“Are you vain?” His eyes plowed in so deep that it was impossible to hide.
I shook my head. “I have nothing to be vain about.”
“That’s not true. You’re very beautiful, and you’re extremely talented. You’re in a league of your own. You have plenty to be vain about.”
“I don’t see myself like that. I am overweight. And my technique’s somewhat underdeveloped.”
“I disagree with all of that. Technique’s important, but one doesn’t want to become a slave to it.”
I opened my mouth in surprise. “My lecturer said something to that effect.”
“I think I read it somewhere,” he said, taking a sip of his drink.
I shifted subtly in my chair, hoping I wouldn’t leave a damp mark because I was melting from his steamy gaze.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Um… for success?”
His lips curved. “I meant to ask whether you wished to eat.”
I appreciated that he hadn’t made fun of my naivety.
“Oh. Sorry.”
He shook his head. “No need. Be yourself, Penelope.”
That wasn’t easy around him, especially with that deep husk caressing my name as though he were making love to it.
“I’m not hungry. But I probably should eat,” I said.
“Good. I’ve made a reservation at the Ritz.” He looked down at my empty glass. “Shall we go?”
I rose, hoping that the heat coming out of my vagina wasn’t obvious.
He towered over me and placed his hand gently on the middle of my back as we exited the bar.
The night air was refreshing and welcoming. I took a deep breath and tried to walk steadily, even though my high heels, being new, gave me grief as they dug into my ankles. We arrived at a shiny black Bentley, where a very tall man awaited us. He greeted me with a nod and opened the door for me.
I slid in, and my skirt, sticking to the leather, rode up, revealing my chubby thighs. I lifted my body and wiggled the skirt down.
Blake gave me a subtle smile.
11
* * *
BLAKE
NORMALLY, CHEAP PERFUME made me recoil. But radiating off Penelope’s milky skin, it was an aphrodisiac. Her ill-fitting silk shirt did little to hide those curves and those tantalizingly erect nipples, which had me salivating from the moment she entered the bar. In an effort to hide my rising member, I adjusted my position.
Sitting so close to her had made me ravenous. That was new for me. I didn’t usually feel this way around pretty women. It took more than an attractive face and beautiful curves for me to have that reaction. But knowing that Penelope was pure added that extra allure. I’d never had the desire to fuck a virgin before, but Penelope had become an obsession.
Penelope looked out the window like a child at Disneyland.
“It looks different at night with the lights,” I said, admiring the impressive sky-piercing spires of Westminster, flooded in soft light that revealed crevices and everchanging shadows adding to its architectural mystique.
“It is.” She turned to face me. “Do you always get around in this big car?”
“When I go out at night, I like to have a driver. I also have my own car that I enjoy driving on long trips. I like speed.” I grinned. “That’s one of my bad habits—driving too fast.”
“One?” She grinned.
I shrugged. “We’re all entitled to a few, aren’t we? We wouldn’t be human otherwise.”
“You’ve got me curious now.”
“The clean version—I’m not into coke, just the odd cigar here and there, and I like single malt.”
“The dirty version?” Her dark eyes twinkled with mischief.
I mirrored her cheeky grin. “Penelope, we’ve only just met.”
Her gaze lingered as though she was trying to understand something complicated. “I’ve never been in a car like this.”
“I hope it’s not too old-fashioned for you.”
“No. It’s a novelty, I suppose. And I do like the leather seats.” Her hands slid over the upholstery sensuously. I imagined it being my skin, and blood gushed down to my groin.
“Are we going to be there soon?” she asked.
I turned to study her. “Are you still nervous?”
She nodded with a tight smile. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Just be yourself. I’d like to know the real Penelope Green—the artist who paints like a master.”
“A master?” Her brow creased.
“I’ve seen a lot of art. Yours is a rare talent.”
Her big dark eyes massaged something deep inside of me. She might have been young, but the longer I looked, the more an old soul shone through.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.
“Because you’ve got a witchy face. If I’m not careful you’ll enchant me.”
“Witchy? Enchant? Oh my God, Blake. You sound as though you’ve stepped out of a gothic novel.”
I sniffed. “I have a thing for the past. I mean not so much my own.” Oops, too much information.
“How so?”
I shrugged and forced a fleeting smile.
She stared at me for a moment and then looked away.
We pulled up at the curb as well-dressed folk climbed up the stairs to the theater across from the restaurant.
Patrick opened the door for Penelope, and I helped her out.
I took her by the arm gently, and we stepped into the busy restaurant and the maître d’, who knew me, showed us to my regular table by the window. One of my quirks—or perhaps it was a phobia—was that having people too close to me constricted my breathing.
I held out the chair for Penelope, and again, she frowned. Waiting until she was comfortable, I asked, “You’re not used to men opening doors and pulling out chairs for you?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s never happened. It feels strange, as though I’m incapacitated in some way.”
“It’s meant to be chivalrous. A gentlemanly gesture. But hey, I’ll refrain if that makes you feel better.”
“No. I kind of like it. It’s just a little dated. But then, everything about you seems old-fashioned.”
“I’ll take that as a criticism.”
“You shouldn’t. I’m not into guys who air punch or get around in packs, yelling at football games. I’m kind of fascinated with the past too.”
I nodded. “You’re a romantic, then. That’s clear enough from your art.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, looking from me to the waiter who’d just arrived.
I took the wine menu and went straight to my favorite choice. I was a man of habit. Being that way saved time and offered a predictably satisfying experience. “Would you like red or white wine?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I like both.”
“The fish is excellent here, and with that, white would be the choice. Would you like to look at the menu?”
Penelope shook her head. “No need. I like fish. Just whatever you’re having.”
Good. She wasn’t fussy. I liked that. It gave me control.