Your Desire (5 page)

He laughed. “I love a woman who enjoys eating.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Hot and cold. Burning with desire to feel his hands on her again, freezing from the rebuff he’d dealt by leaving her bed Sunday morning without a word. Derica alternated between the two extremes all week.

When she’d awoken naked and alone, she stretched, reveling in the aches that signaled dormant muscles recently used. And how deliciously they’d been used! She smiled, even as her hands smoothed across bruises where Kailen’s fingers or mouth had left their marks in the midst of passion. Never had she known a man to be so inventive in his lovemaking, or so excited over her attentions to him. He seemed to enjoy every aspect of the physical to the fullest extent. She’d sensed it from the first in him, but was stunned to discover it in herself.

Kailen was the wrong man for her. Absolutely
wrong
. But she wanted him, all of him. It was a like a blazing, living fire, the need she felt, and it would consume her if he didn’t come to her soon.

She’d gone in search of him but the apartment had been empty of his existence except for the used condoms in her bathroom trash can.

Frantically, she’d dressed and raced from the building. The sidewalks were empty, but she ran to
Powell Street
anyway, feeling the need for action even if it was useless. To the left, the Bay was shrouded in fog. From the right, the morning bells pealed from the cathedral, calling worshippers to Mass. As she feared would be the case, Kailen was nowhere to be seen.

Returning to the apartment, she’d searched for a note but found nothing. The day ahead had suddenly seemed empty. She filled it with laundry and rationalizing all of the reasons why his going was for the best.

It had been a night of fantasy, with no promises asked or made. They were too different for anything long-lasting. Kailen didn’t fit the ideal of a man she should be with. Certainly his choice of profession—professions, considering he modeled, delivered letters and painted “edgy” pictures—wasn’t desirable. In addition, he was too out of the mainstream to be part of her colleagues’ lifestyle. A lifestyle she not only aspired to herself, but needed to fit in order to succeed in
her
chosen profession.

Yes, definitely, his exit from her life was the best thing. She repeated that sentiment all morning as she washed clothes, but it felt just as wrong the hundredth time as it had the first. Logically it made sense, but logic couldn’t stop her from craving him. It wasn’t just the sex, although the sex had been incredible, fantastic, worth killing for. It wasn’t his witty conversation or intriguing hints about his lifestyle. It wasn’t even the way he made her feel like she was the only woman in the world when he looked at her. It was … well, it was all of it.

Tossing a blouse on the bed unfolded, she’d grabbed the phone book and searched not only for his name but for any art gallery that might advertise his work. She’d never realized how many galleries there were in
San Francisco. It would take days to query them all for a clue of how to find him.

On Monday morning, she’d received a call from Ben’s office. The film director’s secretary asked her to come downtown to sign the rest of the paperwork for the Violet Passion ad, and to straighten matters out with the agency, which didn’t understand how the mix-up had occurred. However, the young woman said that considering how well the shoot had gone, the agency’s representative would be interested in talking to her about a contract.

Derica suddenly realized she held all the cards. “I’ll sign the papers to release my work on the ad if you give me Kailen’s name and address.”

The secretary refused, citing privacy.

“Please look carefully at the papers you hold. I filled in the contact information, not the release information. I knew there had been a mistake, even if no one would listen to me. If Ben wants the work he did Saturday night to stand, I want the information about Kailen.”

The woman mumbled something about how she’d have no time for work if she gave Kailen’s number out to every woman who asked for it, then she asked Derica to hold. Half a minute later, Ben came on the line.

“Miss Meadows, it was so nice working with you Saturday. When can you stop by to sign the paperwork to release what we did? I’ve already seen the preliminary prints, and they’re fabulous.” Was this the same man who had screamed at her across the lobby of downtown’s most prestigious hotel? His tone was so conciliatory, so soft, so… She could almost feel Ben’s lips on her right rear cheek, next to where Kailen had actually kissed her.

The thought of Kailen’s mouth on her butt sent her heart into overdrive, and reminded her of her mission. “Ben, it’s very nice of you to say that. I’m glad the work turned out well, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to have to repeat the process. Now, did your secretary tell you what I need?”

“Yes, she did. Now Miss… Do you mind if I call you Derica?”

She hummed.

“Good. Derica, you know we can’t do that. You wouldn’t want me to give out your name and address, would you?”

“Of course not. I’d sue you all the way to next Sunday if you did.”

“So you see why…”

“No release without his name and address. Phone number, too, just to be safe.”

There was silence, then, “Just a minute.” The obsequiousness was gone.

Flipping through papers on her desk as she waited, she was surprised at how quickly Ben came back on the line.

“You can pick up the information you’re looking for when you come in to sign the papers, Derica. Once everything is tied up, I think we’ll both be happy.”

She had gone that very afternoon, during lunch. Making it clear to the agency rep with whom she spoke that she wasn’t interested in a modeling career, she’d assigned a charity to receive all of her proceeds from the ad. After signing the appropriate X-marked lines, she’d casually accepted the sheet of notebook paper Ben’s secretary handed her and left the glamorous life of modeling behind her.

Once on the street, she’d whipped the folded paper open.
Steven Hooper.
Ordinary enough for a courier, but not sufficient for a master of sensual delight. No, Kailen suited that persona far better.

Below his name was the address for a building of live/work lofts off the Embarcadero, and a phone number. She’d calmly put the paper in her desk drawer when she returned to the office, and there it had stayed, all week, calling to her. As impossible to ignore as a ringing phone or crying baby, it had taken discipline each day not to leave work and run to his place. But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d waited to see if he would call her.

At first she was certain he would. She couldn’t have been alone in her desire, could she? Surely he couldn’t have faked the way his breath hitched when she tongued him or the moans that changed to cries of triumph when he came. The intensity with which he’d loved her—didn’t it mean something special to him, too? Or was she being something she’d never been in her life—a silly female—expecting Kailen to feel the same thing for their lovemaking that she did?

Her work week had been fine. A new position was announced and her boss, Daniel, had hinted that she was perfectly positioned for advancement. But each day with no word from Kailen was harder to take. Plagued with thoughts of him doing with other women what he’d done with her, she felt sick. Her appetite left and sleep eluded her. She knew she had to take steps or go crazy.

With a feeling of trepidation that was quite unlike her, she knocked on Kailen’s door that Saturday, just before noon. For several moments there was no sound. Then she heard a woman’s voice.
Oh, God!
There was no way she could face in reality the visions that had tortured her all week. Seeing Kailen with another woman would kill her. She had to escape, and fast.

Before she took five steps the door opened.

“Derica?” It was him. His voice sounded gruff, not welcoming.

She stopped and slowly turned. Filling the doorway, he rested his arm on the frame, watching her. He gave no smile, no indication of how he felt about seeing her again. His faded blue jeans topped ragged sneakers, and a sleeveless denim shirt, buttoned up the front, was streaked with paint. His other hand clutched a rag also smeared with various colors.

“Hello, Kailen. I-I wanted to talk with you about the shoot…” A lie she hoped he couldn’t detect. She’d grasp at any straw to find some logical reason for being outside his doorway, unannounced on a Saturday morning. There was the truth, of course. The conviction that she would die if she didn’t make love with him again. But it was better he not know that fact.

Movement behind him drew her eye. A gorgeous woman peeked curiously around his arm. Inky black hair hung to her waist and immense almond-shaped eyes showcased a petite brown face. Derica took a shaky breath and willed herself to calmness. The woman was naked. Sure, a satin robe was draped over her shoulders, but it hung open enough to reveal that there was nothing but skin under it.

“I didn’t realize you were busy. I should have called. Sorry.” She backed down the hall as she spoke, determined to make good her getaway before breaking down.

“You want to talk about the shoot?” His tone, slightly warmer, arrested her backward movement. He said something in a low voice to the woman beside him, and she disappeared. Then he held the door open, stepping back at the same time he extended his hand to her.

Just as when she’d first seen him, she had no alternative but to take it.

He pulled her inside and closed the door. “I’m painting,” was all he said. He turned and walked toward the far end of the huge room. She followed.

He pointed to the right. “Kitchen. Help yourself to whatever. I’ll be another hour or two.”

Looking around curiously as she walked behind him, Derica took in the mismatched furniture littered with books and magazines, clothes and shoes, and the basic jumble that seemed to make up his home. The table in the kitchen showed empty pizza boxes and beer cans, and there were dishes in the sink. Partitioned from sight was what she assumed was his bedroom, since she didn’t see a bed anywhere else.

The farthest area of the loft was obviously his studio. It occupied the most space and was the brightest section, with skylights slanted into the roof, supplementing a bank of walled windows. Stacks of canvasses lined one wall, a workbench filled another.

Near the third, positioned to benefit most from the light, was a set or exhibit. Three poles draped in pink chiffon formed a tent. On a sumptuous pallet covered in rose-leaf green colored chiffon and richly braided pillows, lay a young woman. She’d been wrong. There were two women here with him, both naked.

The woman on the pallet had each foot tied with a strip of satin to the pole nearest it. Her eyes were covered. The same material secured her hands, which were suspended up and back toward the head pole by the Asian woman Derica had seen from the hall.

Kailen had already resumed his position behind an easel and had paintbrush in hand. “Derica, this is Noelani and Fauve. Fauve can’t see you since she’s blindfolded, but that won’t stop her from making comments about what she thinks you look like. Girls, this is Derica.”

“Hello, Derica,” the petite Asian-looking woman said with a smile. In one hand she held Fauve’s hands aloft. In her other hand she held a peacock feather positioned at Fauve’s shaven pussy, as though she were teasing it. The thought made Derica squirm and her groin tighten with anticipation of what the activity would bring.

“Derica, hello. Kailen has told us nothing about you, but I’ll bet you’re just beautiful, since Kailen only makes time for beautiful women. What do you do? How did you meet?”

The woman who was at the mercy of satin and feather appeared to be gorgeous. She was tall, judging by the length of the pallet she occupied. Her luxuriant red hair waved below the blindfold to her shoulders, and although her form was slender, her breasts were full, tipped with dark pink nipples. “By the way, he’s been a bear all week. If you’re the reason, we certainly hope you’re here to straighten him out.”

“Shut up, Fauve,” Kailen said, but without heat.

“Yes, master,” she answered with a giggle, matched by Noelani’s.

He turned to her. “I can’t talk now. I only have the right light for a while longer. You want to wait?”

“Oh, yes. Will it bother you if I watch?”

“No.” And he faced the easel again, to work.

It was the last he said to her for almost two hours, when he called an end to the day’s work. During that time her emotions had run the full gamut. Fear that he’d reject her, primarily, but also hurt that he seemed so cavalier about her visit. As though it was nothing special, nothing that excited him.

When she’d seen the models, jealousy had overwhelmed her. They were beautiful and naked, and claimed all of his attention. But she’d finally seen that Kailen’s concentration was for his work, not his models, and gradually she relaxed enough to watch what he was doing. She’d also looked around his studio and discovered that his current work was but one example of what he called “edgy and different.” All of his painting was like sex conveyed to canvas.

Now, arching his back and stretching his arms over his head, he looked tired but elated. He helped Noelani untie Fauve, then walked away to care for his brushes. The women stretched and smiled at her as they passed. Proclaiming hunger, they dashed first to the bathroom then the kitchen where she heard them puttering. Kailen seemed uninterested in the fact that two gorgeous, naked women paraded around his home.

Or that she was there. He still hadn’t spoken, or even looked her way. Mentally shrugging, she decided to give him a few more minutes before admitting that her presence meant nothing to him.

She took that time to study his work. In the reality of the afternoon light, the women had looked blatantly sexual. In the shading Kailen added, they were softened. The painting was brought to life by the boldness of his strokes and the sharp colors of the tent, the pillows, the greens and blues of the peacock feather,while the women themselves seemed mere impressions, like a dream. Their presence in the work was in no doubt, nor was what they were doing, but the overall effect was the height of sensuality, not sexuality. The work could almost hang in someone’s living room, it seemed so refined. Unless one studied it. Then only a boudoir would suit.