The Dare Collection: May 2018. Clare Connelly
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I pull a face. ‘I’m thinking about it.’
He nods thoughtfully. ‘Might you need more convincing?’
My body trembles. ‘I might.’
I don’t. I want to sleep with him again and again—which should in and of itself warn me off.
Ethan shifts a little; my body responds instantly.
‘I have a designer for the interior. But I want your artistic input. I want you to wave your magic wand over this place. Think you can do that? For me?’
The way he says that should warn me, but I am not afraid. We have been honest—we have immunised ourselves against emotional fallout. Flirting with him is fine because we both know what we want.
And what’s at stake if we don’t.
‘You’re asking me to work for you?’
He nods. ‘Yes. What d’you say?’
I say yes, don’t I?
‘Why don’t you show me the place while I make up my mind?’
* * *
‘I guess this will be a kind of entertaining area.’ He gestures around the large open space on the top floor of the townhouse. It’s huge. Cavernous, even. I instantly see it as it could be. Neutral décor. Cream walls, polished floorboards and a single feature wall of a dark, earthy grey colour. Modern lighting, like round floor lamps and curved wall lamps, and perhaps a shag pile rug in the middle.
And contemporary art. Abstract without being corporate.
There’s a Hirst I know Christie’s has coming up for auction and mentally I picture it on the wall. I can’t recall the exact dimensions off the top of my head, so I reach into my bag and pull out my iPad mini.
‘What about something like this?’ I load up the painting and hold the iPad closer to him. Not too close. Not so close that I can breathe him in or risk touching him.
What happened downstairs is still playing on the edges of my mind, and I don’t know if I should run and hide or pretend it’s business as usual. I’ve opted for the latter, but every movement he makes reminds me passionately of what we’ve done. What I want.
I struggle to make sense of it.
‘I love it.’
He smiles as he meets my eyes. He’s so straightforward and simple...it’s hard to believe he feels anything like my inner-turmoil.
Why am I complicating things? We’re two adults who want to have a no-strings-attached sex-fest. What danger is there in that?
I quickly spin away from him, not wanting him to see even a hint of my thought processes on my face.
The business with Jeremy scared me. For life, possibly. Well, Eliza says it fucked me up good, and I’ve always kind of agreed with her.
I fell in love with him hard and fast. And I thought it was mutual. I believed everything he told me. Six months into our relationship I should have seen the signs. The way he would often not answer my calls. The way he’d have weird explanations for what he’d been doing, and the way he’d change plans at a moment’s notice. The way we once went to a restaurant and a couple came over to speak to him and the woman kept looking at me with obvious confusion.
And then, yes... The way his wife walked in on us in flagrante.
God, what an idiot I’d been.
So? Was I being an idiot now?
‘How come you have such a huge place when you don’t even live in the States?’
His shrug is non-committal, as though we’re talking about a studio apartment rather than two brownstones joined at the seams.
‘I like it here. And there are times when I do American tours and it would make sense to have a bit of a home away from home. You know? Plus, it’s a good investment.’
I nod thoughtfully. ‘Do you get sick of the travelling?’
‘I try not to do too much of it.’
‘But you tour...?’
‘Yeah, I tour.’ His smile is so sexy. ‘But I get my agent to build in weeks of time when I get back home. To sleep in my own bed.’
To see Sienna?
I push the other woman aside. She’s engaged. They broke up months ago. This isn’t like Jeremy and Fiona.
‘I’d hate it,’ I say thoughtfully.
Moving carefully, I step over a large gap in the floorboards into the other side of the room and towards the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the garden. Our lunch is still down there. My poor fork stabbed into a slice of yam, indignantly waiting to be wielded.
‘Yeah?’
‘Oh, yeah. I’m such a homebody.’
‘I wouldn’t have guessed that.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
He comes to stand beside me and I’m aware of all the things I don’t want to be.
‘I can’t get involved with you,’ I say, without meeting his eyes.
‘Can’t? Or don’t want to?’
It’s a distinction I hadn’t even realised I’d made. I side-step it deliberately. ‘I think you’re trouble.’ Now I force myself to look his way. ‘And I’m not into that.’
He studies me without speaking. Then...
‘But you used to be?’
I’m startled, blinking away my surprise. How can he tell?
I twist my lips to the side and shrug, just a little. ‘Trouble used to be into me.’ It’s a subtle correction. ‘I’ve learned to spot it.’
He doesn’t say anything. We stare down at the garden—it really is very beautiful. My body is still tingling from the way we came together. We are dynamite and flame. On our own, innocuous enough. But together...?
We have no hope.
‘And yet the idea of sleeping with you holds definite appeal.’ I run my eyes across his handsome face, over his lips that drive me wild.
‘Sleeping isn’t part of the equation.’ He winks and, heaven help me, my body—all of it—groans.
‘Right.’ I smile. ‘And, you know, I wonder if we shouldn’t just...have fun together.’
He expels a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God for that.’
But I’m still not convinced this is a good idea. I’m still terrified of everything that could go wrong.
‘How would this work? I mean, I really...it really has to be just sex. No strings.’
‘Yeah...’ He grins, scanning my face. ‘We can do that.’
‘But what if we can’t? What if one of us wants more?’
He arches a brow. ‘We won’t.’
‘How do you know?’
He shrugs. ‘If it makes you feel any better, we’ll put some ground rules in place.’
‘Ground rules?’ I nod slowly. It’s a good idea, but I can’t resist teasing him. ‘You’re disappointingly conservative for a rock star, aren’t you, Mr Ash?’
‘I’m afraid I might be,’ he says, with a wink that makes my tummy roll and my body vibrate.
Nothing, I repeat, nothing about him is disappointing.
‘Would