. I wanted us. I didn’t know how to say it. He was holding himself back, and it hurt me.

“I came here to buy some art, and that’s what I’m doing,” he said finally, his voice strained.

“Is that really all you’re doing?” There were art galleries all across the city, and none in this neighborhood—except for the one we were standing in. It hadn’t been happenstance that he was here. He knew, somehow, that my show was today. He was here because of me.

He inhaled deeply and wrapped his hand around my elbow, guiding me through the people milling around the gallery, until we were in the alley behind the building, alone in the deepening evening.

  “Why can’t I stay away from you?” Patrick almost demanded. “We’ve had this discussion so many times that I know the words by heart. We shouldn’t be together, and yet I drift after you helplessly. I go places I know you’re going to be just to see you, to make sure you’re still okay. To pine away after you.”

I knew then that I had actually seen him at the senior projects exhibition. It hadn’t been my imagination. We had both been so uncertain, clinging to something we knew was real, and somehow, crystal clear certainty surfaced inside of me because of it.

“Is the love still there?” I asked, lifting my gaze to meet his. His green eyes were luminous, wide.

“It has never left.”

“Then maybe it’s time to stop fighting it and get on with our lives together.”

I slipped my fingers around his neck and kissed him deeply, and it was suddenly just as simple as that. I had a brick wall at my back and the man I loved in front of me, both of us entwined, certain of each other.

“Let’s go somewhere,” I suggested, smiling, feeling naughty. I wanted what I hadn’t gotten previously because I wasn’t sure of myself, of my feelings for Patrick. Now that I was sure, I was overeager.

“We’re not going to have sex in an alley, Loren,” Patrick told me, amused. “We’re going to do this the right way. There’s no hurry. We have all the time we need.”

“The right way” consisted of me attending the rest of my gallery show, painfully aware of my arousal, Patrick lingering in the periphery, as I tried to pretend everything was normal, talking with strangers, answering questions about my photos.

Mere slipped a piece of paper in my hand at the end of the night, the contents of which made my eyes bug out. It was the total sales of my photography, including Patrick’s purchase of the Golden Gate Bridge centerpiece, as well as an interesting proposition. I secured it in my wallet before dropping it in my bag. It was a paper I didn’t want to lose.

When I walked out of the gallery, I was on top of the world and on Patrick’s arm. The two had a lot to do with each other, but I was also thrilled with the success of the show, and Mere’s special news to me.

Patrick walked me to his car, holding the door open for me.

“Please tell me you’re taking me to a nearby hotel,” I said, leering at him. “I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

“Nope.” He closed my door and took his sweet time sauntering over to the driver’s side, plopping into the seat, and making a series of what I was sure were unnecessary adjustments. After what seemed like an eternity, he turned the key in the ignition.

“Where, then, are we going to go?”

“Home.”

“That’s a long way from here.”

“Yep.”

I pressed my knees together in frustration, anticipation, a host of emotions, but he slipped his hand between them, prying them apart, trailing his fingers up the inside of my thigh until I shivered, sighed, and spread my legs even farther apart.

He took off from his parking spot, one hand on the wheel, one hand slipping my panties aside to allow his fingers access to the part of me that was begging for the most immediate attention.

“I don’t think…this is safe driving,” I managed to say as his fingers found their prize.

“Let me worry about the driving.”

What would’ve been a torturous drive without the extra attention…was still torturous. I squirmed, hoping that no one could see the expressions of ecstasy on my face as we drove on, following every single traffic rule. Patrick didn’t so much as go one mile per hour above the speed limit, taking his sweet time with me.

By the time we reached the house, I was a mewling mess, desperate for release from my torture. Patrick was eager, too, apparently, now hurrying from his side of the car to mine. He scooped me up unceremoniously, not caring that my ass hung out from my dress.

“Patrick!” I yelped, yanking at the hemline.

“I like it when you say my name like that,” he said, shutting the car door with his foot before toting me to the house.

“What about…what about Shawn?”

“Loren, the only thing you have to worry about right now is coming. Does that sound good?”

I was beyond words at this point, and could only nod.

It was all he could do to get me up to his bedroom and toss me on the bed before entering me in one swift movement. I was so ready for it, crying out at the first thrust, wanting it immensely. I’d never craved something so badly in my life.

We moved together, and it was pure poetry. I tried to stifle my cries, worried about Shawn possibly being in the house, but then I reached a point where I couldn’t be quieted.

I came so hard and so loudly that I could feel myself going hoarse. Patrick was right there with me, groaning as he reached that same precipice as I had and let himself tumble on over.

We held onto each other still, Patrick still buried deep in my body. He felt good there, right.

“I was too loud,” I whispered finally, as we gently disengaged from each other.

“Shawn’s not here,” Patrick said. “He told me to go to your show, and to make damn sure I didn’t leave it without you.”

“What?” I was dumbfounded.

“He’s persistent, my son,” Patrick said, shaking his head and grinning. “He’s been after me for almost a month, demanding that I fix whatever was broken between us.”

“I can’t believe him.”

“He’s bound and determined to make amends. Let him. It makes him feel better, and hell, it worked, didn’t it?”

“I guess so.” When would Shawn stop amazing me? The love had been there between Patrick and me, but we’d each needed an extra push. Shawn was a good friend—perhaps the best friend I’d ever have.

“Where do you want to go?” Patrick asked suddenly, twirling my hair around his finger.

“Go?”

“What do you want to do with your life?”

I laughed at him. “Can’t a girl graduate first? Do I have to have a plan right away?”

“I’m just saying,” he said, kissing my forehead. “You don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to. You could live here. We could go wherever you wanted. Do anything you wanted.”

“Excuse me,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’m not looking for charity, here.”

“I’m not offering it. I’m serious, Loren. I love you, and I will do anything for you.”

“Anything?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, I have a surprise.”

Patrick sat up and looked uneasy. I had to hide a smile behind my hand. “What is it?”

“A travel magazine has asked me to submit an idea for an assignment that they’d like to send me on,” I told him. “It was particularly interested in my work with the homeless on display at the gallery.” Mere had submitted some samples of my work early on, without telling me, to some connections she had made over the years, and this had been her parting gift to me for being a “great photographer.”

Patrick frowned. “And where are you thinking about going?”

“Latin America. Southeast Asia. South Africa. The world.”

“It sounds like it will be dangerous.”

“It sounds like it will be rewarding and meaningful work.” I eyed him, with amusement. I’d known from the moment I got the offer that Patrick wouldn’t like it one bit.

“This is actually what you want to do?” he asked, his voice dubious.

“Yes.”

“Then this is exactly what you should do,” he said, kissing me. Now I was the one who was surprised.

“You’d really be okay with me traveling everywhere and leaving you behind in San Francisco?”

“As long as it’s what you want to do, as long as it makes you happy, and as long as you always come home to me.” Patrick pulled me on top of him, hugging me tightly to his chest. “I don’t want to ever lose you again.”

I laid my hand over his chest. His scar was less shocking now, and I hardly noticed it at all beneath my palm.

“This,” I told him, patting the muscle over his heart. “This is home.”

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