Page 30 of Mine to Ruin

“Trying to distract me?”

“No, I wanted to kiss you, and I did.”

If this woman told me to give her the fucking world, I would get her the whole universe. None of my enemies ever succeeded in bringing me down, but she does every time she smiles at me. She places her head on my chest, and my finger glides down her soft back.

“I like this. Keep going.”

“Yes, ma’am. Anything else?”

“No, I’m quite happy right now with you and O’Keeffe. The only thing missing is a donut.”

I kiss the top of her head, and she snuggles to my chest. A comfort I never experienced settles in my chest.

“Why my painting?” she asks, her eyes seeking mine. It’s uncanny how she can delve into my depths with one look.

“My grandfather and I are pretty close. I remember growing up, and I couldn’t wait to spend the holidays with him. We’d visit art galleries, and he would buy works to fill his private collection. He likes impressionism, but I liked the fucked up abstractionism, the rawness, the intensity, the madness; I always looked for those. Yours gave me hope in the darkest time of my life, and it has a very personal story.”

“Please, I know there’s more,” she says before she turns in my arms, and straddles me.

She locks her hands around my neck, playing with the ends of my hair. I give into the ease spreading through my body, ignoring my hardening dick. The need to touch her overwhelms me, and I rest my hands on her waist.

“There was a time in my life where I was nothing more than a puppet on my father’s strings.” I breathe through the anger searing my soul. My fingers burrow in her skin and it’s only when she places a hand against my cheek that I loosen my grip. “I had to get away, get my control back, but my grandfather said I should spend a weekend with him first. He took me to this gallery, and there it was. And I couldn’t take my eyes off it. It had to be mine, but my grandfather bought it. He said he’d let me have it when I came back and fought against my demons. I kept the image in my heart and two years later I went to see my grandfather and gave him double the sum he paid and took over his hotels.” I expel everything, and her blue eyes widen, her face paling.

Her worried expression thaws the iced organ in my chest. “So what did you do?”

“I fought. In every sense of the word.”

“I’m sorry that you had to fight alone.”

Ellia’s words infused with affection punch my heart harder than a jackhammer. I have enough of my past poking at my newfound ease.

“You were quite the sensation as a child,” I tell her as I play with a lock of her soft hair, and she fidgets with her hands.

“I hated the pressure. I felt like a product on sale at a glitzy shop, and everyone wanted a piece of me. I paint because I love it and not because of the fame. I’m not made for that.”

“No, everyone loves the recognition, but no one likes the fact that it comes with a leash and no privacy.”

“You don’t like it either?” she asks, tilting her head.

I press our foreheads together. “Who likes being haunted?”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re talking about something completely different?”

It’s like she’s ripping me open, peering into my soul, pulling at me to confide.

“Why did you come to Vegas?”

Her face turns dreamy, eyes filling with excitement, and her voice lilts with passion. “I believe you can leave an imprint on the world if you do what you love. People always seem to search elsewhere, instead of within themselves. I like the anonymity in Vegas, how people come and go, the speed of change. Yet nature stays the same. I find the contrast fascinating. There’s also the Valley of Fire, my favorite donuts. I may also be afraid to venture outside my comfort zone.”

She lifts her chin, and a small smile curves her lips. Her eyes narrow, and she brushes a palm against my cheek.

“You seem like you lead a lonely life. It’s like people are always around you. Someone’s always talking about you, but you’re unreachable.”

“You can still be lonely, even when you are surrounded by people, Ellia. Everyone has to learn to accept loneliness. No one truly escapes it. We can simply choose to either love or hate it.”

“But it’s sad.”

I bring her palm to my mouth and press my lips against it. “No, it’s not. People are expendable, like everything else.”

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