Page 38 of From West, With Regret (NYC Billionaires #2)

TWENTY-FOUR

LONDON

Hours later, I’m caught up in finishing my nineteenth piece for The Veiled Door.

West ran out a while ago to check on a few of his bars and stop by his office, promising he’d be back with lunch to spend the rest of the day wrapped up in me.

Part of me must admit that while I love the amount of space West has given me and being here in his place, surrounded by everything that makes up who he is, I miss the noise and company of the bar.

I’ve grown close to Alden, Lewis, and Piper, among some of the other frequent customers.

It’s an adjustment, and I know it will only take some time.

I’m jamming out to Dua Lipa when West comes back.

I remove my ear buds as he sets two bags of takeout on the large table. He crosses the room to where I am on the floor, looking down at the drawing I’ve made. He sits beside me, bending his legs, resting his forearms on his knees, facing the opposite direction.

“How are you liking the studio?”

I grin and sit back on my heels, giving him a quick kiss. “I’m loving it.”

“Good.” He gives me an ear-reaching grin, one that adds life to his blue eyes. He rests his chin on his shoulder as he gazes down at my work. “What number is this one?”

“Nineteen.” I study it, falling in love with it even more.

It’s a path in Central Park. Although it’s charcoal on parchment, I imagine the changing colors of the leaves falling to the ground.

The black shine of the wrought iron fence overlooking the pond.

The sun’s rays peeking through the branches.

“Almost finished,” West points out, his eyes darting up to mine.

“Yeah.” I sigh.

The moment settles between us. I’m almost complete with my twenty pieces, then comes the reopening of The Veiled Door. Followed by uncertainty.

I don’t know what’s going to happen once I’ve finished working for West. This was never meant to be a permanent situation, but so many things have changed since we first met.

Will he want me to keep working for him, designing pieces for his other countless bars?

Or is this it? The Veiled Door and then I’m finished, going back to selling pieces online?

I put the worry aside as he shifts himself and plants one hand to the floor, straightening his arm. He’s wearing another well-tailored suit. This time, his suit jacket and pants are a deep emerald color. I love them because they bring out the intensity of his blue eyes.

“At this point, we’ll be hosting The Veiled Door’s grand reopening next week.” I laugh, not wanting to make any of that true, but if it’s what West would want, then I would try to finish the last piece this coming week.

“Possibly.” West’s grin twitches. “Though next weekend won’t be any good, considering we won’t be here.”

I pull my brows together. “What do you mean? ”

Pulling his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket, he taps the screen a few times before handing it to me.

It’s open on an email.

Hello Mr. Knight,

I first want to apologize for emailing you later than I had originally anticipated.

It’s been a busy time for me and my team as we prepare for the opening of my new gallery at the end of the month.

Your friend, Holt Capuleti, reached out to me a while back and told me your situation.

He explained that not only does your girlfriend admire my work, but that she’s also an artist herself.

I must admit that when he told me her name, I couldn’t help myself, so I looked her up online and, wow, her work is phenomenal! You are one lucky man, Mr. Knight.

I would absolutely love the opportunity to meet her and hope you will both accept my offer to preview my gallery this next coming weekend.

I will have my team forward you the address, along with the date and time in a follow up email once I receive your reply.

I’m looking forward to hearing from you and London!

Warmest regards,

Emily Raptur e

“Holy shit.” I gasp, covering my mouth and looking up at West, wide-eyed, tears welling in them.

West grimaces. “I hope those are happy tears.”

“Yes.” I nod enthusiastically, bursting with disbelief. “Of course, they are.” I drop West’s phone and reach for his arm. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This can’t be real.”

He chuckles, the lines in the corners of his eyes deepening. “You just read the email yourself. It’s all there in black and white.”

“I can’t believe you did this for me,” I gush.

West shrugs. “With a little help from Holt.”

“I’ll have to thank him later.” I grin. Then I lean forward and kiss West, because that’s all I can think to do. That’s all I want to do.

“Is this you thanking me?” he asks, wrapping his hand around the back of my head.

“Not yet.” I smile against his mouth and gently push him back onto the floor.

Straddling him, I tuck my long, black hair behind my ear and lower my face until it’s just above his. I roll my hips, rubbing myself over his already swelling cock.

“This is my way of saying thank you,” I tell him, feeling the groan rumbling from his chest vibrate through my body.

His hands move to the bottom of my shirt. I raise my arms up over my head as he pulls it off. I’m sitting on top of him, bare from the waist up. Holding onto my hips, he flips us over until it’s my back against the floor instead of his.

“You’re welcome.” He shrugs out of his suit jacket, then loosens his tie.

Raising my arms above my head, he wraps his tie around my wrists, tying my hands together.

I’m writhing for him, unable to lie still. “I want you, West.”

“I want you, Dimples.” His voice is low, slithering over my skin like velvet. “You have no idea how bad I want to sink my cock into that sweet pussy of yours. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

After picking up a piece of my charcoal, his heated gaze travels down the length of my body before stopping on my stomach.

He flicks his eyes up to me with a mischievous, devious grin that makes my heart flutter.

Pressing the tip of the charcoal to my stomach, he draws a line from the top of my belly button before sliding over to my breast. My mouth falls open.

I’ve never felt anything like it. I’m tugging at the restraints around my wrists, arching my back off the floor.

Wearing nothing but my leggings, I know I’m already soaking wet.

“You’re absolutely beautiful, London.” He admires his hand creating circles around my breast.

He’s drawing me, paying delicate attention to every detail, outlining my curves with precise measure. He circles the charcoal around the bottom swell of my breast before gliding it up over the mound and circling my already-peaked nipple. It’s tantalizing, sending shivers down the length of my body.

I let out a moan. “Oh, God, West. Please .”

Gasping for air, I look down as he drags the charcoal from my nipple to my chest, directly over my heart. Once there, he draws his initials.

W. K.

Then he draws a simple heart around it.

“I tell you you’re mine all the time,” he says, lifting his gaze to mine. He tosses the charcoal aside, climbs over my body, parting my legs with his knee. “But the truth is I’m yours.”

“West,” I breathe, unable to control my movements. “I am yours.”

My words catch him for a moment, stealing two beats of breaths he should be taking, then he starts moving again. He’s already lowering himself, grazing his chin between my breasts and down my stomach. His eyes have transformed, filled with hunger and need.

He presses his mouth over my center, kissing it, then licking it, and my eyes flutter shut as I tilt my head back into the hardwood floor.

“Eyes on me, Dimples.” West growls against my heated skin, fisting the top of my leggings before tugging them down. “Eyes on me.”

Yes, sir.