How to Seduce a Billionaire (32 page)

‘Hungry?’ enquired Ellis, surveying the bill of fare.

‘Very!’ She
was
hungry. And the cakes and sandwiches and scones being served at an adjacent table looked breathtaking. But she would have gone hungry and left this beautiful fairy-tale ambience without a second thought … if Ellis had suddenly announced that he was hungry for her rather than lemon cake, fluffy scones and crust-less ham sandwiches.

So lost was she in her fantasy scenario of hopeless desire that it was quite a shock when the waiter arrived and Ellis began to order.

But the tea they shared could only be described as scrumptious. And Ellis’s almost schoolboy pleasure in the delicious confectionery kept a smile on Jess’s face, and expunged any hint of her own guilt at over-indulging.

‘Another scone?’ he said with a wink.

‘Oh, I can’t. I’ll just burst.’

‘Don’t worry …’ He leant in close, his mongrel voice low and thrilling. ‘I intend that you shall work off all the calories later …’ He winked outrageously. ‘In fact you’d probably better have at least three more, plus cream … because you’re going to need plenty of energy.’

Jess compromised with another tiny but divine petit four.

‘So, how has work come along on the self-portrait? And the other thing?’ Ellis enquired, fussing with the teapot. ‘Do you have any progress to show me?’ His eyes glittered provocatively.

‘Well, not here, and that’s a fact,’ Jess told him pertly. ‘But yes, I think I’ve more or less finished both of them.’ She’d brought that sketchbook and another with her, in her largest bag. The drawings had both turned out scarily well, although they still made her blush, because they were so raw, so graphic. It was one thing to do life drawing, of some figure, somebody who wasn’t a part of your life. But when you were the subject yourself, intimately portrayed … it was another matter.

‘I look forward to seeing them. Especially the self-portrait …’ He dropped his voice. ‘And the model, for comparison.’

And I want to draw you again … and see your body.

‘I’m guessing you didn’t show those works to your friends at the life class?’ Ellis grinned as he topped up both their teacups.

‘Hell no!’ Jess looked around in alarm, hoping nobody nearby had heard her exclamation. Luckily everybody was busy, munching and chattering about their own concerns. ‘There’s life drawing and there’s life drawing … and that part of my life I’d rather nobody knows about. Well, not the details …’

Ellis lounged back in his chair. ‘But they must suspect there’s a man … Didn’t you say they’d noticed you weren’t drawing the models a lot of the time?’

‘Yes, it was remarked on.’ Jess paused, feeling a twinge of guilt over Josh Redding. Which was ridiculous, because she hadn’t done anything or agreed to anything with him. Had she even flirted? She didn’t think so … although new, sexually empowered Jess might even do that instinctively, without even realising it. ‘One of the guys from the class asked me out on a date, to the movies,’ she blurted out, feeling as if the Palm Court had suddenly turned into a confessional.

Searching Ellis’s face, she saw barely a reaction. His smile remained playful, equable. Or did it? Was there just a slight flick of something in his eyes? But why would it bother him? He’d impressed the score on her from the start, and the fact that he was ‘educating’ her about sex, for the benefit of future boyfriends.

‘His name’s Josh. He’s really good at drawing, and he knows his art,’ she went on, wondering why she had to justify herself, but knowing in her gut that she had to.

‘I hope you said “yes”,’ Ellis said, then paused to sip his tea, ‘as long as you think he’s good enough for you.’ His eyes narrowed just a bit.

‘Of course he’s “good” enough! He’s a very decent person. Really nice. And quite good looking too.’ She sipped her own tea, flustered. ‘Obviously not as fabulous as you, but cute in his own way.’

‘But did you accept his invitation?’

‘Well, no, I couldn’t. It was for this weekend.’

‘Rain check?’

Jess took another petit four, and nibbled it, even though she’d told herself she’d already eaten far too much. ‘Sort of … It’s an art film I really want to see. It’s on at the local cinema for a few weeks.’

‘Good. You should go.’ Ellis took another scone. Was he a nervous eater too? Why would he be though …? ‘You never know, he might be Mr Right. You should give him a chance.’

‘I’ll see … But I’m not going out with him while … while I’m still seeing you. I know our thing is just …’ She leaned in, then went on in the lowest voice she could. ‘I know our thing is just sex, but even so, I don’t two-time.’

‘You’re a very honest woman, Jess, but it wouldn’t matter, really.’

Damn the man, wasn’t he in the least bit jealous?

‘Well, it would to me.’

‘And that’s why I admire you so. You’ve got scruples and a noble heart. As well as –’ now it was Ellis’s turn to lean in ‘– the most fabulous body and the most breathtaking instinctual knowledge of how to use it. And believe you me, gorgeous woman, I appreciate being the man who has exclusive access to it, even for only a few weeks.’ His eyes glittered, filled with desire now, and no shadows.

How could I possibly want anybody else when you’re around, Ellis McKenna? You make men like Josh seem insignificant, even though they’re perfectly nice and attractive. I’m sure that if you asked me, I’d lie down amongst the scones for you, gladly!

But later, when they were out in Piccadilly and Ellis was about to summon their ‘carriage’, Jess touched his arm.

‘Look … it’s not that I don’t want to plunge into bed with you this very moment, but I think if I do, I’ll just bounce off you again, I’m so stuffed with cake and scones …’ She glanced up the famous street, wondering why she was suddenly prevaricating. Some shyness did still linger. Would she ever be rid of it? And the talk about Josh, and ‘afterwards’ had unnerved her. ‘Could we just have a little bit of a stroll, to walk some of this carb excess off before we head back? There are tons of small galleries in this area and maybe we could window shop a bit?’

Ellis smiled, and reached for her hand. ‘Good idea, gorgeous. It’ll be all the more fun for a bit of anticipation, eh? Not that I haven’t been anticipating since Sunday …’ He squeezed her fingers and they set off. He clearly wanted to get to bed, but he seemed happy enough to humour her whims. ‘And never mind window shopping. I’m in the mood for buying! I need some more art for both the London pad and for Windermere. You’ve piqued the connoisseur in me, Ms Lockhart, and I fancy a splurge.’

‘Not for a Manet or a Renoir … surely stuff like that only comes up at auction once in a blue moon?’

‘Oh no … something slightly more modest. An investment. Something that might be sought after one day.’ He turned to her and gave her a very arch glance. ‘Although I’m saving some wall space for a few Lockharts too. I want to see the stuff you’ve got in storage as well as your latest work.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

Ellis just blew her a kiss and upped his pace, drawing her along. The earlier rain had all gone now, and blue skies hung above the famous street.

Thinking about her pictures and belongings in storage, Jess realised she’d have to open the unit sooner rather than later. She and Ellis wouldn’t be together all that long. Oh, that ticking clock was driving her crazy. She
mustn’t
think about it!

After a brief stroll, seeing nothing much in windows that took their fancy, they found themselves standing outside a small, discreet gallery called ‘LaPierre and Hornby’. A receptionist sat at her desk in the window space, and on a low window shelf in front of her, mounted pages from the shop’s catalogue were spread out.

‘That looks more like it,’ said Ellis, pointing to something that had already caught Jess’s eye.

A dazzlingly vivid, impressionistic oil of a gorgeous bunch of flowers. Roses, she thought, but the vivid, energetic dabs of pink and peach and mauve were open to interpretation. Two pieces of fruit on a lightly sketched in plate gave Jess a clue.

‘I think that might be a Leslie Hunter … possibly. I can’t be sure. It’s just that I saw a documentary about the Scottish Colourists, and that’s a bit like the work of that school.’

Ellis grinned at her. ‘Now this is why it’s useful to have an art expert with me. I pick out something I like, and you tell me what it is. You’re a woman of very many qualities, Ms Lockhart …’ He leaned in close again. ‘Both out of the bedroom and in. Now –’ he drew her on by the hand, ‘– I think I’m going to buy this “Hunter” and any more Hunters or similar that they’ve got on offer.’

LaPierre and Hornby specialised in British art of the twentieth century, and there was indeed another Hunter on sale, even though that artist’s work, and other output by the same group, was now much sought after. Ellis ended up with the pink roses still life and a scene from Provence, almost pulsating with yellow light, by Hunter, and a gorgeous interior by another colourist, F.C.B. Cadell.

Jess’s jaw dropped at the prices, but Ellis smiled. ‘Don’t worry … I can afford it.’

Damn, she always kept forgetting he was who and what he was. He’d flexed his billionaire magic at The Ritz, but most of the time, he kept his profile low and behaved, well … like a normal person. He liked nice things but he made no fetish of his wealth, or designer brands. She imagined that if he saw a patterned shirt that he liked at a local market, he’d happily hang it in his wardrobe with his Paul Smiths.

‘Right, anything you fancy?’ he asked cheerfully, once the purchase details of his booty had been finalised.

Jess almost said yes and drew him to a Peploe still life, but then checked herself. He could buy it for her out of his pocket change, but it would also have seemed too much like a parting gift, a pay-off.

Instead she just smiled, and said, ‘Thanks, but I’m good. It’s kind of you though.’

Ellis raised his eyebrows, as if he’d read her little rationalisation, but as she shrugged and turned away, something intriguing caught her eye, across the gallery.

Salon Privé.

‘What’s in there?’ Ellis demanded of the assistant who’d been attending to him.

‘Ah, that’s our collection of erotic art for sale … Some people are a little shy of it, so we have a private area for the most explicit works.’

‘Fancy a look in there, then?’

The expression on Jess’s face was priceless. Adorable. Even though she went to life drawing classes, even though she’d worked on that stunning, blood-thundering self-portrait, and dozens of sketches of his own naked body, she was still blushing at the thought of entering this private gallery.

But that was one of the things that was so exciting about her, her quintessential blend of innocence and sensuality. Ellis would have put even money on the fact that she’d never lose that lovely, tantalising modesty, even long after she was married and had been having sex with her husband for years and years.

Not that you’ll ever see
that.
Some lucky sod with no tortuous history and no hang-ups will be with her then. A man who’s worthy of her. A man without emotional baggage.

Turning away from the gloomy thoughts, Ellis smiled at Jess, giving her his most saturnine pantomime seducer leer, loving the little pink flags on her cheekbones. ‘What’s the matter? After all the naughty drawings you’ve done of me, surely you don’t think it’ll be too daring for you?’

‘No way!’ Her chin came up, and her eyes flashed. ‘I’m just worried it might be too risqué for
you.
Come on, let’s take a look.’ She grabbed his hand and darted forward, pushing open the frosted glass door into the
Salon Privé.

The first thing that met their eye was a sizeable bronze on a white plinth. A couple had been frozen for all time in what looked like the moment of orgasm, savage expressions contorting both the faces of the man and the woman, and their bodies, unusually elongated, were almost arched away from each other, looking more pained than ecstatic.

‘Blimey, they don’t really look as if they’re enjoying it very much,’ observed Jess, leaning in for a closer look at the detailing, ‘although I must admit, it’s a very fine piece of art.’ She turned to him, pinker than ever. ‘I hope I don’t look as ugly as that when I … um … when I’m in the throes.’

‘You look beautiful, Jess. Transcendent.’

It was true. Her face might twist a bit, and she had a habit of scrunching up her eyes, but nothing could take away the loveliness and honesty of her features, in the throes or otherwise.

‘Liar.’

‘How can you say that? Didn’t you even look at yourself in the mirror when we were making love on the ottoman back at Windermere? Haven’t you looked when you’re having your fantasy sessions with Dream Lover?’ The rosy, impressionistic dabs on her cheeks brightened, suggesting she might have done, and that she’d had mirror sex with herself before she’d done it with him. ‘I think we need to do it in front of a looking glass again at the earliest possible opportunity so you can see how gorgeous you really look.’

Her mouth quirked. She bit her lip. Then grinned broadly.

Bingo! As usual, she was up for it, and he couldn’t wait. He wanted to bundle her into a limousine straight away and rush her to his apartment. Then fuck her furiously in front of the sliding mirrored doors in his dressing room. Or maybe when the image of the room reflected back from the windows, at night. Perhaps, for a tease, they could perform without him telling her they were one way glass and nobody could look in on them.

Are you an exhibitionist, Jess? Lord knows you’ve got plenty to be proud of.

‘Yikes, the prices!’ she exclaimed, clearly avoiding the issue for the moment. ‘I thought the colourist works were expensive, but at least they’re by noted artists. This is ridiculous … I’ve never even heard of this sculptor.’

Ellis took a look at the ticket. Not desperately expensive by his standards, but he didn’t like it enough to consider buying. ‘Let’s look at some of the drawings,’ he said, leading her away. A display of coloured drawings along one wall had caught his eye. They were relatively small, but something about the arrangement of the bodies in the nearest one spoke to him much more excitingly than the contorted looking bronze.