Draw Me In (20 page)

And she deserved more than that.

Chapter Seventeen

Hailey

The scent of the pillow beneath me wasn’t right. It smelled wonderful, clean and somehow familiar, but it wasn’t mine. I blinked blearily, an unfamiliar room taking shape in front of me. Sunlight shone past gray curtains. The walls were a pale cream, and the sheets were crisp and smooth, like the ones at an expensive hotel. I shifted my legs, reveling in the delicious feeling of their silkiness on my bare skin. But then my toe hit warm flesh, and I remembered.

Smiling, I rolled over and faced a sleeping Neill. That boyish look that sometimes appeared when he smiled was written all over his face as he slept. With a cautious hand, I smoothed a curl back from his forehead. Could he really be only twenty-four? He owned a business, and was definitely capable of running it well, but he couldn’t be as old he acted sometimes. I wondered what had happened to him to make him that way. Last night he’d only danced around his past, but it was certainly more than he’d ever said before. I blew out a breath from pursed lips, ruffling the little curl above his eye, then smiled. He had been such a gentleman, insisting that he’d sleep on the couch. I’d had to argue for nearly half an hour to get him to share the bed with me.

“I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself,” I’d said, propping my hands on hips that were covered by his shirt.

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” His mumble was grumpy, but he gave in, and nothing more than a sweet good-night kiss had happened after that.

No matter how much I’d wanted it to.

Though I could lie here and stare at his face all morning, I sighed, knowing it was probably a bad idea. Besides, I didn’t have anything to wear to work today, and I sure as hell didn’t want to endure the ribbing that Frankie and Roger would give me if I showed up in the same clothes I’d worn yesterday. Especially since their assumptions would be completely wrong.

Easing out of bed as quietly as I could, I glanced at his alarm clock on the way to the door. Three hours before I had to be at work. I could run to my dorm room, grab a shower, and be at work on time without a problem. Moving slowly, I pulled the door closed behind me, twisting the knob to prevent it from clicking as it shut.

Leaning against the wall by the bedroom door, I sighed, tilting my chin up to the ceiling. I’d slept with Neill. Too bad it had been only sleep, but still, sort of a landmark occasion, right? Looking over my shoulder down the hall, I wondered which one was the bathroom. The one I’d used off the kitchen last night had only been a half bath. It had been really late when we’d gotten in last night, so there hadn’t been much time for a grand tour. Making up my mind, I shoved myself off the wall and walked to the nearest door, my toes curling in protest at the chilliness of the polished wood floors.

The first door hid an office-type area, with a small wooden desk and a couple of sets of filing cabinets. A large table was pushed up against the opposite wall, presumably where Neill drew. An easel was stuck in the corner, paint-splattered spindly legs tucked in on themselves in the folded position. I started to pull the door closed behind me, but a stack of canvases behind the door caught my eye.

Looking back to make sure the bedroom door was shut, I moved into the room and closed the door behind me so I could get closer to the canvases. They were stacked flat-to-flat, loose pieces of canvas between them to keep the dried paint from sticking.

My heart thumping at the subterfuge, I pulled the fabric away from the first picture. What I saw made me gasp. It was a woman, long blond hair not quite covering her naked breasts. Her mouth was a sensual bow as she pouted at the viewer, leaning out from her position on a chaise lounge. Black and green flames licked up from the bottom of the chair, almost like they’d been added after the painting was originally completed.

“Who’s that?” I whispered to myself, even though I was afraid I knew the answer. Roger had mentioned her name, and I’d never gotten up the courage to ask Neill about her. Gretchen.

The rest of the paintings were beautiful, but each of them seemed to evoke the same poisonous beauty. I stacked them back carefully, worry creasing my brow. No wonder he’d moved slowly. No wonder Roger had warned me. Poor Neill. What had happened to him?

Shaking my head, I quickly resumed my house tour, careful to keep away from anything that looked like it might be private. As much as I wanted to snoop through more of his stuff and try to understand him better, it wasn’t fair.

I found a spare bedroom without a bed frame, two bathrooms, and a living room with a giant TV that probably would have given poor Walt a spaz-out jealous fit if he’d seen it. Everything was almost spotlessly clean. The walls were all blank, without pictures or mirrors or anything. The lack was kind of startling, especially considering how much I knew Neill enjoyed art. Why did he keep everything around him so blank, so . . . sterile?

When I padded into the kitchen, Neill was already there, a pot of coffee starting on the hunter-green counter. Shirtless, he had his back to me as he reached into the oak-paneled cabinet above, getting two coffee mugs.

I didn’t even pretend not to stare. What was the point? He would have been gorgeous without the first tattoo on his skin, but the ones that were there were masterpieces of ink and movement, all pressed on the most delicious living canvas.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, stepping closer to examine the lines of the cathedral on his back. There were gargoyles, demons, monsters, and angels woven through the portrait, almost like the battle for heaven and hell was going on right there on his skin. It was a huge piece, black and gray, spanning the tops of his shoulders all the way down to the waistband of his black sweatpants. “What does it mean?”

Neill turned to face me, his dark hair more tousled than usual, intense blue eyes guarded. “I just love old architecture and mythological creatures. I drew it, and Karl tattooed it for me. Took several sessions.”

The reply wasn’t as detailed as I’d hoped, but I smiled anyway, trying to encourage him. “You both did a great job.”

“You like coffee?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I started drinking it with my dad when I was a kid. He used to let me finish his cup when he left for work every morning. We still have a cup together when I’m at home.” The pleasant memory was accompanied by a stab of pain when I remembered that I wouldn’t ever be really going home again. Nothing was the same.

Neill handed me a steaming mug, and I accepted it gratefully.

“Sugar’s here, and I’ve got some milk in the fridge.” He spooned some sugar into his own cup as he spoke.

“Black’s fine for me.”

I stood there watching as he moved around the kitchen. Each movement was methodical, practiced, measured. He put everything away the second he was done using it, down to washing the spoon he’d stirred his coffee with before he even thought about sitting down to enjoy it. I shifted slightly, thinking about my dorm room. I’d never been that organized and neat. The room I shared with Jackie wasn’t dirty, just a little haphazard. I couldn’t help wondering what Neill would think of it.

“Oh, crap,” I said as the thought of my roommate surfaced. “I forgot to tell my roommate I wasn’t coming back last night.”

Neill set down his cup at the table. “Is that a bad thing?”

I followed, pulling out the chair beside him and settling into it. “I guess it’s not. I just usually let her know if I’m going to be gone. But I’m sure she didn’t worry. She was probably partying all night.”

We both fell silent, me drinking my coffee and letting my hungry gaze devour the half-naked tattooed god who was Neill Vanderhaven, while he drank his coffee and stared off into space, seemingly lost inside his thoughts.

When I’d finished my cup, I sighed and set the empty black mug on the oak table. “I should probably get going. I need to get back to my dorm and grab a shower before I go to work.”

“I’ve got a shower, you know.” Neill took both our cups to the sink and turned on the hot water.

“I don’t have any clean clothes. I can’t show up in the same thing I wore yesterday, or Frankie and Roger will give me hell.” I grabbed the blue plaid dish towel from the drain board, accepting the first mug as he handed it over, now clean and rinsed.

“Roger knows you stayed with me last night, and besides, nothing happened. If you want, you can borrow another one of my shirts. Nobody will notice you’re wearing the same jeans.”

He looked over at me, and I thought I saw a flash of vulnerability in his eyes. It was almost as if he wanted—no, needed—me to stay with him. But then he looked down at the sudsy mug in his hands, and the moment was gone.

“Okay. If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

He smiled down at the faucet as he rinsed the second mug. “It’s fine with me, Hailey.”

Once the cups were put away, pot cleaned and ready for the next batch of coffee, Neill directed me to the guest bathroom. I didn’t bother to tell him I’d already figured out where it was. With the promise that he’d find me a shirt, he shut the bathroom door and disappeared.

I turned the water on in the walk-in stall and pulled Neill’s tee over my head. As I waited for the water to heat, I stared at myself in the mirror.

Things felt different. In a good way, but different. I traced my lower lip, watching in the mirror as I did so, wondering what he’d felt when he’d kissed me last night. Had it been as wonderful for him as it had been for me? He’d stopped when I’d begged him to keep going, though I could feel how much he wanted me. It hadn’t been because he was rejecting me.

Was it the girl in the paintings who kept him from being with me? Or had he pushed me away because he cared about me, too?

I stumbled backward, the white wall cold against my bare skin. I cared about him. Quite a lot, in fact. More than I should. More than I’d known. Shit.

Shaking my head, I stepped into the shower stall and began scrubbing the black X’s from the backs of my hands. I cared about Neill. I really, really liked him. And if I wasn’t careful, that would turn into something major. Was I ready for that? Was he?

As much as I’d regretted it at the time, he had been right. We should go slow.

But as I picked up his body wash, I grinned. Caring about Neill wasn’t a bad feeling at all. It was pretty damn wonderful.

I sang as I showered, not really caring if he heard.

Neill

I wasn’t sure how I’d slept at all the night before. Even now, driving Luce’s Jeep back to her and Roger’s place, I was finding it difficult to keep the memory of Hailey, in that thigh-skimming shirt of mine, at bay. She was gorgeous, she was so sweet, and she had wanted me so bad last night . . .
 

I was a saint, an asshole, or an idiot. I snorted.
Probably all three
.

She smiled over at me then, and I cleared my throat.

“Did you sleep okay?” I’d better make conversation, or like last night, everything I was thinking would pop out like refrigerated biscuits from a can.

“Yeah, great. Thank you again for letting me stay.” She fluffed out the sides of my shirt, much too big for her, but freaking sexy anyway. “And for the help on wardrobe here.”

I smiled. “No problem. Any time.”

What the fuck, dude? Why’d you say that?
My frantic glance at Hailey proved she hadn’t really noticed my “offer.” She was staring out the window, watching the scenery go by.

It was a big relief to angle the Jeep into Roger’s driveway before I said anything else stupid.

The shaved-headed artist was standing on his front stoop, holding a bottle of water, smoking and looking like he’d rather be anywhere than vertical. He wore dark-lensed sunglasses, and I could tell even from the street that his forehead was wrinkled as he squinted against the light.

“You look great, sunshine,” I called out the window when I cut the engine. “How much did you drink last night?” The car doors slammed behind me and Hailey as we crossed the lawn to the porch.

“Shuddup, asshole. I’m not talking to you.” Roger descended the steps, throwing an arm around Hailey. His voice was extra-gruff today, but he was still working his usual act. “Did he act like a gentleman last night? Or do I need to kick his ass for you?”

Hailey patted Roger’s back, a friendly gesture, but nonetheless one that made me want to kick some ass of my own. “He behaved. Totally innocent. Will you be able to draw today?”

“’Course. I got this.” Roger knocked back a swig of water and tossed the empty bottle in the recycling bin by the steps. “Let’s go. Neill, I’ll run you back to grab your bike this afternoon. I’ve got to be home early tonight, or I’d drive you back.”

I drove Roger’s car, because he was claiming that Metallica was working on the Black Album in his head at the moment. Even hungover and surly, Roger was fun, and Hailey laughed the whole way to the shop. I couldn’t help watching her from the corner of my eye, just to enjoy the beauty of her laugh, her smile.

Damn, this was going to be a long day.

As I drove down the alley beside the shop, Hailey spoke. “Neill, I’ve got something to ask you.”

“What’s that?” I cut the engine and Roger fumbled with his seatbelt, cursing when his thumb slipped.

“I know you said I should think about getting tattooed if I really want to do this. And I do, just so you know.” The car doors slammed as she exited, and I fell into step behind her. Roger went ahead, fumbling with his keys. “But I wanted to ask you about that. You’ve got a lot of tattoos, really beautiful ones.”

“Thanks,” I said, smiling down at her. God, she made this difficult.

“You guys go on in, I need another smoke,” Roger said, lighting up again.

Hailey shook her head. “You and your cancer sticks.”

I unlocked the shop’s back door, then disarmed the alarm and flipped the lights on. “So, what was it you wanted to ask?”

“Well,” she said, following me through the lobby and into my studio, “I wanted to know how you decided. I mean, how you picked each piece. When I think about getting a tattoo, it’s kind of overwhelming, you know? Whatever I choose will always be there, unless I get it lasered off or covered up. But even then, whatever I’ve picked will be the first tattoo I ever get, forever.” She rubbed the doorjamb, leaning against it as she looked at me—no, through me. “So how did you know what to do?”