Page 17 of Nico
"I'll do one better." Grabbing her phone, she had him posing while she snapped pictures. "Now both of us. Shoes." She waited until he slid into the Italian loafers, his mother had also picked those out. And then took a selfie. He was gorgeous, she thought with a pang as she studied the photo. His hair was unruly as usual but brushed back from his intelligent forehead.
Turning, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. The killer heels she had on put her on level with his eyes. When she started to ease back, he held on and deepened the kiss, turning her bones into liquid.
When he ended the kiss, she leaned into him and just hung on and breathed. "Nico." His name was a sigh as she tried to get her breathing under control.
He rubbed his hand up and down her bare back. "We could skip the function."
"No, we couldn't." With a laugh, she stepped away from him and went to get her coat.
*****
He had to admit without an ounce of bias that he had the most beautiful woman on his arm. In a room filled with women who glowed with beauty. He held onto her and did not care if he waspossessive. He was going to keep her chained to his side for the rest of the evening.
There were a few seconds of awkwardness when they faced his family. Nadine's greeting was friendly enough, but she was given the once over by his parents. Linda Coulter looked resplendent in emerald green that vied with her eyes. Diamonds dripped from her throat, ears and wrists and she was obviously the queen of the party. She greeted her son with a glow in her eyes, before turning those bottle green gaze on the woman next to him.
"We should have you over for dinner."
"Mother..."
"In due time." Sadie was determined not to be intimidated by the power couple, and they were intimidating.
"We hope it will be soon. Our son is obviously taken with you."
"I'm taken with him as well."
"Which means..."
"That's enough." Nico sent his mother a steely look. "Don't make me regret my decision in attending. Now, I will take my date and grab flutes of expensive champagne and appear as if I'm having the time of my life."
They watched the couple weaving their way through the crowd. And Linda noticed her son's arm wrapped around the woman's waist.
"I've never seen him like that before." She murmured and was not sure she liked it.
"He's smitten." Nadine grabbed a flute from the passing wait staff and took a sip.
"Smitten?" She smiled as her mother sent her a cool look.
"Obviously."
Looking over at the couple, Linda could not help but feel a touch of apprehension.
Chapter 5
He barely noticed the heat. He was so used to working in the heat that it had become a part of him. The first thing he did was set out his tools. Roller, blades, needle tools, ball stylus and so on. His work area was often messy but could not be helped.
He was doing earthenware and a few potteries. He first had to shape these water-based clay by hand and afterwards fire them in the kiln at hot temperature to cure.
He found a familiar peace in the repetitive motions. With each stroke and press of his fingers, the clay took on a new shape, responding to his vision and careful guidance. Occasionally, he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow, but his hands never faltered. In these quiet, focused moments, all the noise and expectations of the world faded away, leaving only the hum of the kiln and the promise of creation.
In between, he used a damp cloth to keep the clay moist. What he was doing took the utmost concentration, but he worked with music to give him some inspiration. He had splurged on a very expensive sound system with speakers installed in every room.
Today he was listening to the soothing sound of Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 21. Moisture stained his ancient plaid shirt and dripped down his cheeks as he molded and fine-tuned his work.
He blocked out everything else and focused on what he was creating. Somewhere in the distance, the phone was ringing, but he ignored it. He had completely forgotten to turn the ringer off, but whoever was calling would leave a message if it was important. Right now, this was what mattered.
He moved with an instinctive rhythm, each motion practiced and assured. The clay, cool and pliant beneath his fingers, offered a quiet resistance before surrendering to his intentions. Time slipped by unnoticed as he lost himself in the methodical movements. Press, turn, shape, smooth. The world outside his home felt distant, almost unreal, as if the only reality was the evolving form before him and the soft strains of music weaving through the air. Here, in this small sanctuary, he was both creator and creation, his worries dissolving with every rotation of the wheel.
Finally, satisfied that he had a work of art, he stopped and stepped back to view the heavy stoneware he had created. Placing a hand at the small of his back, he rubbed absently and stretched to get rid of the kinks. A glance at the clock showed that it was almost two in the afternoon. And he was out of coffee.Of course, he had forgotten to eat anything, which accounted for his belly complaining.
