Ocean's Touch (18 page)

“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave soon,” Dylan said, smiling at Meredith as he did so. “I’ve got other commitments. But I’d like to come back, if I could, to visit again.”

“It’s a shame you have to go so soon,” Alex lied, but not with malice. He did genuinely like the dark-haired man seated across from him, and he didn’t feel at all as if he was in competition with Dylan. For some reason, Alex knew that Dylan was serious when he said he had other commitments.

Yet Alex couldn’t help but want Meredith to himself, a feeling that surprised him. He was normally not particularly possessive about his lovers, a fact that tended to drive them crazy. They wanted him to want them, and they couldn’t understand his belief that desire and possession were two separate things.

The threesome continued to make small talk until Sarah, Alex’s cook and the daughter of Mrs. Casaubon’s “girl”, called them in to dinner. Meredith had no doubt that her former mother-in-law would hear all about her visit to Alex’s, something that filled Meredith with equal measures of dread and anticipation.

They sat at a small, round table that had been set up on the other side of the living room. It was more intimate than a dining room, and Meredith couldn’t help but notice the presence of a long bench set up beneath one of the windows. It was very similar to the one on which Alex had caught her with Dylan, and she felt a tightness in her chest at the sight of it. In fact, the whole room was littered with clusters of furniture, set up so that a party could gather into small groups, but a lot of the furniture was chaise lounges, benches, ottomans, or those large, padded-fabric coffee tables that could easily double as beds.

They seated themselves around the table, Alex helping Meredith with her chair before taking his own. Soon enough, their first course arrived—a beautiful spread of raw or barely steamed seafood, with different dipping sauces. All three of them tucked in with gusto, and for the next half hour, all conversations except those having to do with the deliciousness of the food ceased.

During dinner, however, Meredith couldn’t stop watching the two men eat. She loved the catlike quality they both exhibited. There was something delightfully finicky about the way Alex ate that was just like Dylan. Both men ate European style, with both fork and knife. And, like Dylan, Alex made sure that each forkful of food had the perfect balance of seafood and sauce. Their focus, meanwhile, was almost wholly on the food, but not in a way that spoke of gluttony. Rather, it spoke of an intensity of pleasure, of an ability to enjoy physical satisfaction in a way that was unapologetic.

Poor Teddy always choked down his food like it was sawdust
, Meredith remembered, sadly. She’d only now to come to realize how stunted her husband had been, despite his greatness of mind.
He’d never been allowed to feel pleasure. I doubt he knew how.

In contrast, the men in front of her knew how to eat—with unabashed and greedy pleasure, yet with grace.

Dylan eats like he makes love
, Meredith realized. Her selkie was just as greedy and carnal with her body, and just as thorough and capable.

Her eyes moved to watch Alex smile in pleasure as he chewed.
Does Alex make love like Dylan, then?
Meredith wondered, feeling a hot flood of lust in her belly. She felt her cheeks redden as she lowered her gaze to her plate, continuing to eat in silence although her body still thrummed.

When the main course—a beautiful
confit
of duck served with creamed spinach and roasted root vegetables—had been delivered and consumed with as much pleasure as the first, Alex turned to Meredith. His gaze on her was like a warm, soft touch. She shivered, another warm rush of desire coursing through her cunt.

“I hope you don’t think I was too forward, questioning you as I did the other day.”

Meredith smiled at him, trying to keep her expression neutral. She didn’t want Alex to know how much she craved him.

“Not at all. It was good actually,” she said.

“What did you talk about?” Dylan asked, careful to send out nonaggressive waves so Alex knew Dylan was curious, not jealous.

“Alex asked me about the PhD. work I was doing before I met Teddy. And about my plans. I told him about the row I had with Teddy’s mother at the meeting.”

“Ah,” Dylan said. “That was probably helpful.”

“It was, yes.” Meredith affirmed. “It kick-started my thinking about what I want to do with myself now that I’ll have more time. And I really need to think all of that through. I need to have a plan in place; otherwise, Teddy’s mother will steamroll me back into the same position I was in before.”

Meredith bit off her sentence as Sarah and her helper came back into the room with another loaded tray. This one held dessert, and Sarah’s helper cleared dinner plates as Sarah laid out a scrumptious assortment of petit fours, along with chocolate-dipped and plain-sliced fruits.

Finally, Sarah laid out dessert plates, and then turned to her employer.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Green,” Alex said. “Everything was delicious. You can have the rest of the night off, along with the rest of the staff.”

Meredith felt her heart beat faster, wondering if this was a normal occurrence, or if Alex had something special planned for the evening.

“Are you sure, Mr. Ladislaw?” Sarah asked, giving Meredith a long side-eye. Mrs. Casaubon was definitely going to hear about this little soiree.

“Absolutely. The rest of the dishes can be done in the morning. I’d like the house to myself, please.”

“Well, if that’s what you want, we’ll leave you alone. Trish!” Sarah said, hustling her helper out before her and closing the large doors to the living room as she did so. Meredith couldn’t help but notice the long, hard look Sarah gave her. Meredith sighed.

You better make this evening worth the trouble
, she told Alex silently.
And what, exactly, do I mean by that?
The thought was troubling. Did she want a repeat of the tower room? Maybe more?

“Please, help yourselves,” Alex said, as he gestured toward the dessert. “And may I offer you a nip of whisky, as a
digestif
?”

Both Meredith and Dylan said yes, and Alex poured them all a dram of Balvenie as they tucked into the desserts.

“I’m glad you said what you did about having a plan, Meredith,” Alex said as he placed her whisky in front of her. “And I’ve been thinking about what we talked about at lunch.”

Meredith sipped her drink, watching Alex curiously as he placed Dylan’s dram down on the table. Alex seated himself before continuing.

Now I’ll know what he wants from me
, she hoped. Meredith wasn’t sure what she wanted that
something
to be, and she was rather shocked at some of the more extreme fantasies her imagination paraded in front of her. But she knew she wanted a little clarity, after a week of so many things that had once been black and white going all shades of gray.

“We always talk about the fact that there are no real galleries around here. There are tourist traps, and some local artists are doing some decent things. But there’s no real art.”

Meredith nodded, unsure where Alex was headed with this line of conversation. Also, she did think what the locals were doing was art, but she knew what Alex meant. It wasn’t art that challenged, or broadened perspectives, or pushed boundaries. It was safe art, decorative art.

“I’ve been thinking for a while of opening up a gallery, here, that’s an offshoot of a gallery I own in New York. It’ll contain the same artists, but we’ll hand-select from those pieces, in order to place what’s best for each location in that location. So what’s more likely to sell in New York will stay in New York; what’s more likely to sell here will travel.”

Meredith frowned. “You’ll have to be very select. I know we always complain about the galleries here, but they’re like that for a reason. It’s what a lot of locals and tourists like.”

Alex nodded his agreement. “It will be a challenge, but I don’t think we’re the only people either living here or coming through here that like something different. Plus, it could become something of a destination. Really serious collectors would come out here to vacation and visit the gallery. And if they don’t want to make the hike, there’s always the internet.”

“It could work,” Meredith agreed. “But you’d need…”

Before she’d finished, Alex interrupted her. “I’ll need someone who knows art and knows this region. I’ll need you.”

There was silence, as Meredith got stuck on the fact Alex had just said,
I need you,
and not at all in the context in which she wanted to hear it. When she finally spoke, her voice was carefully neutral.

“Alex, I don’t know what to say. I hardly think I’m qualified…”

“Nonsense,” Alex said. “Everyone knows what you did for Teddy. You had no idea how to run his estate, but you learned. And that experience gives you everything you need to know, virtually, to run a gallery. I know you’re good with money. I know you’re good at organizing. I know you’re flexible, and that you know the region.”

As Alex talked, Meredith felt a strange sensation. It took her a minute to realize that she wanted to strangle Alex with her bare hands.

Of all the ways I imagined this evening progressing,
she thought
, it wasn’t into a business deal.

She’d let herself believe, for just a second, that Alex might actually want her. Now she knew how stupid she’d been.

He wants me for my brains, just like Teddy.

Dylan, meanwhile, could feel the tension ratcheting up in Meredith, and he knew her well enough at this point to know what she was thinking. He also knew how wrong she was—the feelings coming off Alex were the same they’d always been toward Meredith. Alex wanted her—he was just going about it the way he thought would be least frightening to Teddy’s widow.

Meredith, however, wasn’t just “Teddy’s widow” anymore.

“I need,” Alex finished, thinking he was sealing Meredith’s interest up tight with his carefully rehearsed final line, “someone practical, Meredith. Someone like you.”

Instead of standing up and bowing and gladly accepting her position, as Alex had expected, Meredith looked at him coldly

“Thank you for the offer, Alex. While I’m pleased you think so highly of my organizational skills, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”

Alex looked at Meredith in confusion, realizing too late that he’d badly misjudged his approach.

“I’ve offended you,” he said. “I don’t know how, but I have. Please, tell me what I’ve done.”

Dylan hastily sent out calming vibes, as Meredith visibly gathered her self-control.

“You called me ‘practical’,” she said in the same voice she might have said, “You called me a chipmunk-faced space dog.”

It was Alex’s turn to look confused. Dylan sighed.

“I’m sorry. I meant it as a compliment,” Alex began, but it was Meredith’s turn to interrupt.

“Well, it’s not a compliment. It’s what everyone says when they mean I’m boring. And I’m not boring. Or practical,” Meredith said, her face growing red with a combination of embarrassment and frustration.

“I am far more than just practical,” Meredith finished finally. Then she looked into Alex’s eyes, her own shining with a combination of rebelliousness and fear of rejection.

Alex sat staring back at Meredith. Dylan felt the red-haired man sorting through his own emotions as he thought through what Meredith had just said, along with everything she hadn’t said. With relief, Dylan suddenly felt a rush of feeling from Alex that signaled the man had almost certainly come to the right conclusion.

Alex radiated desire and tenderness as he finally spoke.

“I could tell you how utterly, deliciously impractical I know you are, Merry. Or I could show you.”

Meredith’s eyes grew wide as Alex stood to offer her his hand.

“And I’d much rather show you.”

Chapter Fifteen

Meredith stared up in confusion at Alex’s proffered hand.

One minute he’s offering me a job because I’m practical, and the next minute he’s offering to make me his lover?
Meredith thought.
What’s his logic now? Because I’m sitting on his sofa and wearing stockings? Is that what I get to be to him—his secretary or his whore?

Dylan could feel Meredith’s ire rising on the heels of her confusion. While she wanted Alex, he’d managed to use the two worst approaches possible to woo her.

It was a typical problem with humans. On the one hand, Dylan couldn’t help but be amused and exasperated at their inability to communicate with each other. Because his own people were empaths, there was no point in lying or trying to hide one’s feelings. They rarely ever needed to talk to one another, as so much communication could be done through their emotional responses to stimuli. Humans, however, seemed never to say anything they actually felt, a particularly silly strategy considering their short lifespans.

On the other hand, Dylan also recognized the other side of their dilemma, and acknowledged human bravery when it came to love. It was easy to judge them from the perspective of an empath, and to see their reticence in communicating as silly or self-defeating. But over the years he’d come to realize just how vulnerable were humans. They had no way of knowing whether the person they loved was honest with them or lied to them about their feelings. And yet humans risked their hearts all the time by offering them up like sacrifices to inscrutable gods.