Nightbloom (12 page)

“Just promise me you’ll consider the possible future we could have together.”

The future.
Never in my life was I looking forward to it with this much hope smiling on my heart.

“Yes,” I said, cupping his jaw.

His eyes slipped closed under my gentle touch.

“I promise.”

Heated breath on my skin

Haunted by my thoughts within . . .

His mouth, hands, lips

On my neck, breasts, hips

I want

I need

I ache

He breathes my soul awake

My body sings a lullaby

Humming with each whimpered cry

Longing for this man to be

My one and only melody

I doodled hearts and dragons around the poem I’d written this morning when Elsibeta left me in charge of the gallery. I smiled to myself, remembering how Paxon had helped me redress in silence, buttoning my coat up tight and tying a black, cashmere scarf around my neck before flying me home. I wore the scarf now, smoothing it against my face and lips, smelling the woodsy, masculine scent of the man who made my stomach flutter.

I recalled the things he did to send my heart racing. He had only pleasured me, never asking me to do anything to relieve him as Clayton had so many times. I would’ve gladly touched Paxon, but he’d refused to let me. And still, I knew he had been turned on. His desire had been evident in the hard ridge of his arousal against my thigh when he lay on top of me. I closed my eyes and pressed the downy fabric of the scarf to my nose again, taking a deep whiff.

Completely engrossed in my own thoughts, I didn’t hear him enter, jumping out of my skin when he stood in front of the counter.

“I’d love to know what you’re thinking right now.”

“Holy crap, Paxon! You scared me.”

I slapped my journal shut and shoved it aside, hiding my doodling from his wayward eyes. I wondered what he’d think of my newest poem for my next piece of artwork.

“Someone was in deep thought.” Hands splayed on the counter, tapping one long finger. Those fingers. Heat flushed up my neck.

“I was, yeah. I just didn’t hear you.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to take my girl to lunch.”

His girl.
My heart melted into a puddle.

“Oh.” I smiled, biting my lip. “We’ll have to wait for Elsibeta. She’s still at her meeting.”

“No, we don’t. Come on.” He gestured me around the counter. I joined him. He plucked my coat from the rack and helped me into it.

I buttoned up, adjusting my borrowed scarf. “You’re just going to close down the gallery? I thought we never closed the gallery during daylight hours.”

His hand engulfed mine, warm and steady. Like him.

“What the hell point is it in owning the place if I can’t shut it down whenever I want?”

“Right. Well, I daresay I won’t get in trouble with the boss. I think he likes me.”

That won me a smoldering smile. “I believe he’s more than smitten with you. As a matter of fact, if you don’t misbehave, he might take you back to the art cellar for a more exploratory tour.”

I shivered. Not from the cold. “You’re bad.”

“No. I’m very good, actually.”

I laughed as he tugged me toward the door. “Oh, wait.” I picked up my journal and stuffed it in my pocket.

“What’s that?” he asked, pulling me closer on the street as we strolled arm in arm. “Secrets you’re keeping from me already.”

Soft snowflakes whirled around our heads.

“Not secrets. It’s part of my artwork. If
you
don’t misbehave, I might share some of it with you.”

“Well then, I’ll be on my best behavior. I’ve always been known to be the utmost gentleman.” He arched a brow with his most dangerous smile.

“I’ll bet you have,” I said with a laugh.

We shuffled into the warm bistro and found a corner table. Over sandwiches and fries, we fell into natural conversation, as if we’d known each other all our lives. He must’ve noticed my pensive thoughts.

“What’s got that expression on your face?”

I crumpled my napkin on my plate. “It just feels strange. It’s like I’ve known you forever or something, and I don’t know why. I mean, yeah, I met you months ago through Jessen. But we haven’t really
known
-known each other for very long.”

“Define
known
-known.”

I cocked my head. “You’re teasing me.”

“Yes. But I’d still love to know the definition.”

“You
know
what I mean. This”—I gestured my hand back and forth between us—“connection we have. I mean, don’t you know what I mean?”

My heart skittered faster, thinking I’d stumbled and let my mouth just run away from me again. I always seemed to bumble things.

Paxon leaned forward, taking my hand across the table, rubbing his thumb along the fleshy part between my thumb and index finger.

“Yes. I know what you mean. The connection is real, more real than I think you understand.”

I smiled and turned my attention to the window, unable to hold his gaze for too long. The snow fell in chunky flakes, blanketing the streets outside.

“So,” he said with some levity, “have I been a good boy?”

“I suppose.”

“Then let me see what’s in your journal.”

I flinched, glancing at where his thumb brushed against mine. A line of charcoal stained my cuticle. I pulled my hand back, rubbing at the stain with a napkin, embarrassed.

I thought I’d be brave enough to share this part of me with him, but now I was terrified. What if he hated it? “I don’t know if you’ll like it very much.”

“I’d like to be the judge of that.”

“It’s just very personal.”

“Which is exactly why I’d like to see it. If you can’t lift that veil for me, Ella, who can you lift it for?”

He struck a chord that reverberated all the way to my heart. I wanted to show him. I wanted to open for him as he’d asked me to. But I was afraid he wouldn’t like what he saw, that he wouldn’t want me if he saw all of me.

“Okay.” Heart hammering in my throat, I pulled my journal from my pocket and opened to the most recent entry, the one from this morning.

He took the journal in gentle hands. While he read, I dipped my napkin in the water glass and cleaned the stain on my finger, nervous tension tightening my spine.

He perused the short poem for many minutes before finally closing the journal and sliding it back across the table. Clearing his throat, he said in a low voice, “Thank you.”

“It’s not much,” I said. “It’s just something I was toying with. I might use it with my mixed medium. I mean, I don’t know. I might not use it at all.”

He reached across the table and cupped my cheek, complete adoration in his eyes. “God, you’re beautiful. And so strong, Ella. I wish you could see what I see.”

I leaned my cheek into his warm hand, feeling like the woman he saw. “I’m starting to,” I whispered.

He brushed the pad of his thumb across my lips. I kissed it and received a bright smile in return.

“Well, let’s get you back to work before Elsibeta accuses me of favoritism.”

“Definitely,” I said, pulling my coat back on.

I headed for the door while Paxon took care of the bill. I wrapped the scarf over my head and stepped under the awning outside when someone ran right into me.

“Excuse me—” When I saw whom I’d bumped into, my stomach clenched into a tight knot.

“Pardon me—oh, Ella! What a wonderful surprise, dear. Clayton and I were just heading to meet your father for lunch. Won’t you join us?”

Clayton stood next to my mother, her arm looped through his, as if they were intimate family members.

“On any other occasion, Mrs. Barrows, I’d love for Ella to join us. But what I need to discuss is for you and Mr. Barrows alone.” A devious smirk to me then a charming one for my mother. “She’ll find out soon enough.”

Bastard!
I knew exactly why he was meeting them for a private lunch. As custom demanded, he was gaining approval for a marriage proposal, which was ridiculous because I’d already broken up with him.

“Oh.” My mother tittered. “Well, of course, Clayton.”

That was when the heated presence of Paxon pressed behind me. My mother’s face drained of all color, staring over my shoulder.

“Ella.” A tinge of steel colored his voice. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Clayton’s face sharpened; his posture stiffened.

Clearing my throat, I stepped a little to the side and gestured. “Mom, this is Paxon Nightwing, my boss.”

“Your boss?” She obviously struggled to form a thought or a sentence, but managed to fumble out. “But you work for Linden and Burke.”

“No, Mom. Not anymore. Sherrie returned from maternity leave. I work for Flaming Hearts Art Gallery now.”

“Oh.” Her brow pinched together. “You never told me you worked for…him.” She gestured to Paxon, and though her voice held no rudeness or animosity, anyone would have to be dense not to sense the tension.

Clayton sneered at me with a disgusted grunt at the man over my shoulder. “He’s more than her boss.”

“What do you mean?” my mother asked.

I shook my head at Clayton. His mouth tilted into a sickening grin. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Ms. Barrows, but they’re also lovers. Your daughter’s been deceiving you. And she’s betrayed me as well.”

“What? Lov—?” She choked on the word.

“It’s not true, Mom. Clayton doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Oh, it’s true alright. I have video to prove it.”

“Clayton, you unforgiveable bastard,” I grated out.

“I gave you a choice, Ella. I was going to give you another chance and officially ask for your hand in marriage today, but it seems you’ve made your choice. With this piece of trash.” He nodded at Paxon before stepping into my space in a threatening manner.

Paxon had his collar fisted in his hand when he shoved him against the wall of the café. He raised his other fist to pound his face in.

“Oh, my God!” my mother wailed on a gasp, stepping several feet away.

“No, Paxon. Please.” I gripped the arm about to bash in Clayton’s skull. “Please don’t. You don’t understand everything that’s going on here.”

Paxon let him go reluctantly, his glare shifting from Clayton to me.

“Yeah,” Clayton whispered with a sinister smirk on his face. “You don’t know everything.” He lowered his voice so only Paxon and I could hear. “Because she’s a sneaky little whore.”

Paxon punched him across the jaw so fast, his head snapped hard right. I gasped, sure he had broken something. My mother screamed. A few on-lookers drew close. One pair of girls pointed and whispered.

Clayton shoved off the wall, massaging his jaw, breathing fast, his nostrils flaring. I recognized this part of him, trying to rein in his temper. He licked the corner of his mouth where a drop of blood stained the corner red.

“Ella, get away from him,” said my mother, grabbing my arm. Of course, she was speaking of Paxon, still not realizing that Clayton was the villain here, no matter how bad it looked.

Clayton turned his attention to me. “Just remember. You made your choice.” He moved past Paxon without a glance, puffing up his chest and combing a hand through his disheveled hair. “If you’ll all excuse me now, it seems I have some business to attend to.” He sauntered off.

Paxon ignored Clayton and directed at me, “What do you mean I don’t know everything?”

He ignored the fact that my mother had cringed away so far she looked as if she was about to bolt. She pulled on my arm, urging me farther away. “Come, Ella. Right now.”

The stark fear tightening her expression and frantic pleas made me want to cry. She had no idea that Paxon would never harm her or me.

“Mom, look at me. He won’t hurt you.” I grabbed her shoulders and forced her attention to me instead of over my shoulder. “Paxon and I aren’t lovers.” Technically, this was correct, but I didn’t know how to tell her we potentially could be. Would be.

“Did you see what he just did? They’re animals. I’ve told you this before. How could you work for such a man? Why have you betrayed Clayton? This isn’t like you. Does he have you under some kind of spell?” she whispered in an angry tone, though her eyes shone with the dark edge of fear.

“Mother, you’re being hysterical. Things aren’t as they seem with Clayton.”

The crowd around us grew thicker, and I recognized one of Clayton’s colleagues from work making his way through the throng.

“We can’t talk here. I’ll meet you at home.”

“No, young lady. You’re coming with me right now.”

“No, Mother. I’m not.”

It was the first time I had ever told my mother no. I was never the defiant child.

Her mouth dropped open in shock. “Meet me at home to discuss this. At once.” She clip-clopped off in the other direction.

When I turned to face Paxon, he was already striding up the pavement toward the gallery at a swift pace.

“Paxon!”

I ran after him though his legs were longer and he was in no mood to wait for me.

Paxon stopped at the door of the gallery just as I rushed up. He wrapped my wrist with a strong grip as I reached out to him.

“Before I lose my mind, please explain to me what just happened.” The vibrating blade of his voice sent chills up my spine.

“It’s not like that. It’s not what you think.”

“What do I think?”

I opened my mouth but had no answer.

“Speechless? Why don’t I elucidate for you? I think in one breath you just denied me and the possibility of us ever having a future together. You’re hiding something from me, yet Clayton seems to know what’s going on more than I do. And know this, if you can’t tell your mother about us, then there’s no bothering to continue this charade. If you’re ashamed of being with a Morgon man, then you can never be mine.” His voice softened. “And I actually believed those words on the page you showed me from your journal.”

A knife in my heart. I couldn’t tell him about Clayton and his threats. Especially not after finding out about Paxon’s father and their tempers. Paxon would kill Clayton. And in Gladium, he’d go away for life or be executed for murder. They didn’t overlook vigilante justice like they did in Drakos. And I couldn’t tell him about my mother and the shame she wore like a cloak, trying to spread it over her own daughter. I didn’t hold my mother’s fears, yet it was true, I had denied him.