Page 20 of From West, With Regret (NYC Billionaires #2)
THIRTEEN
LONDON
By the time I make it to The Veiled Door, the sun has nearly set. Darkness is about to take over the city, with only the artificial light keeping things bright.
I’m still carrying the dress Julianna gave me when I pull open the door. Alden, West’s driver, is sitting in his usual spot at the end of the bar, sipping his usual seltzer water. He immediately spots me and greets me with a small smile and a nod.
It’s funny how he’s always here, hiding in plain sight. To others, he’s just another customer. I thought he was the first time I stumbled into The Veiled Door.
Tonight, the bar is packed, wall-to-wall.
Crowds of people are gathered near the counter, hoping for the chance to catch Lewis’s attention behind the bar.
Him and another bartender are working away like a well-oiled machine.
They glide back and forth like ducks in water, never missing a step.
Lewis moves from one end to the other, reaching for a vodka bottle set on the green-lit shelf on the back wall.
Spinning around to face the crowd again, he flings the bottle into the air, making it fly from behind his back and over his shoulder before he looks up and catches it.
Tipping it upside down, he pours a steady stream of the clear liquid into the metal mixer set on the edge of the counter, not bothering to acknowledge the people who gasp and clap in awe of his incredible talent.
I force my anxiety down and push my way through the crowd to the back of the bar.
“Hello, Miss Walker,” Alden greets, stopping me in my tracks.
I haven’t heard anyone call me by my adoptive name in a long time.
“Alden.” I crack a smile. “I didn’t know you knew my maiden name.”
“Mr. Knight told me.”
Hearing West’s name reignites my anticipation at seeing him. My stomach flutters. I begin looking around, behind Alden and toward the narrow staircase leading to my studio.
“He stepped out back to take a call,” Alden says, pulling my attention away. “He’ll probably be back in a few minutes.”
“Oh. Do you mind telling him I’m upstairs then?”
“Of course.”
I move past Alden and duck my head as I push my way through another group of people near the opening in the bar, leading to the open doorway to the stairs.
I always keep the door propped open, and I pop my ear buds in to drown out the darkness that plays at the edges of my mind.
Although I’m supposed to be working on sketches for the bar, I keep wandering to the sheets tucked into the back of my portfolio.
I hang the dress Julianna gave me on the shelf to my right—the one filled with toilet paper and paper towels.
I don’t know how long West will take before he comes up here, but I need to look at the drawing I abandoned yesterday. The pull it has on me is suffocating.
I keep my playlist low so I can still hear what’s going on in the bar below.
The music playing is a little more upbeat than usual, the deeper bass and the beating of drums vibrating into the soles of my black and white chucks.
I pinch the paper between my fingers and slide it out from the back of my portfolio.
The second my eyes land on the palm covered in specks of dirt sketched on my sheet of paper, I close them. The memory flashes in my mind. Cold, wet hands touching warm skin. The soft grating of dirt, and the scent of wet earth surrounding me.
Comfort and safety wrap around me, but then it’s quickly replaced with panic. My neck prickles with fear, and I shiver.
I’m here, London. I’m here.
His light, cracked voice is a whisper in the back of my mind. Not the voice of a man, but a boy. A teenager, maybe. What once was the smell of fresh earth is now laced with the metallic, acrid scent of blood. Another puzzle piece I have yet to put together.
I open my eyes to focus on the drawing of hands. Do they belong to the voice in my head?
Grabbing a piece of charcoal, I add a few more dots of dirt and add the detail under his fingernails that suggests he’s been digging in the ground for days.
They’re beautiful, I think, as I add the final touch.
The mixture of smells dissipates, and all I’m left with is the scent of mint, wood, and charcoal.
I’m lost in smudging the charcoal over the fingers, adding shadows, when I know I’m no longer alone. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I feel footsteps inside the closet of a room. I drop the piece of charcoal quickly and flip the sheet of paper over.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” West’s muffled voice says behind me.
These earbuds really aren’t that great at drowning out outside noise.
I already feel his body heat behind me. Not like there is much space for him to move with the door shut.
I scramble to tuck my drawing in the back of my portfolio, and I slam it shut before spinning around to face him.
I’m met with his broad chest. My eyes fall to his shirt, open at the top, revealing hardened muscle.
He’s smells good. Too good.
My thighs clench and heat expands in my belly.
We’ve never been this close, not even in here.
Somehow the room feels impossibly smaller. West’s towering frame takes up nearly all the wiggle room, and his growingly familiar scent of mint and leather is overwhelming. I can practically taste it.
“What was that?” I ask him, plucking one of the buds from my ear.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he repeats. “I was on a call I couldn’t pull away from.”
“It’s okay. Doesn’t surprise me.”
“No?” he asks playfully.
“You’re a billionaire bar owner. Aren’t you always talking to someone?”
He chuckles, his eyes flashing with amusement. “Would it bother you if I was always on calls?”
“No.” My heart flutters. “Why would I care what calls you’re on?”
“You may. You may not.” He shrugs.
“From the look on your face, it was pretty important.”
“No.” He frowns, shaking his head. “I just needed to get some facts straight and get a better understanding of something concerning a conversation I had earlier.”
Conversation with who? I wonder.
His expression relaxes, no longer teasing. It’s then I notice the weight of today in his body. I shouldn’t care who he talks to or what calls he makes and takes. But curiosity digs at me, and I do care. I decide not to ask though, since it really isn’t my business.
Silence swells inside the tiny space, and his heat surrounds me.
Realizing how close we are, I take a step back, but it’s of no use. I’m met with the open shelf behind me that my portfolio sits on. I reach behind me and grip onto the shelf’s metal edge.
“What’s in the bag?” He nods toward the dress hanging off the shelf, but his eyes catch my attention, tormented and weighted by the thoughts going on in his mind.
“Oh.” Heat fills my cheeks as I nervously glance toward the bag. “It’s a dress Julianna lent me for girls’ night this weekend. I didn’t have time to try it on or stop by Selene’s apartment to drop it off.”
His jaw twitches as he stares at the bag before he finally tears his eyes away.
“Here,” I say, wanting to change the subject. “I’ll show you what I’ve been working on.” I move to turn around but can’t with how close he is.
His eyes flash under the dim lighting as he looks around. “We need to find another solution for your studio.”
“It’s fine, really,” I brush him off. “I’ve worked under worse conditions.”
“Oh, really?” He raises his eyebrows, revealing more of his blue eyes. His beard is noticeably shorter than every other time I’ve seen him. With every day that passes, he’s sharing more and more of his face with me, and that thought makes my heart leap in my chest.
“Yes.” I suck in a breath.
His eyes fall to my mouth.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” He lowers his voice .
“It’s the truth. In college, I once drew all of my assignments under my bed for nearly the whole semester.”
“Why?”
“Because my roommate was never shy about bringing over her boyfriends, and she had a lot of them.”
“Huh. Why didn’t you just tell her it made you uncomfortable?”
“I did, but she didn’t care. For a while, I would just escape and draw somewhere else, but I refused to give up my side of the room just so she could have sex. I thought if I hung around enough, she would get the hint and stop.”
“And did she?” He’s standing so close to me, his chest is only inches from mine, that his heat pours into me, and my eyes fall to his necklace. The flash of the memory of dirt-covered hands flickers in my mind. I blink it away.
“At first,” I answer. “But then she stopped caring whether I was there or not.”
He laughs as the corners of his mouth lift. “What did you do then?”
“I put in my ear buds.” I point to my ear still filled with music. My playlist is still going, playing barely above a whisper.
“I’m curious.” He raises his hand. His fingertips graze the shell of my ear, and I practically melt.
My entire body tingles, and my nipples harden under my thin Nirvana T-shirt.
Suddenly, I’m aware of how I look. My long hair is piled loosely on top of my head, barely held together by my favorite green silk scrunchie.
Having only taken the time this morning to put on one coat of mascara and a miniscule eyeliner wing, my face is practically bare.
I know it looks like I’ve rolled out of bed, but West doesn’t seem to mind.
I’m frozen, knowing we’re crossing into new territory.
We’re testing the boundaries. The teasing thrill burning in his eyes tells me as much.
Then again, I think we already crossed into it the other day on the yacht.
I teased him. I pushed the boundaries because I crave his touch.
I’ve never been touched by him, but it feels as if I’m missing it.
How do you miss something you never had?
How do you crave someone you’ve never been with?
Everything I’m feeling is thrilling and new, like I’m suddenly eighteen and losing my virginity all over again.