Bound for Nirvana: (The Bound Trilogy Book 3) (18 page)

“Hello, I’m Angelica Lawson. May I say what a pleasure it is to finally meet you.” Too formal—stupid, prissy smile. I tried again. “Hi, I’m Angel. It’s great to meet you, at last.” Too casual and the smile was bordering on smug. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the nauseous wave from rolling around inside my tummy. I shouldn’t have eaten that damn sub.

When I stepped out of the elevator, my attention was instantly drawn to a dazzling new sports car just off to my left. I noticed it because of the provocative purr of the engine and the way it seemed to be slinking close to the ground like a predator waiting to pounce. Cars didn’t usually do much to impress me, but there was something about this one which made me think immediately of sex.

Christ, I needed to get sex off my mind. It was a highly inappropriate time to be feeling horny, when I was off to meet the parents. I strode off to the right toward the SUV, which was parked in its regular place, but Ethan was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, a voice from behind startled me. “Hey, sugar, can I give you a ride?”

I swung around to find a sexy hunk of a man leaning against the open door of the sports car. My sexy hunk of a man. My jaw went slack as I gaped at him in utter wonderment. “Ethan, what the…? Whose is…?” My eyes widened in sudden realization. “Oh, hell, it’s yours.” It wasn’t a question, because I already knew the answer from the pure, unreserved joy which was shining from his eyes.

“She’s perfect isn’t she?” His fingertips grazed gently over the hood as he sauntered around front to cast a fond, almost lustful eye over the sex machine.

“She?” I asked with a sudden ridiculous pang of illogical jealousy.

“Now, now, Cinders. You know what happens when you get jealous.” His smirk was wildly sexy as he stood with his fingertips shoved into the pockets of his low slung jeans, head cocked to one side. I wanted to rip off his oversized linen shirt and have him take me right there over the quivering thrum of the engine.

“Never mind all that,” I said swiftly, needing to eject all thoughts of sex from my mind. “What? How? When, for heaven’s sake?”

“Come take a closer look.” Grinning from ear to ear, he took my hand to tug me next to him and we began to tour around the perimeter of the car, excitement simply emanating from his pores. “A Rembrandt Bugatti,” he said proudly. “I’ve had her on order for a while. She arrived yesterday. My last car in London was a Bugatti. I’ve been meaning to replace her for a while, but just hadn’t got around to it; I’ve been a little busy since my return to New York.”

This had been the reason for the glint in his eyes earlier. I followed his sparkling gaze to what was truly a beautifully honed machine. The color of the body of the car was split horizontally, the upper half a timeless, majestic bronze, whilst the lower half was a lighter shade of brown. The taut arcs of the sculpted body were almost athletic in appearance, from the perfectly defined rear haunches to the sensuous curves of the wheel arches. Ethan opened the passenger door and the luxurious smell of leather infused my nostrils.

“Climb aboard, my lady.” His enthusiasm was contagious, and I found my grin broadening to reflect his.

The inside could only be described as the elite in ultimate comfort, the sexy curvaceous quality of the exterior form melding perfectly with the lithe interior. The cockpit was a seamless blend of flowing splendor, all supple leather, glass buttons, and soft, intricately braided leather seating the color of cognac and coffee. I settled back into the ergonomic palm of the encompassing seat and smiled the widest smile.

Ethan nodded in approval. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

I spent the first ten minutes of the journey admiring the opulent quality of every square inch of the sumptuous interior. The wonderful aroma of pristine leather amalgamated perfectly with the raw, heady scent of Ethan. He looked completely at home in this sexy machine, as if it had been made explicitly for him.

“So?” he asked finally. “What’s the verdict?”

“Amazing. A real head turner—like you.” He seemed pleased by my genuine appreciation. “Just one thing, though.”

Wide eyes darted between me and the traffic warily. “Go on.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer it if
she
were referred to as
it
from now on. I refuse to share your devotion with any other female, even if it is a sexy-as-sin machine.”

“I love it when you’re possessive,” he laughed, running his hands lovingly around the steering wheel, his fingers caressing the gear stick as he worked through the changes.

“Stop flirting with the car, Ethan,” I warned as we left the city behind.

Suddenly, as if a curtain had come down, his playful grin disappeared, and instead a frown descended to mar his perfect brow. “Speaking of flirting.” He began to chew his lower lip like he was wondering how to broach something.

Oh hello, what’s this?

“Spit it out, E.” His caution was making me nervous.

“Sloane.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Do we have to talk about that now?”

“Yes.” His tone was impatient, but softened as he continued. “I was going to leave it until after the weekend, but something’s been bothering me and I can’t seem to shift it—so no, it won’t wait.”

I sighed again. “Okay. I suppose now is as good a time as ever.”

Actually,
never
suited me better, because I knew for certain as soon as Ethan was in full possession of the facts, Sloane would be history. Not that parting company with Sloane bothered me in the slightest—the whole thing with him was creeping me out—but the business would have benefitted from his contribution greatly, and frankly, I could do without the inevitable drama of Ethan getting involved. Too late now though. “Go ahead. What’s bothering you?”

“When I approached, he was asking you about red shoes. What the fuck was he talking about?”

Oh, okay. Well, yes, I could see why walking into that conversation might have bothered him.

“Okay, before I start, I should point out two things.” Concern rippled his forehead. “I was fully intending to tell you everything, but like you, I was waiting until after the weekend. The second thing—please remember you’re driving your pride and joy and to keep your focus firmly on the road.”

Concern turned into pure agitation as he shifted in his seat and clenched the steering wheel tighter. “Angel, you’re worrying me. What did that fucker do?”

“Are you sure you want to do this while you’re driving?”

His arched brow was warning enough, so I braced myself and began to fill him in on every bizarre detail of the conversations I’d had with Sloane. I told him about the email with its scrupulous dictation and about the conversation on the dance floor, when he’d implied he could psychoanalyze me through my work. I told him it was Sloane’s inference that he and Natasha were more than just friends that had fanned my jealous flames, and about Sloane admitting to purchasing my entire last collection. And finally—to answer his question—I told him about the
Yard Sale
image.

When I finished, I watched Ethan seethe silently as he turned it over in his head. His hands gripped the wheel with ferocity, his blazing eyes focusing on the road ahead, his jaw muscles bunching and twitching. It was like waiting for a ticking bomb to blow.

“You won’t see him again.” It was an order.

“I didn’t intend to. I was going to let Jia handle the contract from here on in.”

“No fucking way,” he laughed scornfully.

I rolled my eyes. “There’s no reason for the gallery to lose out, E. If Sloane’s content to liaise with her, there’s no reason not to see it through.”

“There’s every reason, and besides, you’re deluded if you think he’ll go for that. He’s obsessed with
you
, not Jia. He’s a shrewd businessman who won’t stop until he gets what he wants. You said yourself, he thinks his money entitles him to your undivided attention.”

“Well, he can’t have it.” I metaphorically stamped my foot. “And I know it’s still weirdly obscene, but it’s my mind he’s intent on perving at, not me.”

“That’s just as bad. In fact, it’s worse. Who does the fucker think he is to suggest he knows what’s going on in your mind when he doesn’t even fucking know you? He’s got some weird fixation about your work and he thinks that gives him carte blanche to examine your naked soul. It’s twisted. Well, only I get to glimpse you naked—mind, body,
and
soul, so I’ll speak to him on Monday; tell him where to stick his quarter million fucking dollars.”

“You can’t just go wading in, Ethan. Apart from being an insolent, intrusive asshole, he hasn’t actually done anything wrong.”

“He’s been inappropriate.”

“Pillaging someone’s mind may be impolite, but it’s not an offense.”

“You and I both know it’s more than your mind that fascinates him. You saw how his face caved in when I told him we were getting married.”

“He wasn’t as shocked as I was.” I laughed, trying to lighten the mood and steer the conversation away from Sloane. “Where the hell did that come from, anyway? Me? Get married?”

He shot me a look. “What’s so outlandish about you getting married?”

The seriousness of his tone surprised me. I’d assumed the marriage quip was nothing but a point scoring comment, a way to piss Sloane off. I shrugged. “I’ve just never envisioned it for myself. All that big white wedding nonsense just isn’t me.”

“Why ever not?” he snapped incredulously. “I thought that’s what every girl fantasized about—a big white wedding. I know Abby’s dreamt about it for as long as she could talk—which come to think of it, was probably straight from the womb—all the dresses and flowers and horse drawn carriages—”

“And guests,” I interrupted impatiently. “Who the hell would
I
invite to a wedding, E?”

My sudden comment made him wince, his eyes widening as he shrunk back in his seat with realization. “Is that what bothers you?”

“Nothing bothers me.” My tone was sharper than I intended it to be, so I made an effort to soften it before continuing. “I’m just explaining why I’ve never given it any thought.”

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, I turned to stare out the passenger window, wondering how the hell I’d managed to get from one car crash of a conversation I wanted to avoid, straight into another. I mentally tossed a coin, trying to decipher which was the better of two evils, quickly concluding that it was easier to concede to his demands about Sloane than to talk hypothetical weddings. I mean, why? “
I’ll
call Sloane on Monday. I’ll give him some bullshit excuse as to why I can’t see the contract through.”

When I was met with silence instead of the shower of objections I’d anticipated, I turned back to face him. The cogs of his mind seemed to be turning frantically, and I wondered why it was taking him so long to veto my suggestion. Then he surprised me by disregarding what I’d said altogether, focusing instead on an earlier part of our conversation.

“Angel?” His tone was cautious, his brows slanted in deep reflection. “What
is
the deal with the red shoes?”

The question didn’t surprise me. I’d been expecting it since Abby presented me with the gorgeous pair of Christian Louboutins on my birthday. Only problem was, I still didn’t have an answer.

“Honestly? I don’t really know, E. I’ve spent my life trying to figure it out. Hence, the photograph—which is actually one of… I don’t know… hundreds. I used to photograph every pair of red shiny shoes I came across, hoping that I’d find the answer hidden somewhere in the image. I never did. All I know is that when I sleep, they haunt my dreams and have ever since I can remember.”

“Like the Dalmatians?” he asked pensively.

“Yes.” I was surprised he’d remembered what I’d said about the Dalmatians. “Only more so. The red shoes are always a distinct feature of my bad dreams, whereas the dogs… their visibility’s a bit more obscure.”

“How do you mean?”

I felt a little embarrassed. I’d never discussed my dreams with anyone before. “Well, it sounds really bizarre, but they don’t always manifest themselves as dogs, just large, sinister beasts with white coats and black spots. Sometimes they even take the shape of horses, or people with dog faces. Although the form they appear in isn’t always lucid, somehow I just know they’re Dalmatian dogs.” I shrugged. “Don’t ask me how.”

Ethan seemed thoughtful for a while, pausing for a few beats before responding. “It’s hard for me to imagine.”

“Why?”

He stuck his bottom lip out. “I’ve never been much of a dreamer. I mean, I’m sure I
do
dream, I think we all do, I just don’t remember them.”

“Mmm,” I spoke wistfully, leaning back against the headrest. “It must be lovely to sleep undisturbed—peaceful. My dreams are always so draining. In the closet years, especially, I remember how I’d always wake up feeling more exhausted than when I went to sleep.”

He reached over and squeezed my knee. “So is that why you reacted like you did when Abby gave you the shoes, because they sparked some kind of… fear?”

“Yes, I guess.”

“So what made you change your mind? Why did you put them on?”

My cheeks flushed with the memory of being caught out strutting around the bedroom in just the shoes and my underwear. “I figured that unless I could rationalize the fear, I should try to combat it. I’m not twelve anymore. I can’t keep hiding from imaginary horrors. I mean, they’re just shoes, right? And anyway, seeing the
Yard Sale
image recently made me realize something else.”

“What?

“It isn’t any red shoes that trigger the fear. I think it’s just kids’ shoes.”

Ethan glanced at me, his expression more perplexed than ever. “We’re nearly there, baby.”

“Oh Jesus.” I blurted the words as my pulse rate elevated with a sudden rush of overwhelming nerves. “Why didn’t you tell me? How long?” I grappled for my purse to retrieve my nude lip gloss and compact. I’d gone for minimal makeup, hoping to achieve a natural, understated look. I wore jeans with a white shirt speckled in red polka dots and a blue blazer cinched at the waist.

“Calm down, baby. Five minutes. You look amazing,” he added with a huge, proud smile.