Eight Ways to Ecstasy (4 page)

Before she could second-guess herself or let the heat he kindled under her skin catch flame, she drew away. He stopped her from going far, ducking to rest his brow against hers. “Six more nights?”

Her stomach did a little dip. It sounded like too many and too few. But maybe, depending how they went, they'd be just enough—enough to figure out who he really was. If they could even work outside a fantasy.

If she'd made a mistake, letting him in again as much as she had.

She nodded. “That's what I said.”

“We'll do the next one soon. And Kate?” There was something quietly desperate to the way he said her name. To the way he clutched her close.

“Yes?”

“The next time you invite me to share your bed—” His eyes turned to liquid pools of rushing heat. “I promise. I'll make it count.”

And then he was drawing away, leaving her sagging against the wall, relying on the plaster to keep her up. He grabbed his suitcase by the handle and rolled it to the door. With one look back over his shoulder, he cast the door open.

It closed behind him, and sucked all the air out of the place. Leaving her alone with her life exactly how it had been before he'd walked into it, and yet utterly changed.

Leaving her to wonder what the hell had just happened.

And what on earth she was going to do.

Rylan barely waited until they'd pulled up to the curb before he was yanking open the taxi's door and setting his feet down on the pavement. From behind the glass, the driver offered to help him with his luggage, but Rylan waved him off, clenching his jaw against the urge to snap. None of this was some random cabbie's fault.

It was all Rylan's own damn fault.

And yet there was this part of him—this small, seething part—that kept replaying the way Kate had closed him off and kicked him out. The look on her face as she'd asked him for time.

Fuck it all, he'd
begged
her for a second chance. He'd been prepared to tell her everything this time around. Whatever she'd wanted to know. But the distance he'd felt even as he'd pushed inside her had persisted, and when he'd offered her more, she practically slammed the door in his face.

Grasping the handle of his suitcase, he stepped up onto the sidewalk and took a deep breath, then let it out with a disgusted sigh.

What the hell had he been thinking, asking to be taken here?

He shook his head and stiffened his spine. Not like he'd had all that many options. Kate had refused to let him stay, and the idea of an anonymous hotel room left him cold. He'd long since washed his hands of his own apartment in the city, had sold it in a fit of pique when he'd been determined never to return. All of his possessions were either back in Paris or wrapped up in boxes in some storage room at the mansion, and…and there was no chance in hell he was going there.

No, this was his best course of action.

He stalked his way past the doorman without pausing to introduce himself.

Apparently, that was a red flag in doorman land. The fellow chased in after him. “May I help you, sir?”

“Alexis Bellamy,” Rylan said, not stopping.

“I wasn't told she was expecting any…”

“She's expecting me.”

She probably was, even. He'd dismissed her when she'd offered to let him stay, still holding on to the hope that Kate would take him in. But she hadn't seemed entirely convinced.

The doorman followed him to the elevator, his decorum slipping as Rylan continued to stride past him. “And who should I say is visiting?”

“Her brother.”

Rylan punched in the number for Lexie's floor, and the elevator doors slid closed. As it rose up into the sky, he took a long, deep breath, preparing himself.

A minute later, the chime sounded off. The doors opened to reveal his sister standing in the entry to her penthouse in a pink silk bathrobe, her phone in her hand, a smirk stretching all the way to her ear.

“I thought you were going to ‘figure something out,'” she crowed.

He fought not to roll his eyes. “I managed to find my way here, didn't I?”

“You gave Laurence downstairs a heart attack, I think.” She stepped aside to let him in. “He probably thought you were here to murder me.”

“Let's see if we can manage not to prove him right.”

He stepped inside and tasted bile in the back of his mouth. He'd been here once before, back when she'd first acquired the place. It'd been a blank slate back then; now it was anything but.

God, it was their mother's apartment in Paris all over again. All modern lines and white carpet and rose accents, Eastern influences exactly where they were supposed to be. It wasn't a home. It was a show.

Like their whole damn family. Like their whole damn life.

“Love what you've done with the place,” he gritted out. “Did Mother help you?”

“She put me in touch with someone.”

A designer then. “You ever think of doing your decorating yourself?”

When she didn't answer, he turned around. Her brow was furrowed, her head tilted to the side. “Why on earth would I do that?”

He faced away from her. “You know? I have absolutely no idea.”

With that, he tightened his grip on the handle of his suitcase and headed for the hall.

“Last door on the left,” she called from behind him.

“Got it.”

And he should probably stay. Avoiding her interrogation until tomorrow would only make things worse, but he couldn't deal with it right now. Today already, he'd squared off against a boardroom full of men who would eat him alive without a second thought. He gotten on his knees for the girl who'd made him willing to face his life again, but who refused to trust him.

He'd convinced her to let him inside, only to be turned away.

He closed himself in Lexie's guest room and dropped his bag. Shoved his suitcase to the side. Twisting his hands in his hair and tugging hard, he fought to breathe.

But there wasn't any air to be found. Just a stale, ostentatious space, offered to him by the closest thing to family he had left.

He'd made such a mess of things, running away from who he was. Trying to come back to it, trying to reclaim his life…He hadn't expected it to be easy.

But nothing had prepared him for it to be this hard.

“Dammit.” Kate was scurrying across the street, the pedestrian crossing sign already flashing to red, when her phone buzzed at her hip. Late, late, she was running so damn late. She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder, trying to keep an eye on where she was going as she reached into her pocket.

Oh God, what if it was Rylan? Her heart leapt into her throat.

And then she cursed herself in her mind. Just last night, she'd asked him to give her some time. If he was calling her already, she should be
pissed
. And yet here she was, her chest lighting up at just the thought that it might be him. Stupid.

Even stupider when her stomach dipped to see it was her mom instead.

Praying for strength, she flipped the phone open and brought the speaker to her ear. “Hey.”

“Oh, I'm glad I caught you.” Her mother paused. “Don't you have class this afternoon?”

Kate flexed her jaw. “On my way to it right now.”

It was funny—her mom hadn't come right out and told her she was making a mistake choosing to go on for her MFA, but there was this tone to her voice every time she so much as mentioned it.

“Well, I don't want to keep you.” That tone again. “But I wanted to let you know I booked that flight I emailed you about the other day.”

Kate slipped into the art building and made for the stairs. “Oh yeah? That's great.”

“I can't wait to see you.”

“Me neither.” And she meant it, too. Her mom hadn't been able to make it to her graduation in the spring, and they'd been trying to figure out a time for her to visit ever since. But she worked so hard. Kate's chest tightened up. Her mom had always worked hard, pulling double shifts whenever she could get them so she could support herself and Kate both. All on her own.

She'd taught Kate the value of independence, and of paying your own way. Because you could never really rely on anyone.

Her father had taught them both that.

Suddenly, she missed her mom with a fierceness that blindsided her. Things felt so topsy-turvy right now, between Rylan showing up out of nowhere and her painting mojo going MIA. Forget the occasional note of disapproval. There was something about having your mom around. Something steadying—something that reminded you of who you were.

She pulled up short at the top of the stairs, letting traffic flow around her. With her back to the wall and her phone to her ear, she blinked her eyes shut tight for one long moment.

When she opened them again, her vision was clear, even if her voice couldn't hide a hint of an edge. “Sorry, Mom, I have to go. But we'll talk soon, okay?” Her throat hitched. “Catch up for real?”

There were so many things she hadn't told her mom. Keeping the disaster that had been her fling with Rylan a secret had been plain good sense at the time, but if he was going to be back in her life, she didn't know how long she could hold her tongue. How long she could keep her fears about her creativity and her love life and her future locked up inside.

Her mom's smile came across the line. “Count on it. And I'll see you soon. Just a few short weeks.”

Kate said her good-byes and hung up, then took a solid ten seconds to collect herself before she was off again.

As it turned out, she must have been making better time sprinting her way through campus than she'd realized. She snuck into the painting studio where her cohort's weekly seminar class met to find Professor Robinson still lingering at the back, talking to one of the other girls. Relieved, Kate moderated her pace. Then, from the edge of the loose cluster of students, her friend Liam gave her a lifted eyebrow and a little wave.

Oh hell. Liam.

Kate wanted to sit right down and laugh, or maybe cry. Less than twenty-four hours ago—before Rylan, before some of the best, most confusing sex of her life, before her whole world had been turned upside down—her best friend in the program had asked her out. He'd left it ambiguous, but the potential had been there, the invitation to take it as something more than friends. She'd demurred, letting him down easy. But at the same time, she'd left the door open.

Any other day, it would've been the biggest thing on her mind. And here she'd gone ahead and forgotten it completely.

Her stride went from faux casual to an absolute crawl. Liam's raised brow fell, a crinkle of concern appearing between his gray eyes, and a twist of guilty shame made her gut clench.

He was a nice guy. She'd mostly thought of him as a friend, sure, but the possibility had been there for it to grow into more. Over these last few weeks, they'd gotten to know each other as people and as artists. In coffee shops and bars and across their easels from each other, they'd
talked
.

And then she'd gone ahead and fallen right back into bed with the guy who'd never told her the first thing about himself.

She felt like something you scrape off your shoe.

Looking anywhere but at him, she dragged another stool over to the empty spot beside his.

“Hey.” He nudged her with his elbow, gesturing with his head at the clock. Sure enough, they were a couple of minutes past the class's starting time. “You're cutting it a little close here.”

“Yeah. Been running late all day.” From the alarm she'd slept past after a fitful, awful night, to the extra trays she'd agreed to bus after she'd messed up three orders in her distraction, to the train she'd missed through sheer bad luck.

The furrows in his brow deepened. “You okay?”

Her throat squeezed. Where did she begin?

As luck would have it, she didn't have to. Professor Robinson chose that moment to pick her way to the front of the room, apologizing as she did. Liam shot Kate another meaningful look, but she shook her head. Even if she were ready to spill her guts, she couldn't do it now. Not like this.

Especially not when Robinson took her place on her stool and turned to them all. “Now, as you've probably heard, we have a special announcement today.”

Kate sat up straighter in her chair. She had heard; the whole place had been buzzing about it for a week.

“More of a challenge, really.” Professor Robinson opened up a folio and withdrew a stack of papers from it, unbundling them before passing them around. “Each year, we have the pleasure of announcing this opportunity to our incoming group of MFA candidates.”

As she continued to explain aloud, Liam got the pile of handouts and plucked one off for each of them before passing the rest along. Kate took a copy without letting their hands brush.

As she scanned it, her heart raced.

“A fellowship,” Professor Robinson explained.

A huge chunk of tuition for the remaining semesters of the program, and invitations to networking events with gallery owners and professional artists right here in the city. Kate's vision hazed. She didn't have to hear any more.

This was it. The opportunity she'd been waiting for. A kick in the pants to get her out of her creative rut. A chance to prove her mother's doubts unfounded and get a head start in really making something of herself.

She had to win this.

“I warn you.” Professor Robinson adjusted her glasses. “The competition will be rigorous. Each candidate who chooses to be part of the selection process will be considered based on a portfolio of all-new works, due just before Thanksgiving break. The theme for this year's contest has been chosen by our judges, and it is”—she glanced down, reading from the paper—“‘Sacred Spaces.'”

Sacred spaces. Kate's mind took off. Her whole journey into the new style she'd been exploring had begun at Sacred Heart Basilica in Montmartre. Ever since she'd returned to New York, she'd been working on cityscapes. The one on her easel right now was of a church, even. It was a literal interpretation, but she could expand from there. It was a starting point.

Hell, it was a sign.

The rest of the seminar passed in a blur. Only half paying attention to the slides Professor Robinson had selected for them to look at today, and then to the parade of works the rest of the class offered up for critique, Kate dug a notebook from her bag and got to work scribbling down ideas.

Time was just about winding down when Liam kicked her ankle, and she looked up with a start.

Though she addressed the room as a whole, Professor Robinson had her gaze fixed right on Kate. “Does anyone else have something they want to share this week?”

Kate swallowed hard. There wasn't any specific requirement to bring a piece to every critique, but this was the third one in a row Kate had failed to participate in. She shook her head and crumpled a little inside at the frown her teacher shot her way.

As they were being dismissed, Liam grabbed Kate's arm. “Seriously, what's up with you today?”

She shook free, closing her notebook and cramming it back in her bag. “Nothing.”