Intimate Knowledge Book 1 Part 2 (2 page)

Continuing on in her stream of ingenuous confidences, I make a mental note that she will serve as an excellent disseminator of misinformation should I need that as she clearly cannot keep anything to herself, but she is so guileless it is adorable rather than offensive.  She volunteers the information that she is the second youngest of a large Catholic middle-class clan of older siblings and cousins, predominantly male.  This is why Bernadette is more innocent and sheltered than the usual young women of her age.  She has a wholesome appeal that probably irritates many, but I find her refreshing and she paradoxically lightens my skeptical soul.

“Still pointless mind you, Nick says he’s fallen for someone.  Once Leo likes someone that’s it, he doesn’t look at anyone else.  It’s kinda sweet, really.  Nick says he has got it really bad, this time.  Says he’s never seen him this smitten.  Lucky woman.”  She sighs with a fond and faint longing, revealing that, despite her engagement, a remnant of the teenage crush remains.

As the ‘lucky woman’ in question, I wonder if his feelings for me will be apparent to her.  I wonder how well I will be able to hide my own emotions.  Bernadette continues her chatter throughout lunch, relating some of Leo and Nick’s youthful, endearing escapades and her confidences push my equilibrium to breaking point.  How long am I likely to be able to resist this guy?  Will the outrageous, electric, sexual energy that sparks between us and threatens to overwhelm me be apparent to others?  His best friend says he’s got it bad.  Is he as consumed as me or is it simply the desire to possess that drives him and the electric energy a by-product of that conquering lust?

A foolish part of me unfurls.  The same part that allowed me that moment of straying from police protocol.  I don’t believe in happy ever after and certainly not in crooked crime lord’s being capable of deep, gentle emotions, no matter how hypnotic their voice and soulful their eyes.  Only that foolish part of me challenges that belief.  This is why my response to Leo Gold is so unnerving.  Somehow, a vestige, a small, secret part has skulked inside me and still longs for the fairytale and he is insidiously tapping into that lurking longing.

Bernadette lights up as she looks over my shoulder and the electric tingles throbbing in my womb let me know that she must be looking at Leo approaching.  I try not to show my reaction, but my body starts to hum and I wonder how much Bernadette will notice.  I can feel his approach now and my palms curl as the heat of his body radiates behind me.

“Hey, Leo.”  Bernadette greets him, looking up with a fond, familiar smile.

“Ciao, Chiacchere.”  He answers in a teasing voice and bends to buss her cheek.  Bernadette has not exaggerated their relationship as he greets her like an indulgent older brother.

Chiacchere.
  I scour my relatively advanced, but rusty knowledge of Italian.  I have been brushing up on it for this assignment and the endearment is faintly familiar.  When I remember it, I smile at its aptness. 
Chatterbox.

Bernadette blushes.  “
Leo
.  I’m too old for that nickname.”

He speaks to her but turns his smoky, gold-flecked eyes on me, melting me with the heat of his gaze.  “Not from where I was sitting.  I cringe to think how many of my deep, dark secrets you have divulged to Raisa.  Or even worse my embarrassing moments.”  His voice sounds molten and I know I must be visibly softening under his gaze and nearness.

Bernadette notices the look and heat between us and her eyes widen, but she rebukes him fondly.  “Conceited much, Leo?  What makes you think we were talking about you?”

He doesn’t answer her, keeping his gaze fixed on me.  “Are you ready to go, cara?”  He asks softly.

I am nowhere near ready to go anywhere with this dangerously, beautiful man.

“Sure.”  I lie.  “Just let me get my things.”

Bernadette looks at me and then back at Leo, enlightenment clear on her face.  She is quick to adjust to the situation.  “You won’t need the rest of us, will you, Raisa?  You and Leo can get what you need without us, right?”

She looks up at Leo with a teasing smile and fondness and he returns her smile with a faint blush.  His golden complexion turns just slightly darker and his smile is a little rueful, like he knows his emotions are on display more than he would like.  A sweet heat creeps inside me, an unexpected tenderness stealing through me at the evidence of his vulnerability.  It reminds me that he is considerably younger than I am, a fact his urbane, European sophistication has so far obscured. Is this guy ever going to stop slipping under my defenses?  I take a deep breath and fall back on my distancing strategy.  I am going to need it incessantly the way things are shaping up.

The other two girls are not as convinced by Bernadette’s assertion.  Originally, they wanted out of the project, but now they realize Leo is involved they are annoyed at being dismissed.  I go off to get my things, leaving them to sort it out between them.  When I return they are looking petulant.  Judging by the angry glances they fire at me, Leo has obviously made it clear he wants me to himself.   Both tall, willowy blondes with the confidence only money and breeding can bestow, they don’t get why Leo wants me over them. 

I am with them.  I don’t get it either, but when he takes my arm and looks down at me, the electrical jolt from his touch and the searing heat of his gaze leaves no doubt as to where his passion resides.  The swirling of the electrical, sexual surge is instantly followed by the hardening of my nipples and clit.  This matches his hardness, which I feel as he moves close to me to guide me out through the penthouse.

Get a grip, Gordon.
  You need to use this time to get some information, don’t let the sexual heat cloud your vision.

We walk through the penthouse in silence and I force myself to focus on my surroundings rather than him.  His presence so overpowered me on first meeting that I could think of almost nothing else for the past hours and only took in very few details of the opulent apartment.  It has a quiet luxury.  Long and wide, the open plan living room, dining room and kitchen are spread across the whole length of the substantial premises.  Glass doors, from the floors to the exceptionally high ceiling, dominate the entire distance end to end, looking out to the deck and the magnificent view.  We are surrounded by earthy natural tones and textures - leather, wood, ceramics, marble, granite.  The Italian influence is apparent throughout. 

Varying types of seating in the same Italian leather as in his study are spread around the living room.  There are armchairs, loungers and an L-shaped sofa.  The far wall has cherry wood paneling and I suspect houses an entertainment hub.  A marble, dual facing fireplace semi-separates the living room and dining room, leaving enough space to allow views and movement between all three sprawling rooms.  The granite breakfast bar overlooks a streamlined ebony art deco dining set that I suspect may be an original Mackintosh.  The flooring is cherry wood throughout apart from the light colored marble in the kitchen.

The neutral tones of the floor and walls are relieved by the deep reds and blues of oriental rugs, colored sheepskins and various scattered cushions.  Modern art and photography are subtly displayed on all the walls, including the large hallway and foyer.  Three separate doors lead into the bathrooms and bedrooms and somewhere behind these, I know there must be a door leading out to his study.  Like his study, the overall feel is masculine and comforting.

We reach the hallway and he ushers me out to wait for the elevator.  Once there I look down at the floor, feeling unaccountably shy now we are alone again.  I almost jump when he speaks.

“The gallery is quite a few blocks away.  Are you alright with walking?”

He says nothing, but his gaze strays to my heels and I use this opportunity to break out from under his spell and shift into my cover persona.  This is the fun part of undercover work, putting on a show.

“Sure, why not.  Like I said, I’m not as fragile as I look.”  I look him in the eye and imagine cracking gum as I give him my off hand response, kicking out my hip to lean against the wall, saucily.

He crosses his arms, leans his shoulder against the wall on the other side of the elevator and looks me up and down.  He starts with my heels moving up my entire body to fix me in the eye for a very long moment, before travelling down to pointedly focus on my exposed cleavage.  His lips quirk up at the corners and he speaks with a slow drawl.

“Right, if you say so.  There are certainly parts of you that appear resilient.”

I resist the urge to button up my shirt, while trying to shake the feeling that I have just been summarily stripped naked.  When I enter the elevator ahead of him, he makes a show of placing his eyes unashamedly on my ass.  His searing gaze is so powerful that I almost feel like it is his hands palming me, taking revenge for my taunting on his walkway.  That urbane, European sophistication is definitely giving way to hot-blooded, Latin male.

My heart is pounding as I almost expect him to make a move in the elevator and I am not sure I will be able to summon enough resistance.  He is not so clichéd, however, and we reach the lobby without speaking.  He surprises me by taking my hand in his as we exit the elevator.  Halfway through the foyer he moves behind me in a flowing, graceful movement to switch hands and place his other hand on my hip, guiding me out onto the lightly crowded street.  His touch at my hip is light, but his grasp on my hand is firm and I feel strangely charmed.  I can’t remember the last time a man took my hand, the gesture making me feel very girlish with a strange sense of that fragility I claim not to possess.

Once outside, he releases my hip, but retakes hold of my hand at his side as we walk down the street.  My attempts to ease my hand away from him in order to establish a rougher edge to our interaction are met with a firmer hold.  As we weave through the streets, he strokes my palm and the back of my hand with his thumb and forefinger in an erotic gesture.  The mix of subtle domination and sensual tenderness in this capturing of me has more effect than if he had ground his hard body into me up against the elevator wall.  I am used to dealing with full on sexual aggression from men and this subtle sexuality is unraveling me.  I swallow and take deep breaths and start running my movie projector protection once again.

Chapter Six

I keep a firm hold of Raisa’s hand as we move through the streets towards the gallery.  Traversing a gamut of emotions since we left the apartment from shy, to smartass, to vulnerable, she is now back to using that distancing technique she has down pat.  It is really starting to piss me off the way she can go to it any time she wants.  She gets this faraway look and I instantly feel a barrier.  She is not immune to my touch, however, and I can tell my stroking on her hand affected her enough to make her sink into her technique.  She tried to escape, but no way was I letting go.  I like holding her hand, despite her distance.  It feels soft and warm in mine and gives the lie to her claim that she is not that fragile.  Not only is her hand physically delicate, but I can tell that the innocent intimacy of holding her hand has unbalanced her.  Good.  I need to keep her unbalanced if I am going to break through her defenses.

When we reach the gallery Raisa notices the closed sign.  She frowns and states the obvious.  “It’s closed.”  She peers through the glass door.  “I didn’t realize it closed in the afternoons.”

I press the buzzer and wait for the owner to let us in. “It doesn’t usually.  I asked the owner for a private viewing.  I thought you could concentrate better without other people.”  I lean closer and lower my voice.  “And I wanted to enjoy it alone with you.”

She bites her lip and swallows, but offers me no response.  The gallery owner lets us in and greets us.  “Mr. Gold, Ms. Gordon, lovely to see you both.”

I nod.  “Thank you for the private viewing at such short notice.  Ms. Gordon needs to see it to get some ideas for a design for the unveiling.  She is one of my grandmother’s pledges.  They are in charge of the decoration and presentation.”

“My pleasure.  Please go in.  If you need any help don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks.”  Raisa smiles at him.  “We have met before, of course.”

He smiles back at her.  “Yes.  We are used to seeing you here, Ms. Gordon.

“Raisa, please.”

“Very well, Raisa.  Please enjoy the exhibit.”  He beams at her, delighted by her warm smile and approach.  I feel unreasonably jealous that she so easily graces him with a charm she is denying me. 

He hands us brochures and Raisa uses the action to break our hold and walk towards the exhibit.  I allow this, but follow her and place my hand at her nape, easing under her hair.  The braid feels heavy and silky and I am reminded of my desire to draw her by it to my bedroom.  Promising myself that luxury soon, I start a slow sensual caress with my thumb.  She stops and stands still at my touch.  I can hear her breathing grow ragged as she makes a show of looking at the brochure.  My pulse pounds knowing that she is aroused to disorientation by my touch.  I bend to speak close to her ear, my breath fanning her hair.

“Where would you like to start, cara?”  I put my other hand on her brochure and rotate it so it is right side up.  I do it to make the point that I see her confusion, letting her know that I am aware of her attempts to hide her response to me.  She stiffens.  Too late, I realize I have pushed my luck.  She lifts her head and her eyes are alight with temper.  Temper, I suspect, that is directed at her as much me.  She moves away from my caress and hold at her nape.  Throwing me a barely, concealed glare, she walks towards the start of the exhibit, tossing over her shoulder.

“At the beginning, where else?”

Her temper is such a marked difference from the last time I saw her here that it is an even bigger turn on.  Images of angry sex with her harden my already stiff erection.  I quell the urge to put that braid to use after all and follow her towards the exhibit.  She starts to soften as soon as we reach the artworks.  They are a range of paintings, sculptures and photographs.  She seems transfixed at first as she wanders between them and I know I have slipped from her immediate consciousness.  I am transported back to when I first saw her, the profound emotions the sight of her arouse, hooking me as poignantly now as they did then.  I want to move behind her, put my arms around her and pull her back against me in a possessive, sheltering embrace.  The longing is so strong I can almost taste her, almost feel the heat of her.  The urge to protect her steals over me, blocking out all other thoughts.  Desire for her totally overpowers me when she stands in front of her painting of choice.