If I had the ability to laugh, I would, but the way he’s looking at me is anything but funny.
“It’s kind of important, I guess.” Even to my ears, I don’t sound so sure. “I should probably admit before we get there that Lily Bay Manor is a major sponsor of the event.”
His brows rise. “Lily Bay Manor isn’t even open yet.”
“No,” I agree, stepping forward and pulling the door closed behind me, trying to take away some of the temptation to stay home and ride his handsome face. “It’s not, but it means we get the first choice of any of the work on display, and I thought you could help me pick some pieces for the place.”
“Me?” He takes a step forward and unconsciously takes my hand. His fingers thread through mine for mere moments before he moves to the side and motions for me to take the stairs first. “I don’t know a thing about art, Macs. You’re taking the wrong person if you think I’ll be any help.”
‘No, I’m taking the perfect person,’ I think, still feeling the phantom touch of his hand in mine.
“Then you’re in good company because I only ever buy what I like. Isn’t that what art is all about?” We descend the stairs slowly, neither of us in any rush. “You see something created by another, and you feel an emotional connection to it. Be that a song, a play, a book, or a painting.” I open the door that leads out to the side alley and wait for Ellis to shut it behind us. He doesn’t take my hand this time, but he doesn’t have to because he is alongside me, our arms brushing as we walk, our fingers occasionally catching in brief but delicious seconds of contact. It feels like flirting without words.
“But what if you don’t see what the artist meant for you to see? I sometimes look at works of art and see nothing but swirls of colour with no rhyme or reason, while others wax lyrical about depth and technique and all that other stuff.”
I smile; I can’t help it. I love how forthright he is with me. How unashamed he is of sharing his views without holding back or trying to impress. Ellis being comfortable in his honesty with me is more intimate than most others get with someone they’ve known for years.
“Maybe all you’re supposed to see is swirls of colour, but those others, because of the experiences that shape them, take something else away from it. Life would be very average if everyone saw it through the same lens. I bet even the artists themselves had very different emotions while creating to those who view it second-hand.”
Ellis’s little finger hooks through mine and holds it for a second.
“For someone who claims not to know much about art, you sure do sound like someone who does.”
I don’t answer because all I can focus on is that single place we touch, and as if he knows it, he lets go, releasing me from his spell.
“I really don’t. Like I said, I just buy what I like. And if something you see triggers that same feeling in you, let me know, and we’ll get it, even if it ends up being a canvass only covered in swirls of colour.”
I turn my head to look at him, and he glances at me with a small smile curving the corner of his full lips.
“And if I don’t see anything there that I like?”
“Then we return to plan B, and you can take me home. After all, someone told me staying in is the new going out.”
He stops dead, grabs my arm, and does an about-turn, tugging me along with him. I can’t help the bark of laughter that splutters from my lips, startling a lady passing us by.
“Sorry,” I mutter to her, holding my free hand up in apology while attempting to dig my heels into the cobbles and stop Ellis from dragging me back up the street. “Ell, stop.” My laughter halts my words, and I’m forced to grab hold of a nearby wall. “You realise people are looking at us, right? They think you’re abducting me against my will.”
“I am, but not against your will. You want to head back home as much as I do.”
I manage to slip my hand free of his grasp and take a few retreating steps back as he prowls forward, a teasing glint in his eye.
Both hands up before me, I warn, “Nuh-uh. This is what people who date are supposed to do. They go out. They don’t spend every free second in bed. They make memories together.”
“I like the memories we make together in my bed.”
I shake my head and stifle another laugh.
“So do I, but—”
“But what? You don’t really have a valid argument, Macs. Give in. You know you want to.” Ellis waggles his eyebrows playfully and I almost, almost, give in.
“One hour,” I bargain. “One hour and then we can leave.”
He purses his lips, pretending to think over my offer.
“Thirty-minutes.”
“Forty-five.”
“Deal.” His hand snaps out, and he tugs me into his chest.
Playful Ellis is impossible to resist. When I think I’ve seen every side of him, he shows me another, and with each one, impossibly deeper I fall.
His gaze drops from my eyes to my lips, and if we stand here much longer, things might become indecent.
“The quicker we get there, the quicker we can leave.”
That does the trick. Whereas moments ago, he was trying to drag me back home, now I almost have to jog to keep up with him. His stride quickens, and he pulls me towards the road where the gallery is at top speed.
“I didn’t mean we had to sprint,” I pant through both my laughter and the added exertion.
“No time to waste,” he instructs, but the smile he gives me is devilish with delight, and finally his pace slows.
By the time we get to the gallery, I have my laughter and breathing under control. That is until Ellis slips into a narrow alleyway and tugs me in after him. My back hits the cold stone wall of the random building, and Ellis’s hot mouth is on mine before I can even protest. Not that I would ever complain about Ellis kissing me.
“What was that for?” I heave through panting breaths when he finally lets me come up for air.
“That was just me sealing the deal.” His smirk is dark and devious. Taking slow, measured steps back, he moves far enough away to let me see him rearrange himself in his loose-fitting trousers, before running a hand through his hair, and slowly resuming his backwards walk towards the street. The whole time, his eyes never leave mine.
“You’re a dangerous man, Ellis Probert. Has anyone ever told you that?”
He’s silent for a beat, his gaze becoming more penetrating, his eyes seeming to search mine, and then, in a low voice filled with sincerity, he answers, “No. I think you’re the dangerous one, Macs.”
He blinks, and the sombreness disappears to be replaced by the teasing and mischievous man he’s been all night.
“Now, get your arse out here. We’ve got some art to buy, sharpish. Because, Mr Evans, I’ve got plans for you.”
I’ve only ever met Elin Rogers once, and that was the day I stumbled upon her little seafront gallery, but when Ellis and I walk inside the bright and airy space, she greets me like an old friend.
“Macsen, I’m so glad you could make it, and thank you so much for sponsoring tonight’s event.” She pulls me in for a hug, speaking her next words directly into my ear. “Ocean also wants to convey his thanks. He was overwhelmed by your generosity.”