Chapter Five

 

 

 

“Mr. Valens is waiting for you in the suite. He appreciates you making time for him on such short notice.” Alex Valens’ very dapper PA gave Kelly a crooked smile, taking in Tuck, who stood slightly behind her. He nodded toward the elevator. “You can bring your bodyguard, though I promise you won’t need him. He can keep me company in the lounge.”

“You’re staying?”

“I guess you could say I’m sort of Mr. Valens’ bodyguard.” Then he added quickly, “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t be watching.”

“I certainly don’t mind you watching if that’s what Mr. Valens wants.”

Her comment was met with a little chuckle as the elevator doors shut behind them. “My boss and I never had that discussion, Ms. Blake, but I’m certainly up for it if he is. Not much chance of that, though. He is rather shy.” The elevator rose with a hydraulic wheeze, and Kelly was well aware she was being studied. In all fairness, she was doing a little studying of her own of this PA, who looked more like he should be the boss, and sounded way too familiar to be just an employee. Was it possible that the two were lovers? Before she could dwell on that thought, the PA spoke.

“There are a few ground rules before I introduce you to Mr. Valens,” he said. “Your no-touching policy also happens to be his policy as well. Absolutely no touching, not even a handshake. Under no circumstances are you to touch him. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” she said, suddenly feeling like a child on the first day of school. Tuck moved in closer to her, and the PA smiled his disarming smile.

“Those rules apply to your bodyguard as well.”

She smiled back. “As long as your boss doesn’t touch me, I can guarantee that Mr. Swanson here won’t touch him.”

“Good. Now that we’ve established the ground rules to everyone’s satisfaction, shall we?” The elevator door slid open, and he motioned them into the corridor. About halfway down, he knocked briskly on a door then slid the electronic key into the slot. When the light blinked, he pushed the door open and stepped aside for her and Tuck. “You’ll find him in there,” he said, nodding to the master suite, then he motioned Tuck to follow him into the lounge.

For a long moment, she stood in the entry hall, gathering herself, finding the whole PA bodyguard lecture slightly disconcerting. She wasn’t used to feeling intimidated by her clients before she’d even met them. The fact that this Valens had rented an entire suite at The Nines just for the hour they’d be together didn’t help any. But his money was as good as anyone else’s and, though she didn’t trust the rich and entitled, she had no good reason to say no. Besides, Tuck was in the next room. It would be all right. If she needed to leave in a hurry, well, she would, and that would be that. She took a deep breath and tiptoed down the hallway to the master suite, which was open, then with a soft knock on the doorframe, she stepped inside.

A man, tall and broad of shoulder, stood with his back to her, silhouetted in front of the window overlooking the city.

“Mr. Valens?” she said softly when he didn’t turn around. “I’m Kelly Blake.”

“Please close the door behind you.” His voice was a rough-edged baritone, as though he’d just risen from sleep. A bedroom voice when they hadn’t yet begun. She didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one.

The muscles of her stomach tightened with nerves, but she did what he said, carefully pulling the door to behind her. When she turned back, she found herself the focus of the man’s full attention. Though he was still little more than a silhouette in the subdued lighting, she felt as though she were under a microscope.

“Please sit.” He motioned her to a wing-backed chair facing a plush blue sofa.

She felt his gaze on her as she sat her duffle bag on the floor and settled in the chair, but he made no effort to move.

She noticed that there was wine, coffee and an assortment of snacks on the coffee table. She smiled and nodded to the small feast. “Are you interested in food play, perhaps, Mr. Valens?”

He startled at the sound of her voice as though she had suddenly regained his attention from where ever else it had been, but, in truth, it hadn’t wavered from his studying of her person. Strange that in spite of being the center of his focus, she didn’t feel threatened or ogled. “Oh, no. I just wasn’t sure what the normal protocol is for a visit from a…sex tutor, and I decided that hospitality is never out of place. Though”—he stepped forward a little, and the lamplight caught his half smile, tinged with mischief—“I have heard that you do interesting things with canned pears. Sadly, those aren’t on the room service menu.”

She chuckled softly. “Well, I certainly could have brought a can if that’s what you wanted.”

His laughter was like velvet against her skin, and her forearms rose in goose flesh. “I don’t know what I want, exactly.” He rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin, then he added, “You’re not at all what I expected.”

“What exactly did you expect?”

“Someone a little older, sterner,” he said.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

This time they both laughed. He moved to sit across from her at the end of the sofa and, for the first time, she got a good look at him. His dark hair was mussed, as though he, or someone else, had just run fingers through it. It was in need of a cut, hanging to the collar of a faded denim shirt. He wore jeans that were nearly as faded and a pair lightweight hiking boots. Though the lighting was subdued, she could see the thin scar that began dangerously close to his right eye and curved across his jaw toward his ear, disappearing in his tousled hair. It shown in pale relief against the stubble of several days.

“I didn’t say I was disappointed,” he said.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, you’re not exactly what I expected either, not in this place anyway.”

He rolled his eyes and gave a little hunch of his shoulders. “I should have met you in Dillon’s apartment. We’d have probably both been more comfortable there.”

“Your PA?”

He nodded.

“Now, he looks like he belongs here,” she said.

“He probably belongs here more than I do, Ms. Blake.”

“Kelly, please call me Kelly.”

“You do look like a Kelly, much more than you do a… Well you know what I mean.”

Both of them laughed nervously as he filled water glasses. As per his PA’s warning, she waited until he set the glass on the coffee table in front of her before she reached for it, took a sip then smiled up at him. “Now then, what can I do for you, Mr. Valens?”

Her question seemed to unsettle him. He reached for the water glass, knocked it over, then cursed and looked as though at any second he might bolt.

“It’s all right. It’s just water. Sit still,” she said. “I’ll get a towel.” She found the bathroom and took her time in returning, giving the man a chance to collect himself. Male ego could be a fragile thing under the best of circumstances, and whatever it was that had driven Alex Valens outside his comfort zone to solicit her services meant this was definitely not the best of times. When she returned, he’d moved from the sofa and once again stood in front of the window, but this time he turned when he heard her.

“Leave it,” he said.

She didn’t. She knelt on the floor and gave the pristine carpet a brisk rubbing before leaving the towel to absorb the spill, then she returned to her chair.

“It’s only water and it only went on the carpet,” she said. “I spilled a glass of red wine down the front of an elderly Chinese gentleman’s white shirt in Lausanne once, and I wasn’t even drunk.”

He laughed. They both laughed, and some of the tension left his broad shoulders.

“Oh, sure, I can laugh about it now,” she said, “but at the time, I was mortified. It was the poor man’s seventy-fifth birthday. He was there with his whole family.”

Valens settled tentatively on the arm of the sofa, looking less likely to bolt, but she could see he was still keeping the option open just in case. Sometimes clients took a while to get comfortable, and she expected Alex Valens would need a moment.

“What happened?” he finally asked.

“Turns out the gent didn’t speak any English. None of his extended family did either, so I ended up having the waiter translate from English to French to the one teenage granddaughter there who did speak French. “I had him tell them that I would pay for the dry-cleaning, that I would pay for the whole dinner—which I sure as hell couldn’t afford—that I would do anything, including becoming his slave, until his next birthday.”

“And did he…take you up on any of your generous offers?” he asked, settling back on the sofa, slightly closer to her, but still a safe distance.

“They wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, they insisted I join them for their celebration. I didn’t understand a word and neither did they, but they were all lovely, and when it came time for cake and the Happy Birthday song, they all insisted I do it in English—solo. In front of the whole restaurant. It was one of the most fun evenings I’ve ever had.” She chuckled. “And that fact alone should tell you that I spend entirely too much time in my own company.”

“Now that, I can relate to,” he said, offering her a broad, easy smile.

He looked much younger when he smiled so unguardedly. She was betting he didn’t do it often.

She refilled his water glass and settled back in her chair. For a long moment, they sat in silence. She had learned long ago that it was best to let the client speak in his own time.

“I need to masturbate a lot,” he finally blurted out, then downed all of the water in a single gulp.

“High libido isn’t unusual in busy people,” she said, “especially if their work is creative.”

He nodded. Then there was more silence. This time he fumbled with the bottle of wine. She watched as he opened it and poured himself a glass. He poured her one too, before she could refuse. Then he drank his back in one go. “I mean a lot,” he said, slapping the glass down on the table with a thwack for emphasis. “I’m aroused all the time. If I did it as often as I’m aroused, I’d never get anything else done.” He shifted in his seat and folded his hands in his lap as though he were about to say a prayer or just in case she should glance at his crotch. She didn’t. A part of what made her good at what she did was that other people’s situations never titillated her. They intrigued her. They brought out her sense of empathy. “Do you?” he asked, clearing his throat loudly and pouring himself another glass of wine.

“Do I masturbate a lot?” she asked.

He nodded, as though his head were suddenly loose on his neck.

“I do, yes. But I’m a creative and my job is both stressful and exciting. I need an outlet. It sounds like you do too.”

He nodded. This time more thoughtfully. “I… For complicated reasons I’m not in a relationship either, so no help from there,” he said. “I’m sure that would make it easier.”

“A lot of creatives don’t have time for relationships,” she said. “Love of their work is their relationship.” He hadn’t said that he was a creative, but she could tell. She could always recognize another creative person.

When he still said nothing but downed the second glass of wine as quickly as the first, she thought it best to press the issue, just a little bit at least, while he was still sober. “Mr. Valens, what exactly is it that you need? If you’re expecting me to advise you to masturbate less, and to give you ways not to, well, I think that’s a little premature. I would suggest that perhaps you need to masturbate as much as you do because of your circumstances. That’s certainly my case.”

“You don’t know my circumstances. You can hardly compare your case to mine,” he blurted. “You’re a lovely woman who could easily have a partner whenever she wanted, hell, you could pick and choose.”

She bit back her response, for some strange reason wanting desperately to tell him that he had no idea what her situation was and that he had no right to jump to conclusions. The urge nearly took her breath away. One of the reasons she was so good at what she did was that she could stay neutral, let people tell their stories, let them tell her what they needed in their own time. She took a steadying breath. “I’m not comparing anything with anything, Mr. Valens, and since I don’t know your circumstances, I’m generalizing until you give me enough information to make an intelligent suggestion.”

“So, I’m supposed to tell you what to do?” he asked.

“No, but it would help if you told me what you need from me.”

He ran a hand through his already mussed hair, and she noticed he was trembling. “If I could get what I need from you, or from anyone else for that matter, I wouldn’t be here. Look, this was a mistake. There’s nothing you can do. Dillon knows it, you know it, and I know it. I’m really sorry I wasted your time. Dillon!” He shoved his way up from the couch just as his PA and Tuck came into view. “I need to leave. Now.”

The PA gave Kelly an accusing glance before turning his attention to his boss.

“Who the hell is he?” Valens asked nodding to Tuck.

“Her bodyguard,” the PA replied.

To this, Valens laughed out loud, then shot Kelly a look that suggested he was seeing her for the first time. “If there was any place on earth you don’t need him, Ms. Blake, it’s here with me.”

“What the hell happened?” the PA asked.

“Nothing the fuck happened, what did you think would happen?” Valen’s reply was little more than a growl.

“Look, it’s your suite,” Kelly said, hunching her bag up onto her shoulder and moving past Valens, careful not to touch him. “I’ll leave. I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” she said softly.

Valens nodded, avoiding her gaze, pushing back against the wall of the entryway as far from her as he could get, but not so far that she couldn’t see the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the dilation of his pupils and the way he cupped his hands protectively in front of his fly. She looked away, not wanting to know if he had an erection or not, though she was certain if she had looked, that was what she would have seen. Not wanting to distress the man further, she left quickly with Tuck right behind her.

 

“Do you need a minute?” Dillon shut the door to the room quietly and turned his attention to Lex.

“Christ, Dillon, I’m not quite that out of control.”

“Well, our Kelly Blake was rather more pleasant to look at than I’d expected. Maybe I’ll take a minute.” He rudely adjusted his crotch, and Lex flipped him off.

For a moment, the two stood in silence, then Dillon spoke quietly, sounding a little like Kelly Blake. “What is it you want, Lex?”

“Just take me home. I have work to do, and I’m afraid I had a more intimate encounter with that bottle of pinot noir than I’d planned.”

“She got to you, did she?” Dillon opened the door and stood aside for Lex to pass.

“For all the good it did.”

“Might have done more good than you think,” Dillon said. “Though it might have done you even more good if you’d given her half a chance.”

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” Lex said.

Dillon only shrugged and pushed his way through the door leading to the stairs. Lex always took the stairs if he had to be in a public building. Elevators were one of his worst nightmares, apt to be empty one minute and violà, the doors would open and a whole crowd of people could shove in at any given moment. Why he had suggested that he meet Kelly Blake in a hotel was beyond him. Though he supposed he had hoped that he could impress the woman with his wealth, since he knew he’d fail miserably with his shining example of mental health and his sexual experience and worldliness. Of course, there’d have been no point in seeing the woman at all if he’d have been less neurotic and had even the slightest bit of sexual sophistication. Upon having met Kelly Blake, though, he was pretty sure she was not in the least impressed by wealth and power. That didn’t leave him with much to impress her then, did it? And he had to admit he was way more concerned with impressing her after he’d met her than when he had visions of sitting across the room from some elderly auntie cock doc.

It surprised him a little to discover that he actually would have preferred to have met her at his home. That he would have loved to walk with her in the gardens with the wonderful views of the Cascades just as the sun was setting. Then after, he would have entertained her on the veranda over one of Cookie’s exquisite dinners. And then what? Sent her on her way while he went back to the studio for a good wank?

What the fuck was he thinking? He kept strangers away from his home. In fact, most people had no real idea where Alexander Valentine lived, and even the models who came to him were given the impression that he didn’t actually live at Mountain View, that it was only one of his estates. That last part was true, but it was Mountain View he considered home. He seldom visited the other two estates on the West Coast and would sell them outright if they didn’t help him keep his real location secret.

Once in the car, he donned his headphones and cranked Rush’s 2112 Overture. This was always Dillon’s signal to shut up and give Lex a little space. He knew his friend was dying to hear the details of his meeting with the sex tutor, but he wasn’t dying to talk about them. How could it be that he found himself wanting to revisit a situation in which he had been surly, non-communicative, awkward and downright rude, a situation in which nothing had happened? He’d been with the woman maybe twenty minutes of his allotted hour. She made him feel… Well, she didn’t make him feel anything. Instead she let him struggle to try and figure out what he really did feel. And he hadn’t liked it one bit. He’d told her nothing, and yet in that nothing, he suspected he’d told her way more than he’d intended to. That was the terrifying thing. No one ever saw into Alexander Valentine’s private life. His art was as close as anyone ever got to the man on the inside, and yet this woman… He felt as though he’d sat there exposing himself to her while the whole time she sat there waiting for him to give her permission to look. Now, that did a job on his head. More than likely it was just the wine, he told himself. Once he’d had a few hours in the studio, once he’d settled back into his normal routine, he’d see the whole incident more clearly and more than likely chalk it all up as just one more failed effort to make it all better.

It wasn’t until he was home, working away in the studio, that he realized he was calm. He was focused. His cock, which had felt like it was lined with lead when Kelly Blake arrived, now rested comfortably in his athletic shorts, happy for once to be neglected. The surprise of it made him giddy. He threw open the garage doors at the side of his studio and stood looking out at the night sky, breathing in the scent of early summer, still trying to understand what had happened to him at The Nines this evening…or what had not happened to him, as the case might be.

He couldn’t say that Kelly Blake had given him a hard-on. He’d already had a good start on one when he’d arrived at the hotel. Neither could he say that the fact that he didn’t have one now was an indication that she was unattractive. God knew it wasn’t that. So then why was he, for the first time in a very long time, not distracted by his own discomfort? He’d been with the woman twenty minutes, maybe less, and they’d never really gotten past the fact that he masturbated a lot and that she didn’t seem to have a problem with that. So what had actually happened in those twenty minutes? Did the woman secretly hypnotize her clients? Was she some kind of witch using magic on him?

Leaving the doors open, he strode across the room to the easel and threw open the sketchpad to a blank page. In a quick, simple line drawing, he sketched her, then he stood twiddling the pencil between his fingers, his mind filling in the details of her. He hadn’t been able to see the color of her eyes in the dim light, only that they had been large and alert like a cat’s. Her hair had been some non-descript shade of blonde, or brown maybe. He couldn’t see that either, but it was long and pulled back in a ponytail. For a second, he lingered on the idea of pulling the tie from that ponytail and letting her thick hair fall around her shoulders. In the sunlight—he’d do that in the sunlight so he could see her true colors. She was slender, athletic of build. He couldn’t recall what she’d worn. He couldn’t recall a lot. The lighting had been low, and the situation had been stressful. Though he had no real name for what it was that he saw in her, what he did know was that in her essence, she had made him feel more himself than he had in a very long time. That was no small feat. That had him squinting at his drawing, desperate to understand what this woman’s magic was. How was it that she could do nothing and it be exactly the right thing to do? How was it that she could be comfortable with his discomfort and wait patiently while he balked and back-pedaled and made things difficult?

That night, he slept the sleep of one who had worked hard and was pleased with his efforts. That night the dreams left him in peace, and, when he woke up in the morning, anxious as he always was to get back to work, the shifting he felt when he stretched and yawned and crawled from beneath the comforter was not the shifting of a hard-on in urgent need of release. Though his cock responded normally to the morning touching and scratching that was routine after a night’s sleep, as he stood to shower, as he dressed and went down to breakfast, as he thought of the day ahead of him, it simply let him get on with it.

“You look cheerful today,” V said. She had just popped into the kitchen for another cup of coffee. The woman’s coffee cup was never empty. Lex had his suspicions that, with all that caffeine, the woman hadn’t needed to sleep since the Millennium, but she never got jittery or cranky. He suspected it was because of her alien nature.

“Huckleberry pancakes always make me cheerful,” he said. He was demolishing his second stack when Dillon showed up, just as Cookie plopped down a plate in front of him. Mountain View ran like a well-oiled machine, Lex thought, and it had run that way since his father’s welcome demise. His father never would have countenanced breakfast in the kitchen with the servants, and Lex couldn’t have imagined taking his meals any place else. The kitchen was the heart of Mountain View, and next to his studios, it was his favorite place in the house.

“She’s right. You do. And you look well rested too,” Dillon said, nabbing a strip of bacon and shoving half of it into his mouth.

Clearly what the man really wanted to know what happened between him and the lovely Ms. Blake last night and why on earth was he in such a good mood when he’d cut the meeting short and run like a scared rabbit. Over the years, he and Dillon had become good at reading each other’s brand of subtext.

“I need you to make another appointment with Ms. Blake for me.”

Dillon stopped mid-chew. On the far side of the kitchen, there was the clatter of a dropped pan, then silence as Cookie pretended to stir a large pot of something simmering on the stove. The ability to listen to the subtext seemed to be a requirement for working at Mountain View, plus Cookie had super-human hearing. That was just one of her super powers. He and Dillon were convinced that she had a secret life cooking for the Avengers. Her food was the real source of all their super-powers, and when they needed her, she could do scary-assed things to villains with kitchen utensils.

“Okay. When?” Dillon said, wiping his mouth.

“As soon as she can see me.”

“Back at The Nines?” he asked. “Or my place?”

“Is the corporate flat free?”

He nodded. “Let me see what I can set up with Ms. Blake first, then we’ll make a plan.”