Unbind (23 page)

“Hmm. It says, ‘the prospects aren’t clear’. Well, that’s not good.”

“Gimme it. It doesn’t say that.” He shook his head.

“See for yourself then.”

“Oh, it does,” he frowned. “Bullshit. These are rigged, rigged.”

He laughed so loud everybody looked. I joined in for solidarity and read his. “Okay, here goes. ‘All things good come to those who work.’”

I failed miserably at hiding my laughter and mouthed
what the fuck
—some bad translator had surely written them.

He took me to the Empire State after that and we spent a good hour looking out over the lit night sky, Cai showing me where all the major sites were.

“It’s a dream to be here,” I told him as we stood by the railing, his hands around my waist, his front against my back. Even up so high and with a strong wind, it was still a balmy night.

“You made it on your own steam, too.”

“I did,” I admitted, grinning. I didn’t tell Cai that I’d spent so many years never hoping for more, despite knowing it was in me.

“What now? The choice is yours.”

I turned into his arms so we were facing each other and we shared a deep, sensual kiss, our arms tight around one another. I knew what I wanted to do so I pulled away and stroked my nose along his, knowing as I knew my own name that I was falling harder with every second we spent together.

“Take me by my hotel to get my things. Then back to yours.”

“Good plan, but are you sure?” he asked, stroking my hair down my back. “I did say you’re the boss. Don’t humour me just ’cause you know this
On the Town
shit bores me.”

I laughed out loud and gasped, “You’re just—”

“Being honest,” he told me, a sly smile displaying his sarcasm.

I chewed my nail and muttered, “I love
On the Town.
”

He shook his head and swatted my hand away from my mouth. “I do too, but for different reasons. Anytime you suffer insomnia, just ask me about cinematography and I’ll get you to sleep.”

“We’re both secret geeks, hmm?” I winked.

He looked serious. “Shit, Chlo. I don’t wanna ruin things… but can we go back to the apartment and watch
Star Wars.
I really wanna watch
Star Wars
with you.”

I gawped, wondering if he was serious. He was.

“You fucking weirdo, no! Not this early on in our relationship. What a dick, sheesh,” I sniggered under my hand.

He pointed at me. “A-ha! A-ha! Got you! A-ha!”

I slapped his arms playfully, unrelenting until he said, “I love you,” right out of the blue.

He had me then and I kissed him, plunging my tongue deep in his mouth. I clutched his collar to pull him in as close as possible.

I blinked my way out of a daze and got my bearings. “Do you have some candles, wine, things like that back at yours?”

He licked his lips. “Umm, no. I have beer but… we can stop by a market.”

“Ooh, goodie.”

In the elevator back to ground level, we kissed despite the company. We ran to the Mustang in a nearby parking facility and in a dark corner, I pushed my seat right back and reclined it. Hidden under my skirt, he ate me out while he knelt in the large foot well. I almost shattered the windows with my screams as his tongue explored me ravenously. I wanted this to never end. I wanted to go dancing and party the night away, but I also wanted to be with him. Just be. I’d never had that before and I wanted it more than anything else.

THE iPod streamed a playlist of film soundtracks, the music beating calmly around the room. I recognised ‘Latika’s Theme’ from
Slumdog Millionaire
as I straddled his backside and massaged his thick back muscles. We were both naked and his face lay buried in the pillow, his arms spread out underneath the cushion. I ran my fingers over his body and soaked up the sight and the feel of him beneath my touch.

“Oh god,” he moaned. “Don’t stop.”

“We’re not making love yet, dear.”

“You sure?” He caught a glance at me over his shoulder. “Fuck, that’s erotic… the sight of you like this, rubbing me.”

“Better than chocolate?”

“Hell, it’s better than… lemme think… beef jerky.”

“Hmm,” I laughed. His world, his life… were all so much different to mine. “I bet you don’t like beef jerky. You’re saying that because you don’t think I know anything about American culture.”

He sniggered. “I fucking love beef jerky. I’m anyone’s with a packet of beef jerky… how do you think I maintain my studliness? Fruit salads?”

“Oh my god, you didn’t just say that! You are such a freak.”

He buried his laughter in the pillow while I pummelled his spine with my fists—but surprise, surprise—he groaned louder when I did that.

He’d already rubbed my body and I felt languid and relaxed, my whole being loose and sated. On the nightstand were two glasses of very good merlot and on every other surface of his bedroom, we’d lit candles. Sights didn’t get much better than that, especially as while I sat on his succulent and very biteable arse, I could see right out into the night through his one-way windows. Bridges were lit and lanes of traffic queued on FDR.

I was too lost in thought to fight back when he unexpectedly rolled over beneath me and caught my wrists in his hands. He sat up and chafed my breasts with his stubble, deliberately going wild kissing and gnawing. I tried to fight him but he was too strong and had my wrists. Eventually I gave in and he let me free so I could wrap my hands around his head. He nibbled my mouth and murmured against my lips, “Wanna see some of my art?”

“I thought I had?” I felt puzzled.

“They were for people to hang in their holiday homes or their kid’s pool house… they were not my art.” He kissed me quick and planted me on the floor, tossing me his white shirt to put on.

I watched while he slid his
Batman
boxers over his thighs and he held out his hand for me to follow him. His underwear reminded me he’d once revealed he did graphic drawing too, but I didn’t know for sure if that was what he was referring to.

We went downstairs, through the living space and to a red, heavy-duty door hidden away in a corner.

“You have the whole top floor, don’t you?”

“Maybe. Are you ready?” The look on his face was worried and I wondered why.

“Yes, of course.”

He held my hand and never let go as he walked us through the door, into his space. He flicked on the lights and wow. Just wow. That was all I could muster in my mind. I was staggered.

The light was overpowering. Floor to ceiling windows all around, covered by light-grey blinds. Barely any metal in the whole room. It was a gallery with lots of photographs pinned up, designed as if this place were ready to showcase his work should anyone ever come round. I let go of his hand and wandered between the white dividers, getting lost as I floated around Cai’s work.

He stood in the distance, in my periphery, his knuckle against his lips as he waited pensively for me to give him my opinion.

Yes, there were a lot of images of models. Too many perhaps, my jealousy inwardly groaned. The artistry was undeniable: beauties captured at just the right moment, when they thought the cameras weren’t on. Most of the poses were casual and not for magazines, but for Cai’s imagination. Some of the men and women looked thoughtful, but their backs weren’t straight and their cheekbones didn’t carry masses of powder. I imagined Cai’s finger on the shutter, clicking away several shots a second to get just the right image.

The models were all kinds of ethnicities, all kinds of clothes hanging off them. There was no distinction, no prejudice, the only common factor being these people were captured off the job. I viewed at least 50 of these models before I got to his other stuff—the bits he had sort of referenced a few times before.

A carrier bag tumbled down an empty, unrecognisable street. Nothing distinguished the country or city he’d taken the shot in.

A frail, old woman’s fingers touched her face, the focus on the pressure against her withered cheek.

A mother nursed her baby in Central Park, possibly unaware her fraught facial expression was the focus of someone’s attention. From the looks, she had taken herself to a dark corner she thought she wouldn’t get caught in! Not in Manhattan would you normally see a nursing mother I imagined!

All manner of other pieces arrested me: A half-eaten apple sitting on an old-fashioned sprung bicycle seat. A scruffy doorway to who knows where, with a gnarled stick holding open a splintered wooden door. A starved dog asleep in a dumpster, using the waste as its bedding. An airport scene featuring a mother and daughter embracing in arrivals. A homeless man sat keeping himself warm on a freezing day, the warmth of a sidewalk grate floating up around him.

I didn’t get round half of what he had because his footsteps caught up with me. I just gawped, unable to read the meaning behind the pictures.

I felt a bit sick. This man was really talented. He probably had a lot more where this came from. With some direction, he could be huge and I just knew there was something waiting to be unlocked in him. He was hard to pin down but I knew that he saw life. He was more mature than his years.

Suddenly I was at a loss—why was he bothering with me? It didn’t make any sense. He stood beside me and explained, “That dog… one of the saddest.’

I couldn’t catch my breath, alarmed at how this was all playing out. The surface Cai was a dude, a guy, full of jokes and boyishness, but the one beneath was so different.

“Cai, these are… breathtaking.” Tears stung the corners of my eyes. He saw the world so brilliantly and to see it through his eyes was gut-wrenching. He had real empathy.

He slid an arm around my waist and I absorbed the scent of massage oil still present in his skin. The memory of our earlier intimacy yanked me back to reality, back to the man and not the artist I was meeting in his work.

“I favour bokeh more often than not. See the use of focus… the background blurred… the dots, splashes of light. I love that. It fascinated me when I studied photography. The haziness can add something extra… give the subject more prominence, or take away from it, too. Give it speed, distance, life. It gives you so much to work with and sometimes the result is so unexpected.”

I turned and saw him, in his entirety. He was dazzling. His blue, blue eyes searched mine and I suspected he knew I was crazy-hot for him. I could feel my cheeks burning a hundred degrees.

“Cai, take me. Right here.”

We reached for one another and slammed together, our kiss powerful and hungry, our arms tight underneath each other’s. There was an old, scruffy couch tucked in a corner and he steered me there, laid me down. He pulled my shirt up so that his chest was against mine and I slid his boxers off. He was inside me within a moment.

I watched his eyes the whole time he made love to me, his mouth always against mine though not always to kiss me. To whisper his fervour. To tell me, “I’m in love with you.”

“You’re beautiful, Cai,” I told him and he poured himself into me for the last time that day.

We went back to bed and he fell asleep straight away. While I laid on his chest, I stared out of the window and thought this place wasn’t real. Not my territory. I still wanted to wake up. I was actually frightened by the talent of this man. Having a studio like that, hidden away in his own house, told me things I didn’t want to know. He clearly had an incredible talent for people and their most captivating attributes. He saw spirit in objects and ordinary things. I just had to wonder—how long had he concealed his capabilities, like this?

I DIDN’T SLEEP well that night but at least I had his face to look at while I lost hours staring into space, wondering who this extraordinary young man was. I knew already—I wanted to carry his babies and marry him, to never leave his side. I was totally in love with him. I felt so sick, the thought of leaving him already killing me. I laid there orchestrating my line of questioning for when he woke up. I didn’t want to stop him having a lie-in but I was also impatient, just waiting for a moment to ask him why he wasn’t yet famous for his work, not just the fact he was an heir or Jennifer’s nephew.