All In
Page 2
She blushed at me and I wanted to f**k her again.
No, that’s not right. I wanted to make love to her...slowly. I could just picture her gorgeous body stretched out naked for me to pleasure in every way I could manage it. All mine. For me alone. Brynne made me feel everything—
“Would you like to come in and see what I’m working on? Do you have time?”
I brought her hand to my lips and breathed the scent of her skin. “I thought you’d never ask. Lead on, Professor Bennett.”
She laughed. “Someday maybe. I’ll wear one of those black robes and glasses and do my hair up in a bun. I’ll give lectures on proper conserving techniques, and you can sit in the back and distract me with inappropriate comments and leering.”
“Ahhh, and will you summon me to your office for chastisement then? Will you detain me, Professor Bennett? I am sure we can negotiate a deal for me working off my disrespectful behavior.” I put my head down toward her lap.
“You are insane,” she told me, giggling and pushing me back. “Let’s go inside.”
We ran through the rain together, my umbrella shielding us, her slim shape tucked against me, smelling of flowers and sunshine and making me feel like the luckiest man on the planet.
She introduced me to the old security guard who was clearly in love with her, and led me back into a great, studio-like room. Wide tables and easels were set up with good lighting and plenty of open space. She brought me up to a large oil painting of a dark haired, solemn woman with startling blue eyes, holding a book.
“Ethan, please say hello to Lady Percival. Lady Percival, my boyfriend, Ethan Blackstone.” She smiled at the painting like they were best friends.
I offered a half bow to the painting and said, “My lady.”
“Isn’t she amazing?” Brynne asked.
I studied the image pragmatically. “Well, she is an arresting figure to be sure. She looks like she has a story behind her blue eyes.” I peered closer to look at the book she held with the front visible. The words were hard to read but once I realized they were French it was somewhat easier.
“I’ve been working on the section with the book in particular,” Brynne said. “She suffered some heat damage in a fire decades ago and it’s been a struggle getting the cooked on lacquer off that book. It’s special, I just know it.”
I looked again and made out the word Chrétien. “It’s in French. That is the name Christian right there.” I pointed.
Her eyes got big and her voice excited. “It is?”
“Yes. And I’m sure this says, Le Conte du Graal. The Story of the Grail?” I looked at Brynne and shrugged. “The woman in the painting is called Lady Percival right? Isn’t Percival the knight who found the Holy Grail in the King Arthur legend?”
“Good God, Ethan!” She grabbed my arm in excitement. “Of course! Percival… it’s her story. You figured it out! Lady Percival is holding a very rare book indeed. I knew it was something special! One of the first King Arthur stories ever written down; all the way back in the twelfth century. That book is Chrétien de Troyes’, The Story of Perceval and the Grail.” She gazed at the painting, her face glowing with happiness and pure joy, and I reached for my mobile and snapped a picture of her. A magnificent profile shot of Brynne smiling at her Lady Percival.
“Well, I’m glad I could help you, baby.”
She leapt at me and kissed me on the lips, her arms wrapped tightly around me. It was the most amazing feeling in the world.
“You did! You helped me so much. I’m going to call the Mallerton Society today and tell them what you discovered. They will be interested I’m sure. There’s his birthday exhibit coming in next month…I wonder if they’ll want to include this…”
Brynne rambled, excitedly telling me everything I could ever have wanted to know about rare books, paintings of rare books, and the conserving of paintings of rare books. Her face flushed with the thrill of solving a mystery but that smile and kiss was worth its weight in gold to me.
…I opened my eyes and tried to get my bearings. My head felt like I’d been smashed with a board. A half empty bottle of Van Gogh stared at me. Djarum butts were sprinkled atop my desk where my cheek was stuck fast, filling my nose with stale cloves and tobacco. I peeled my face off the desk top and propped my head in my hands, supported on firmly planted elbows.
The same desk where I’d laid her out and f**ked her only a few hours before. Yes, f**ked. That had been pure, unapologetic shagging, and so good my eyes stung at the remembrance. The light on my mobile blinked madly. I flipped it over so I didn’t have to look. I knew none of the calls were from her anyway.
Brynne wouldn’t call me. Of that I was certain. The only question was how long before I tried calling her.
It was nighttime now. Dark outside. Where was she? Was she horribly hurt and upset? Crying? Being comforted by her friends? Hating me? Yeah, probably all of those, and I couldn’t go to her and make it better either. She doesn’t want you.
So this is what it feels like. Being in love. It was time to face some truths about Brynne and what I’d done to her. So I stayed in my office and faced it. I couldn’t go home. There was too much of her there already, and seeing her things would only drive me utterly mad. I’d stay here tonight and sleep on sheets that didn’t have her scent all over them. Didn’t have her in them. A wave of panic sliced into me and I had to move.
I heaved my arse off the chair and stood up. I saw the scrap of pink fabric on the floor at my feet and knew what it was. The lacey knickers I’d peeled off her during that session on my desk.
Fuck! Remembering where I was when that message from her dad came through. Buried inside her. It was agonizing to touch something that had last been against her skin. I fingered the fabric and put them in my pocket. A shower was calling my name.
I went through the back door to the attached suite set-up with a bed, a bath, a TV and a small kitchen—everything top of the line. The perfect bachelor crash pad for the busy professional man who works so late there’s no point in driving home.
Or more like a f**k pad. This is where I brought women if I wanted to f**k them. Always after hours of course, and they never stayed the whole night. I got my “dates” the hell out long before dawn. All of this was before I found Brynne. I never wanted to bring her here. She was different from the beginning. Special. My beautiful American girl.
No, that’s not right. I wanted to make love to her...slowly. I could just picture her gorgeous body stretched out naked for me to pleasure in every way I could manage it. All mine. For me alone. Brynne made me feel everything—
“Would you like to come in and see what I’m working on? Do you have time?”
I brought her hand to my lips and breathed the scent of her skin. “I thought you’d never ask. Lead on, Professor Bennett.”
She laughed. “Someday maybe. I’ll wear one of those black robes and glasses and do my hair up in a bun. I’ll give lectures on proper conserving techniques, and you can sit in the back and distract me with inappropriate comments and leering.”
“Ahhh, and will you summon me to your office for chastisement then? Will you detain me, Professor Bennett? I am sure we can negotiate a deal for me working off my disrespectful behavior.” I put my head down toward her lap.
“You are insane,” she told me, giggling and pushing me back. “Let’s go inside.”
We ran through the rain together, my umbrella shielding us, her slim shape tucked against me, smelling of flowers and sunshine and making me feel like the luckiest man on the planet.
She introduced me to the old security guard who was clearly in love with her, and led me back into a great, studio-like room. Wide tables and easels were set up with good lighting and plenty of open space. She brought me up to a large oil painting of a dark haired, solemn woman with startling blue eyes, holding a book.
“Ethan, please say hello to Lady Percival. Lady Percival, my boyfriend, Ethan Blackstone.” She smiled at the painting like they were best friends.
I offered a half bow to the painting and said, “My lady.”
“Isn’t she amazing?” Brynne asked.
I studied the image pragmatically. “Well, she is an arresting figure to be sure. She looks like she has a story behind her blue eyes.” I peered closer to look at the book she held with the front visible. The words were hard to read but once I realized they were French it was somewhat easier.
“I’ve been working on the section with the book in particular,” Brynne said. “She suffered some heat damage in a fire decades ago and it’s been a struggle getting the cooked on lacquer off that book. It’s special, I just know it.”
I looked again and made out the word Chrétien. “It’s in French. That is the name Christian right there.” I pointed.
Her eyes got big and her voice excited. “It is?”
“Yes. And I’m sure this says, Le Conte du Graal. The Story of the Grail?” I looked at Brynne and shrugged. “The woman in the painting is called Lady Percival right? Isn’t Percival the knight who found the Holy Grail in the King Arthur legend?”
“Good God, Ethan!” She grabbed my arm in excitement. “Of course! Percival… it’s her story. You figured it out! Lady Percival is holding a very rare book indeed. I knew it was something special! One of the first King Arthur stories ever written down; all the way back in the twelfth century. That book is Chrétien de Troyes’, The Story of Perceval and the Grail.” She gazed at the painting, her face glowing with happiness and pure joy, and I reached for my mobile and snapped a picture of her. A magnificent profile shot of Brynne smiling at her Lady Percival.
“Well, I’m glad I could help you, baby.”
She leapt at me and kissed me on the lips, her arms wrapped tightly around me. It was the most amazing feeling in the world.
“You did! You helped me so much. I’m going to call the Mallerton Society today and tell them what you discovered. They will be interested I’m sure. There’s his birthday exhibit coming in next month…I wonder if they’ll want to include this…”
Brynne rambled, excitedly telling me everything I could ever have wanted to know about rare books, paintings of rare books, and the conserving of paintings of rare books. Her face flushed with the thrill of solving a mystery but that smile and kiss was worth its weight in gold to me.
…I opened my eyes and tried to get my bearings. My head felt like I’d been smashed with a board. A half empty bottle of Van Gogh stared at me. Djarum butts were sprinkled atop my desk where my cheek was stuck fast, filling my nose with stale cloves and tobacco. I peeled my face off the desk top and propped my head in my hands, supported on firmly planted elbows.
The same desk where I’d laid her out and f**ked her only a few hours before. Yes, f**ked. That had been pure, unapologetic shagging, and so good my eyes stung at the remembrance. The light on my mobile blinked madly. I flipped it over so I didn’t have to look. I knew none of the calls were from her anyway.
Brynne wouldn’t call me. Of that I was certain. The only question was how long before I tried calling her.
It was nighttime now. Dark outside. Where was she? Was she horribly hurt and upset? Crying? Being comforted by her friends? Hating me? Yeah, probably all of those, and I couldn’t go to her and make it better either. She doesn’t want you.
So this is what it feels like. Being in love. It was time to face some truths about Brynne and what I’d done to her. So I stayed in my office and faced it. I couldn’t go home. There was too much of her there already, and seeing her things would only drive me utterly mad. I’d stay here tonight and sleep on sheets that didn’t have her scent all over them. Didn’t have her in them. A wave of panic sliced into me and I had to move.
I heaved my arse off the chair and stood up. I saw the scrap of pink fabric on the floor at my feet and knew what it was. The lacey knickers I’d peeled off her during that session on my desk.
Fuck! Remembering where I was when that message from her dad came through. Buried inside her. It was agonizing to touch something that had last been against her skin. I fingered the fabric and put them in my pocket. A shower was calling my name.
I went through the back door to the attached suite set-up with a bed, a bath, a TV and a small kitchen—everything top of the line. The perfect bachelor crash pad for the busy professional man who works so late there’s no point in driving home.
Or more like a f**k pad. This is where I brought women if I wanted to f**k them. Always after hours of course, and they never stayed the whole night. I got my “dates” the hell out long before dawn. All of this was before I found Brynne. I never wanted to bring her here. She was different from the beginning. Special. My beautiful American girl.
