Bet on Me (4 page)

He braced himself with his back to the door and redid his pants, grimacing when he tucked his cock inside. “I’ll take it out on your ass when we get home.”

She glanced in the mirror. Her face was bright red and her breathing rapid, but once she tugged her bra and dress into place, she looked none the worse for wear.

No one would know what she’d been doing right under their noses. Whee.

“Let me clean you up.”

“No. Leave me messy.” She leaned in and brushed her lips over his in a chaste kiss. “It’ll keep me wet.”

His hot breath coasted over her cheek as he dipped his head and gave a breathless laugh. “Damn, woman.”

She cast him a mischievous glance and worked her dress down over her hips. There were a few wrinkles in the silk, but nothing that would be noticed. “You want me ready for you, don’t you?”

Wyatt straightened his tie. “Always.”

Tatiana opened the door a hair, breathing a sigh of relief at the empty hallway. “Come on.”

He followed behind her, not cowering or tiptoeing. With every step, Tatiana could feel her tension returning.

There was no need for it. The gallery manager had informed her everything was going well, that sales were mounting. Those who understood the functional element of her jewelry were titillated. The ones who didn’t were simply taken with the sensual designs.

Wyatt’s hand closed over her nape as they came to the end of the hallway. “Hey. Do I need to find another place to fuck you?”

“What?”

“Relax.”

She stared at him. “Did you arrange this encounter to calm me down?”

His hand tightened, and he gave her a wolfish smile. “And because I wanted to show you what happens when you tease me with your tight little body.”

I love you.
“Thanks,” she choked out, but the word was inadequate. He had known she was upset. He had known, and he had tried to take her mind off her worries.

His hand slipped into hers, and he squeezed. “It’s a good show. A great show.”

A burst of pride ran through her. Pride in her work, but also pride Wyatt got to see people’s reactions to what she did.

Oh, she knew he was aware she had a good deal of commercial success, but it was different from his world, where she could see the obvious fruits of his labor—the massive casino, the lavish grounds, the obsequious people.

The signs of her success were muted. Partially because she liked it that way.

That need for him to see her accomplishment might be the reason she was extra nervous tonight, as silly as it was. As if Wyatt would think less of her if she didn’t sell oodles. “People do seem to like my designs,” she mused.

“They love it. And you.”

She took a deep breath as they reentered the gallery. “Only an hour left. I only have to do this for an hour.”

“An hour. And then I’ll be bending you over the closest waist-level surface, no matter where we are.” He released her hand. “Just focus on that.”

The slap on her ass woke her from her stupor. Tatiana groaned and buried her head beneath the pillow, accustomed to this kind of wake-up alarm. “Go away.” Accustomed. But not appreciative.

“No. You told me to wake you before I left.”

She peeked out of the decadently soft bedding and winced at the weak sunlight entering the room. Wyatt stood beside the bed, already showered and dressed, looking dark and dangerously handsome in his expensive suit. He knotted and tightened his tie.

When she’d drifted off to sleep last night, she
had
told him to wake her in the morning. Or had it been morning already when he had finally let her rest?

Whatever. It had been too late to be cheerful about rising now.

Tatiana shut her eyes. “I changed my mind.”

Unsympathetic, he finished adjusting his neckwear and hauled off the comforter, the air-conditioned room leaving goose bumps on her naked skin. “You always tell me to ignore you when you say that.”

Damn it. She knew herself too well. A gusty sigh left her lips. “I am not pleased.”

“Imagine being the one who has to get your ass out of bed every day, sweetheart,” he said dryly. “It’s hardly a barrel of monkeys for me.”

“Liar. You like this, you sadistic bastard.” She rose on her elbows, resigned to getting out of bed.

He grinned but didn't respond, far too fresh for her mood. Ugh, morning people. They were the grossest.

“What are your plans for the day?”

Correction. Talkative morning people were the grossest. Silent, she narrowed her eyes at Wyatt until he sighed and handed her the mug of coffee sitting on the nightstand. Steam curled from the top. She inhaled deeply and took a bracing sip.

Five large gulps in, she was able to open her eyes and focus on Wyatt, who was slipping his shoes on. She liked watching him put his wingtips on. It was like watching a knight put on his suit of armor.

The fanciful thought made her smile. “I have a ton of work to do. Three commissions I want to get out of the way before orders from the show start pouring in.” She said it with a satisfaction she hadn’t been certain she would feel today. Her agonizing had been for naught. Every single piece had sold. The attendees had loved her new line. The gallery manager had said she would call Tatiana today for a full run-down.

Happiness coursed through her. There would be more orders and more shows in her future. Her new city loved her.

Wyatt smiled. “Sounds good. We should see about setting up a studio for you here. The spare bedroom doesn’t have nearly the light that your workshop does.”

Her heart stuttered. She took a sip of coffee, giving herself a second to think, before responding in the same carefully casual tone he had used. “That would probably be a good idea.”

Wyatt glanced up at her from beneath his lashes. “Yeah?”

Another sip. “Yeah.”

“Well. Okay then. I’ll see if I can set up something with a realtor this weekend.”

“Okay.” She set her coffee on the nightstand before walking on her knees over to him and grabbing his face.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you my favor, sir.”

His lips quirked, but he didn't protest her kiss. It was long and slow and sweet, and he pulled away with obvious reluctance. “I have to go.” He rubbed his thumb over her lower lip, his face as soft as she had ever seen it.

“I know.” She pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Fare-thee-well, sir.”

He eyed her. “Sometimes I wonder what goes on in your brain.”

“It would scare you.”

“Undoubtedly.” His lips turned upward, and he leaned in, gave her another quick kiss, and left, a jaunty swing in his step.

She flopped back and stared at the ceiling, listening to the empty apartment. A studio. A studio right here. Knowing Wyatt, he would lecture her on all the financial reasons to buy a place instead of renting it, and she probably would end up doing that.

So permanent. She swallowed. A home was a home, but a studio was her favorite place in the whole world, where she was free to slip inside her work and give her imagination free rein. It was a big step.

Relax. It’s not like it’s marriage.

Her lips twisted. After she and Wyatt had broken up so long ago, Tatiana had decided she wasn’t the marrying type. Men married good girls. Sweet girls. Girls who weren’t bitchy and quirky and forgetful and a little bit slutty.

Except Wyatt liked all those things about her…

She shook her head. A studio. That’s all they were talking about. Not a ring.
Quit doodling hearts on your notebook, Belikov. Get it together.

That was something she’d gotten good at as she grew older. Throttling back her emotions, not overreacting to some stimulus, not leaping to conclusions. Keeping things slow, for fear that going too fast would result in implosion.

That was what would maintain her sanity. And keep their relationship on track.

Just. A. Studio.

A studio. No, it wasn’t a lifetime commitment, but a studio meant something. He was certain of it.

Wyatt was whistling by the time he entered his office, and grinned when he spotted Esme sitting at her desk. Bespectacled and pleasantly plump, the woman was deceptively soft looking. She was his defensive line, his eyes and ears, and the only reason he was able to work remotely from San Francisco at all.

Anyone who could facilitate his life with Tatiana was his savior. “Morning, Esme.”

“Sir.” Uncharacteristically somber, she stood. “I’ve been calling and texting you for about ten minutes.”

He sobered immediately, his hand flying to his coat pocket and pulling out his phone. He cursed when he noted that he’d left the ringer on silent, having forgotten to turn it back on after the exhibit.

Tatiana’s bad habits were rubbing off on him. This sort of thing was unacceptable when his business did not sleep. “I’m sorry. What’s the problem?”

“You have an unexpected visitor.”

He groaned. “Who? Tenchi? Adams?” His two biggest investors were generous, as well as being giant pains in the ass. Surprise visits were nothing new.

“No. It’s…I don’t know. I put her in your office. You don’t have any meetings scheduled this morning, but I thought it best to not have her sitting here where anyone could...” She licked her lips, looking supremely uncomfortable.

It wasn’t like Esme to be so flustered. “Why is that?”

Esme twisted her hands together. “It’s a child. A little girl.”

Wyatt frowned. “A child? How did she get up here?”

“The front desk called me and said she was here to see you, that she said she was related to you. I saw her on the camera and thought you may wish to handle this privately.”

“Related to—” Wyatt shook his head, mystified. “I don’t have any family, so if she’s claiming to be a distant cousin or something…”

Esme squared her shoulders, as if bracing herself. “She looks a great deal like you, sir. Even Jaya at the front desk remarked upon it.”

“What are you saying?”

Esme stared back at him, some of her composure returning. “I think you know.”

“No, I—” Light bulb. He froze. “You’re not implying some little girl is mine. Right?”

Esme looked down at her desk and straightened a piece of paper on the already neat surface. “I’m not implying anything. She looks like you,” Esme repeated calmly. “And claims to be your relation.”

“She’s not. I don’t have any…” He swallowed his bile and tried again, struggling to force the last word out. “I don’t have any…kids.” Even the thought of having a child turned his stomach into a lead weight. Who was the mother, if he had a kid?

Not Tatiana.

Jesus. Tatiana. His muscles tightened as if readying for a blow. Ten minutes ago, he’d been thrilled she’d agreed to look into getting a studio here. What would be her reaction to an illegitimate child? Not good, he was willing to bet. She didn’t want kids right now. And, well…that was more than okay with him.

The last time he’d felt an emotion like this had been over a decade ago, when he’d watched Tatiana walk out of his life.

From very far away, he heard Esme speaking to him, in a low, discreet voice. “If you like, I can get to the bottom of this for you and handle it.”

Like Esme handled his mail and his phone calls. Like she handled his unwanted visitors.

The woman’s eyes shifted to the door leading to his office, and Wyatt swung his incredulous gaze to the girl standing there. Black hair with the same silky shine as his was bound in a neat braid. Her eyes snared him, big and dark and fringed with lashes so thick they made her look like she had eyeliner on.

When he'd been her size, those lashes had gotten him teased to the point of fistfights. Hers probably broke hearts.

Let Esme handle it.
He wasn’t the first rich man to have a paternity scare. He doubted any of them dealt with it themselves.

The girl took a single step. “Hi.”

What the fuck is wrong with you? Listen to yourself. You’re not the man I know, if you would simply dump this on Esme.

His conscience didn’t sound like Jiminy Cricket. No, that was Tatiana’s sharp tone ringing in his brain. He gave a shake of his head and spoke to Esme. “No. No, thank you. I’ll see what this is about. Make sure we’re not disturbed.” He turned to the girl. “Hello,” he said, internally wincing when he heard the harsh note in his voice.
Just a child. Don’t scare her, moron.
He dialed it back, making sure his next words were gentler. Soft and soothing wasn't his style, but he could manage it for this kid.

His...kid?

He shoved that thought out of his mind, because otherwise panic would render him mute again. “How are you?”

“Good.”

Esme cleared her throat, and Wyatt jerked. Inside. Esme had been right to put the kid inside his office. It would take about five minutes and one person not on his payroll for rumors about his illegitimate child to start flying.

His business model was based on discreet depravity. That meant keeping his nose clean. No one wanted to trust their secrets to a man who couldn’t keep his own.

Mobilized into action, Wyatt strode toward his office—and the girl. “I’ll call you if I need you, Esme. Don’t disturb us.”

“Yes, sir.”

The girl backed away as he entered, her brown eyes very big. He closed the door behind him, the noise too loud.

“Well.” Wyatt clasped his hands behind his back, unsure what to do with them. Or her. He fell back on manners he used for adult guests. “Would you like a seat?”

“Okay.” Gingerly, the girl sat on the sofa he gestured to, her hands tugging at the hem of her bright yellow T-shirt.

Other than her coloring and eyes, she also shared his chin and face shape, but her small bone structure had nothing in common with his, and her nose was a cute little button.

Each difference calmed him, each lack of similarity helping him breathe enough to think and regain some of his usual control. He took a few steps closer, so he could stand behind the chair facing her. He gripped the back of it. “My assistant didn't give me your name.”

“Ellie. Short for Elizabeth.”