Serving Pleasure (15 page)

She pulled her hand away from her face and studied it. The fingers were long, the nails medium length and painted a vibrant orange.

It was a hand. Didn’t all hands look the same?

Riiip.
Micah was creating a hefty stack of sketches. After she left, he’d pick them up and tidy them into a pile on one of his workbenches. While she was there, they pooled all over the floor like discarded pieces of her.

“Stay like that, please.”

“Who the hell notices things like hands and noses when they first meet someone?” she mused, talking to her hand.

“Someone who studies people’s features for a living.”

“Is that why you don’t need a model usually? Because you’re so good at recreating people’s features?”

A pause. She twisted to look at him, but he scowled at her and jerked his chin down, so she returned to her position.

“I used to only use live models,” he finally responded.

Huh. In all the time she had been spying on him, she’d never seen a model in this room.

Before she could ask, he ripped the paper out. “Can you roll over onto your back?”

She shifted and flipped over. His warm palm grasped her ankle, and crossed her leg over her other one. She rested her hand on her belly. He didn’t rearrange her, so she assumed that was fine.

“So that one girl is your sister. Younger?”

“About a year, yes. We have another sister. She’s the chef. She’s four years younger.”

“You’re the oldest child.”

Her smile was wry. “Whatever stereotypes you’re thinking of that come with that designation, forget it.”

“I’m thinking you should be able to boss your sisters into doing whatever you want them to do.”

“Ah. That would work if anyone actually listened to me.”

“Don’t frown. That timid girl you spoke to when I was there. She listened to you.”

She relaxed her brow. “Yes. No one really gets in my way with the staff. It’s when I try to do anything else they shut me down.”

“Why do they do that?”

She lifted her chin. “Because…well, I have sort of a reputation for being flighty. And impulsive. But I’ve never been a dumb screw-up when it comes to the business. I’ve always put it first. Always.”

“Anyone who thinks you’re dumb is foolish.”

The certainty in his immediate reply warmed her. “Thanks. I don’t think my sisters are foolish. Just…I don’t know. Used to seeing me in a particular light? Sometimes it spills over into everything, even when it shouldn’t.”

The scratching of his charcoal slowed. “All families are like that.” His voice was quiet, so quiet she looked at him. He had turned off all the lights tonight and lit about a dozen candles all around the room, saying only, “Shadows,” when she asked him why. She understood it now, though. The lights flickered against his face, deepening the darkness of his eyes and sharpening the hollows under his cheekbones. He looked…different. Softer. She probably did too.

“I suppose so,” she returned.

“Why did you fight today?”

“I showed Leena my pick for the paint for the new place. A lovely soft blue. She barely looked at it and dismissed me.” Remembered frustration made her tense, until he leaned forward and stroked her instep. Her foot flexed.

“Relax. Why did she dismiss you?”

“Because it’s so different from our current place. We’re all red and gold. You know. Traditional. What any person would expect to see when they walked into an Indian restaurant.”

“Why do you want to change it up?”

“One, for practicality. That place is small. Anything darker would overpower it, so the color scheme should be kept light and airy.”

He made an approving noise. “I would agree with that. My flat in London was about the size of this studio. Painted it a lovely ice blue. Lighter colors do tend to open up smaller spaces.”

She glanced at him. He did this sometimes, sprinkled a mention or two of his life before he came here. It sounded so…different. Filled with friends and family instead of nobody, blue instead of beige. What had changed? Was it all because of the attack?

Since she knew he wouldn’t elaborate, she refocused on her problem. “Exactly. Second, I know that area. I went to school there.” She shot him a wry look. “My parents insisted on the best private schools, not that it helped me much.”

“Mine were focused on academics as well. Until they realized I was spending most of my time in every class drawing.”

She snorted. “I wish I’d been able to at least draw. Instead I…well. Never mind.” It was impossible to describe the sheer soul-crushing experience school had been for her, to be told every day she wasn’t exceptional at anything that mattered. Mediocre at sports, mediocre at academics, mediocre in art. Graduation had been the best day of her life, even if her mother had given her the silent treatment for a good portion of her senior year because Rana’d informed her college was off the table.

Rana rubbed her nose. Her dad had been okay with it.
Ah, Rani, you should do what you think best. I can always use your help at the restaurant.
“Anyway, the demographic in that neighborhood hasn’t budged in twenty years. There’s not a huge Indian population or Indian restaurants. One Asian fusion place, but it’s super upscale.”

“Your current establishment is hardly cheap looking.”

Rana twisted so she could see him better. He’d stopped drawing to focus on their conversation. He’d never done that before. “What were your first thoughts, when you saw our place?”

He hesitated. “I feel like this is a trap.”

“No trap. I won’t be mad.”

He considered his words. “I had a commission once, when I was in art school. Lovely woman, but she kept throwing around the word
exotic
for what she wished for her surroundings
,
and showing me pictures of Indian-inspired decor. That’s what your place reminded me of.”

She laughed loudly. “Good. That’s exactly what we wanted. God, I can remember my dad coming home from work when I was a little girl.” Rana deepened her voice, mimicking her late father so well, it triggered a pang of wistfulness. Someday, she’d probably forget what he’d sounded like. “These
goras
keep saying they like things to look exotic. How many elephants can we paint on the wall?”

The lines around his eyes crinkled. “So he gave them exotic.”

“Yeah. And we continued it, only refining it. Our clientele likes the red and gold and the marble statue of the Taj Mahal on the bar. They find it charming.”

“You don’t think the population around the new place will want the same thing?”

She struggled to find the right words. “Strategies have to be tailored. The community isn’t far from here geographically, but it’s like a different world. A world where the dresses my grandparents brought me from India were weird, our décor was tacky, and the smell of our food gross.”

“That was a while ago.”

“Yeah, but attitudes don’t change overnight.” She fisted her hand. “It’s a long con, Micah, getting people to embrace something new. We picked that site because Leena ran numbers and studied demographics and surveys, but running a business like ours depends on hooking customers as much as it does anything else. People there might
want
something different, but unfamiliar things are also scary. We have to be like…those trendy food trucks, where they serve exotic meats wrapped in burritos? We lure them in with something safe, then we give them different with our food.”

When he didn’t speak, she glanced at him. He was studying her with great fascination.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“You want to say something.”

“You’re...you’re rather brilliant.”

She scoffed. That was definitely a word no one had ever applied to her. “Uh, no.”

“You are. Your understanding of human nature is impressive.”

“Oh. Well. Hmm.” Her cheeks heated, and she fumbled. “Thanks, I guess. I talk to people a lot, is all.”

Micah shifted. “You explained all this to your sister and she laughed? These sound like valid arguments.”

“Umm.” Now that she thought about it, had she explained any of this? “No. I may have just showed her the color and gotten annoyed when Leena snorted, and then I got distracted by the assholes.”

His smile was brief but sincere. “You should try explaining your reasoning to them. I can’t imagine they won’t be as impressed as I am.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to tamp down the surge of pleasure at his words. “They should trust me.”

“Why? Blind trust is…” He rested his arm on the pad. “It’s impossible.”

“When it’s family—”

“Family’s the hardest. They might love you to an overwhelming degree, but you can’t always trust they know what’s best. If you both don’t have the same goal in mind, you may be working at cross-purposes.” He shook his head. “It’s not enough to give someone the answer. You have to show the work, so the person can figure out if that’s the right answer for them.”

She stared at him, the intense speech taking her off-guard. “Are we still talking about paint samples?”

His lashes hid his eyes. “Yes. Of course. All I’m saying is, your sisters should listen to you, but you should give them something more to go on than a paint swatch. Make the argument. Back it up. Be upset if they still dismiss you.”

She wanted to pout, but her innate fairness made her realize his words were sensible. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

Micah rose from his stool and came closer, kneeling in front of her. He wiped his hand on the rag draped over his shoulder, rested his finger against her chin and angled her head.

She had gotten used to this, him touching her and making minute adjustments. She brushed a kiss on his thumb. His warning, “Rana,” dissolved as soon as she took his thumb into her mouth, sucking lightly on it. He smelled clean and woodsy, with a faint hint of paint. A combination she had never thought to find sexy until Micah.

“I haven’t gotten nearly as many sketches as I wanted yet,” he reproved. But he didn’t move away, and she wasn’t imagining the dilation of his eyes or the bulge growing in his pants.

She gave him a final suck and pulled away. “Sorry. You were right there.”

“I need help if I’m going to keep this professional,” he chided.

His stern tone had her shifting, her thighs tightening. His observant eyes missed nothing, not the perking of her nipples or her restless legs. “Can’t we stop?”

He rubbed his thumb against his forefinger, his eyes heating. “I told you. I need you to inform me when you’ve had enough.”

In that case, she’d had enough, and they could move right on to the entertainment portion of the evening. Apparently, being called brilliant was a turn-on for her.

Or Micah was the turn-on.

She opened her mouth to tell him they should call it quits, but he spoke. “I think we should do one more pose,” he said quietly.

Damn it. One more pose could mean anything from two minutes to twenty minutes. “Okay.”

His hand grasped her knee, and he pressed her leg up until it was bent along the back of couch, while lowering her other leg until her foot was flat on the floor. He opened her so smoothly, it took her a second to realize the lewd, vulnerable pose she was in.

The second she did, excitement raced through her. They hadn’t played teasing sexy games yet, but it looked like they were about to start.

He pulled the space heater closer, so the hot air wafted over her spread legs.

“Good,” he murmured. “Yes, this is how I want you. Hold very still.”

He sat back on his heels on the floor and started to sketch, slower this time. She stared at the ceiling, her heart thudding, aware that his gaze was no longer distant or professional, but filled with hot, prurient lust.

“Micah. I’m cold.” She wasn’t. Between the space heater and her desire, she was burning up, but she hoped he would take it as the invitation she meant it to be. She flexed her feet and brought her leg up higher, hopeful she would be able to tempt him into forgetting his work.

The charcoal stopped moving. His lips covered her nipple. She moaned, and her back arched. He sucked as much of her into his mouth as he was able to, then switched his attention to her other nipple, massaging the one he had just left.

“Oh God, Micah.”

She craned her neck to watch her nipple emerge from his mouth. His white teeth scraped the brown flesh as he pulled away, elongating the tip. He hadn’t been careful about wiping off the charcoal on his hands this time, and his dark fingerprints smudged her skin.

“Fuck,” she gasped.

He sat back on his heels and stared at her breasts. No, professionalism had gone straight out the window. So why the hell wasn’t he mounting her?

“Fuck me.”

He shook his head and started a new sketch, focusing intently on her breasts. “I have to get this. Wait.”

“I can’t. Goddamn it, take care of me.”

“Take care of yourself. Let me see it.”

She didn’t even hesitate. She’d spent every day since their first night together in a state of vague arousal, unable to get this man and his talented fingers and cock and tongue out of her mind.

Giving herself an orgasm was always a welcome exercise, and if she was able to tempt him into mounting her in the process? All the better.

She coasted her hand down her body, over the plane of her stomach, until her fingers tangled in the hair between her legs.

“Spread your legs more. I cannot see.”

He’d given her so many directions over the past few nights, she was conditioned to obey him now.
Turn your head. Hold still. Spread your legs.

Anything he wanted. She knew he would reward her with pleasure. She slid her leg over the back of the couch so she was opened as far as she could go.

She dipped two fingers into her wetness, and moaned to the accompaniment of charcoal on paper.

This was so fucking hot.

Rana rubbed her clit in the circular pattern she liked and let her breath fall from her lips in increasing pants. His face was red, sweat forming at his temple. Still, he knelt in front of the couch, barely a foot away from her, and watched. Sketching in that quick, expert way he had.

Argh. This guy. “Fuck me, Micah.”