Wicked Steps (20 page)

He directed his voice to Kieran alone. “There can be no anal intercourse, ever.”

“Agreed,” I heard him say without hesitation.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him grip the arm of his chair with his free hand. He knew why, and the reasons infuriated him. I lifted my head as I shuddered with humiliation.

“Once the tests come back, we’ll get you both back here and go over results. But I caution you. Refrain yourself,” he said as he slapped Kieran on the back.

“Whatever you say, doc. I think I’m capable of keeping the stallion corralled for four days.”

“More like a Shetland pony,” Dr. Eisley joked as Kieran pretended a dismayed face.

The banter between them put me at ease.

The next hour went by quickly as he explained what every test was looking for. He covered it all by even talking about what the next steps would be if any of them showed positive signs of infection. I suddenly felt as if a burden had been lifted, not only the pressure of keeping secrets, but also the deception.

Dr. Eisley clasped my hand as we stood up to leave. “You are a remarkably strong woman, Ellery. I’m glad we met, although I wish the circumstances had been different. I’ll see you at the end of the week once the tests are back. I know you won’t, but try to relax. Don’t spend your time worrying and stressing, because unless those emotions will change the outcome, they aren’t worth having.”

I squeezed his hand back. His kindness and professionalism gave me peace of mind. I trusted him. He had seen my secret. He had comforted me and allowed me to unload my years of anguish. I was happy Kieran had brought me to him.

Now I had to wait almost a week to see if Hartman’s abuse plagued me even after his death.

Kieran

My hands were shaking as I grasped Keith’s hand. Dr. Eisley had been the family physician for years. He’d even flown to Paris and helped during my mother’s illness. There were no secrets between us. He’d been witness to my self-destruction when she died, and he was now seeing another potential loss.

Yeah, I’d put on that courageous face for Elle. But inside, I was terrified. I’d finally found someone to ground me, the one person who could bring me back from a desolate life. But my father still lingered, and even as a charcoal brochette, that motherfucker was still causing destruction. His reach was universal.

Once we had the test results, we needed to leave. Whatever they showed, good or bad, I needed to get back to Paris. I would have all my showings cancelled indefinitely. All I wanted was time with her. She would get treatment if necessary. I would be there for her no matter what. This was the silent promise I vowed to myself.

I had a nice apartment on the right bank of the Seine. She would love it there, so much art and culture, with no judgment. We could live our lives and be free of the stigma attached to the name Wick. We’d have more money than we would ever need. I was wealthy regardless of my name. My art would always be in high demand, and Elle would inherit my father’s kingdom.

I had amassed my own fortune. This had never been about my father’s wealth, but revenge. But with her first touch, I knew I was doomed. Elle had been right all along. She earned my father’s fortune, and by all rights, everything now belonged to her.

“Let’s go home,” I said as I put my arm around her. “I’ll call for a car.”

“Remember, I drove us here. We can drop Coco off on the way.”

I was emotionally exhausted. She’d gone through the ordeal, but I felt as though I’d been through the ringer. “Let Coco take your car, and I’ll get one for us. You’ve been through enough today, and this traffic is insane.”

She handed me her car keys. “Then you drive.”

I snorted. “Babe, there’s not a chance in hell I’d get behind the wheel of a car. I’ve only driven in Paris. I’m not even sure if I’m legal to drive here. Me driving…” I rolled my eyes. “No way.” I took the keys and handed them to Coco. “You take her car, and I’ll send someone to pick it up later.”

“No problem. I need to get back to the gallery and make sure the boys rearranged everything properly. Sometimes I get the feeling they think they’re smarter than me.” Coco pocketed the keys. “Elle, I wish you would have let me stay with you the entire time. I feel like I didn’t do anything for you.”

Elle ducked from beneath my arms and wrapped hers around Coco. “Having you here holding
his
hand helped me immensely. He’s a big baby, you know?”

My heart plummeted as I watched her eyes smile. It was as though we were any other couple, and us here, right now, was natural, as it should be.

“There’s no way I could hold Wicked’s hand,” she purred to Elle. “Now if you’re talking a little more south, I’d be all for that.”

I balked. “Wait a minute. You two act as though I’m a piece of meat. I resent that.”

Both women nodded and squinted. “I’m sure you do as Kieran, but as Wicked, it’s most likely quite accurate.”

“A man can change… for the right woman.”

I clutched Elle’s hand as we walked to the door. The two women said their good-byes, and Coco drove off. A car was waiting for us. The ride home was verbally quiet, but our touches spoke volumes. I needed to make sure she understood I would be there regardless. I wanted to be the person she leaned on—someone she called a friend.

I had the driver stop on the way home so I could pick up the order of Italian food I’d called in earlier. We were both tired, and it was early afternoon. I assumed we’d have a quick dinner and attempt a good night’s sleep.

I hadn’t been hungry until I smelled the food. I practically salivated as my stomach began to growl.

“Damn, but I am starved,” I announced, trying to talk myself out of sneaking a breadstick while looking at her. “You must be hungry; we haven’t eaten since last night.”

“I wasn’t, but Bruno’s… Can’t pass up those meatballs.”

My eyes widened. “How did you know I got spaghetti and meatballs? Okay, plus two meatball subs with breadsticks and ricotta cheesecake. Jesus, maybe we should stop by the side of the road and eat. It’s been forever since I’ve eaten good Italian food.”

“You would make a terrible spy. I figured you went through my takeout menus in the kitchen. I always circle the items I love. Besides, you haven’t lived in the States in ten years, and how much Italian food can you get in Paris?”

“Okay, so possible employment at the CIA is out.” I laughed.

Her face got serious as her eyes glowed vivid blue. “I want you to always be an artist. You are so gifted. I think it’s your destiny. You were destined to create. I have to be honest. I’d love to see more dramatic conception and less organic. I think you have more inside you visually than just erotic shock. Frankly, if you’ve seen one cock, you’ve seen them all. That goes for vagina also.”

My sudden appetite for breadsticks flew out the window the minute cock and vagina lingered on her lips. My eyes darted down to my crotch where a hard-on of monumental proportion was currently trying to jailbreak the zipper. My lower half had no etiquette at all. But then again, all she had to say was two words, and I was practically drooling.

“Here, eat a breadstick before you hurt yourself,” she quipped as her eyes darted to my lap. She prodded my mouth with the food, and I gladly accepted.

“Your fault,” I said between bites. “If you had said pussy instead of vagina, the promise I made to Keith would have been broken. It’s what you do to me, Elle. You get in my head—both of them—like no other woman.”

She rested her hand on my thigh as I shared my bread with her.

“Four days would feel like forever with anyone else. Hell, who am I kidding? I promised you total honesty. I would never wait around for sex. I’d go somewhere else. This is all new to me. This thing we have.

“This weekend after we get the results, we’ll talk about everything. I want to pursue this. This isn’t just me doing the right thing and hanging around until I know you’re okay. I haven’t cared enough about anyone in a long time to want to do the right thing. I know you’re worried about your health, our age difference, and your social reputation. I swear I’ll take care of you. I know you don’t trust me. And you shouldn’t because I’ve done jack to earn it. But I will. Just don’t give up on me and shut this down before I can prove myself to you.”

We rounded the drive and stopped at the front door. I grabbed the bags of food and helped her out.

“There’s so much to think about right now. Can we take one mess at a time? My only concern currently is my welfare, because when you think about it, that outcome will affect the other issues.”

She was right. Everything was uncertain until we knew if she was healthy. I had four days to get my shit together. I needed to take a meeting with Preston and finalize all my signatures so she could get the gallery and money. I wanted the will to stipulate she was sole beneficiary. I wished we’d burned that fucking document years ago. Of course, I’d brought so much of this on myself. Whatever I inherited in regards to DNA from Hartman, the buck stopped here. If it weren’t for Elle, I might have become him. She pulled me back to the surface after drowning in hate for so long.

I could tell she was as tired as I was.

“You want me to go grab a bottle of wine for us?”

She shook her head no. “If I have even one glass, I’ll be out before we get to dessert, and I really want a bite of that cheesecake.”

“You know it will still be there if you want to eat it tomorrow.” I sat back down and took a bite of my sub.

“Nah, it’s not as good as when it’s fresh. You’ve never eaten Bruno’s before. Just wait. It’s like a sugar-induced orgasm.”

With that description, I fucking almost choked on my meatballs. I highly doubted that Ricotta cheesecake would get my dick hard. Because I knew what would taste better. I’d never gotten to indulge in her sweet pussy. The closest I got was licking her release off two fingers. I was glad to be sitting at the table because my cock suddenly and unapologetically was painfully stiff in my jeans. I didn’t want to take care of myself, but I might have to, because if she kept voicing analogies between dessert and orgasms, I was going to come in my pants.

Truer words were never spoken. If anyone had walked into the dining room, they would assume we were either making or watching a porno. The moans of ecstasy leaving our lips were courtesy of the ricotta cheesecake. It was good, and I mean great but orgasm worthy—only if I were licking it off her. I might have to order this for the weekend, because if all went well, I definitely wanted to taste this again while I was eating her.

There were many things we hadn’t done yet because I’d wasted too much time trying to annihilate her. Ever since I came into her life, she’d virtually ignored her gallery and whatever else she had going because of my continual threats. She put everything on hold.

Her hand settled on my arm. “You look deep in thought. Anything you care to share?”

“I’m mad at myself for spending the time we had trying to fuck you up instead of getting to know you. You’ve enhanced my life in a million ways, and I feel as though my main role in yours was being a hindrance. I hate myself for being such an asshole.”

“Kieran, if I’m sick, you saved my life. Regardless of how all this began, the fact is I would be oblivious to everything if not for you. And what if I passed it on to someone else in the future?”

That struck a nerve. The only thing she said that resonated with me was that if it weren’t for me, she might have banged some other guy and given it to him unintentionally. I felt my body tense as my cheek ticked. I was acting like some jealous boyfriend.

I got up and cleared the table. I had no idea why I was pissed. But just imaging her with another man made me crazy. And what I didn’t need to project right now was crazy. I’d already done that, and I had no doubt this time I would lose her.

She sensed my moodiness. “Did I say something to upset you?”

I touched her cheek with my hand. “No, babe.” I lied. “I need to work for a while. I’ll be in my studio. I’m sure you’re tired. Take a hot bath and unwind. I’m sure we could both use sleep.”

Her expression was that of hesitancy.

A few hours of painting and I’d feel better. Her idea of relaxation was taking a bubble bath; mine was art. I needed to unload my thoughts. As I walked into the studio, I struggled with my feelings. They felt odd because the only ones I was familiar with were dark.

I wanted this to work. I’d never been the other half of anything. I worried because I didn’t really know her, but there was no doubt she could gut me emotionally. I’d never been a boyfriend. A companion. A lover. I’d bedded so many and tossed them aside. I guess what truly scared me was I would never be worthy of her and somehow she would realize it eventually.

I painted for a few hours, then cleaned up and took a shower. As I toweled myself off, I took stock of the man in the mirror. I combed my hair back and removed my eyebrow ring. There was no reasoning behind the action except I wanted to see me, the person minus the facial accessory. It felt foreign because the piercings had been part of me for five years. I pulled on some sleep pants but didn’t bother with a shirt. I knew we couldn’t have sex, but I wanted to sleep with her anyway.

I stared in the mirror again, murmuring, “Who are you?”

I walked up stairs to her room, where she was propped up in bed, reading.

“You’re wet and naked,” she announced, her eyes skimming my chest.

“I have on pants. And I took a shower because I thought it was better than smelling like oil and acrylic all night. I do tend to get messy when creativity strikes me,” I replied, lying back on the bed next to her. “Okay if I bunk with you tonight?”

She raised her eyes above the book. “It’s your face, Kieran. You removed your jewelry. Do you always do that?”

I swept my hand over my face. “You don’t like it? I’ve never taken it out in five years.”

“Your face is stunning. Regardless. I have to admit that ring in your eyebrow was distracting, but I kind of like the nipple ones—very sexy, at least to me. But keep the jewelry off your face, because now everyone gets to observe artistry at its finest. Next time you want to do a selfie, paint your mug instead.” I stifled a chuckle as she glanced at my cock. “Your face would be what women would truly want to hang above their fireplace—or bed.”