Excerpt:
As politely as possible, Phillip peeled the arms of the inebriated girl from his shoulders, forced to use a little extra effort to push her away so she wouldn't continue to gyrate her pubic bone against his groin. She sent him an exaggerated pout, making her displeasure clear, before turning away to lasso the neck of the guy next to them.
Sharp female words lashed out at her immediately as the man's date objected to the intrusion on what she clearly considered her own property. Phillip shivered in distaste as he made a hasty escape to the balcony, wishing he'd picked up the habit of smoking when he was younger. He hated parties and knew he looked stupid hiding out on a terrace when he had no reason to be there. Mostly he hated that the girls he knew fawned all over him because of who he was, or rather, who his father was. But he'd needed to get away from his parent's mansion and the girl they had “forgotten” to tell him they had invited for dinner.
At the moment he was pretty sure he was still under the radar with the loud crowd inside the penthouse. These weren't the people he normally hung with, which was why he was here. The nameless girl he'd just escaped had stopped him on the street below half an hour before and asked if he'd like to join her at a friend's party. Though he usually would never consider taking up a strange woman on such a request, it had seemed like the perfect opportunity to try something new. He was tired of brooding over the fact that his parents were determined to find him a mate that they could approve of, and that his muse had deserted him at a time when he desperately needed her.
The distant cousin of European royalty he could easily dismiss, but this inability to paint was another matter. After years of hard work draining him of blood, sweat, and yes, even at times tears, he'd finally scored an exhibit of his own on merit alone. This one that had nothing to do with his name, his celebrity such as it was, or the fact that his mother was a patron of the arts and therefore someone felt obligated to hold a “benefit” so he could exhibit his work.
And now, after achieving this long-held goal, he couldn't even come up with a theme!
He'd never felt so lost.
It didn't matter that tonight was about escape. He felt completely justified in indulging himself since he rarely ever did. There was no harm in taking just one stinking night without anyone knowing who he was. He wanted to blend in with these more-often-than-not broke college students and just hang out and have a conversation that didn't involve his pedigree or his bank account. There was certainly no danger of that here. Most of those attending this soiree were only looking for a cheap good time and hoping for a quick, unencumbered lay. He almost felt guilty for disappointing the girl who'd invited him, but he never dipped his stick into the unknown. All he needed was a freak accident with faulty protection and then he was someone's father, destined to deal with the child's mother for the rest of his life.
No, thank you very much!
He sighed, took a brisk cleansing breath, then chuckled. For once he really had gotten away with anonymity. It was getting harder and harder to hide these days. Between the tabloids his father called gossip rags, and the fortune magazines which reported more legitimate information on his family, the Princetons had little to no privacy.
He felt like there was always someone nibbling at him to the point that he was afraid the day would finally come when he was no longer himself, but the product of another's making.
His parents took the public's hunger for information in stride most of the time, but he hated it to the core of his soul. At twenty-three, he couldn't so much as take a walk down Fifth Avenue and not have someone accost him for an autograph, or to ask for money, or to have some girl who'd seen him in a teen magazine squeal and giggle until he thought he'd cringe in embarrassment.
It sucked! And he was tired of it. He just wanted to meet someone who didn't know anything about him. Some girl who would look at him and think, Hey, he's hot . And then when she got to know him, think he was a cool dude. It wasn't so much to ask.
“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone was out here.”
His solitude invaded, Phillip took a deep breath, not believing for a moment that she hadn't seen him and followed him to the balcony. He turned, ready to make a hasty escape back into the party, and felt the wind knocked from his lungs. She was, without question, the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.
He couldn't help but stare into her large blue eyes, eyes that studied him right back. Slowly her plump pink lips slid into a shy grin, and she took a step forward. “Hi.”
Her voice was so soft, so pure, he knew he was a little mesmerized. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she said again, clearly amused.
“I'm Phillip Pr...eston.” He knew it was probably futile, but there was always that slim chance he'd be able to pull the lie off. Hopefully.
She tilted her head. “They have an exercise to fix that.”
Phillip frowned. “What?”
“Your stutter. I think it has to do with breathing right or something.”
Phillip couldn't help but grin. “I don't stutter.”
“Oh.” She looked him over from head to toes as if assessing him. “Sorry,” she added as her gaze returned to his. She grinned again before trapping her bottom lip between very straight, very white teeth.
“And your name is?”
She glanced back to the French doors she'd just passed through. “A secret.”
Phillip laughed. “Is it a game to guess it?”
She shook her head, though he could see the idea amused her.
“Are you hiding from someone?”
She shook her head again. “No. It's just that I don't know you.”
Phillip nearly jumped with the joy of it. “I'm a nice enough guy. What would you like to know?”
That she didn't answer immediately intrigued him. He liked that she was giving the question real consideration. And he loved that she didn't feel the need to fill those seconds with useless, silly chatter. Finally she smiled, and he was certain his knees gave when two deep dimples appeared.
“Cats or Dogs?”
Phillip took a cleansing breath to stabilize his equilibrium and walked over to the patio table and chairs and motioned for her to sit before sitting himself. “Easy. Cats.”
Surprise lit her eyes. “Why?”
Phillip shrugged. “They're on the…” He coughed into his fist to cover his blunder. He'd nearly said they were on his family's crest. “Sorry about that.” He cleared his throat. “Cats are low maintenance.”
“Awww. So you're lazy.”
Phillip sat up straighter. “ No . I just don't want some dog needing me all the time. You know, let me in, let me out, pet me, feed me, I'm thirsty, and on and on. I'm busy.”
She tilted her head again, obviously considering his statement. “Are you in school?”
Phillip shook his head.
“What do you do?”
“Paint.”
She sat up a little straighter, real interest in her eyes. “What do you paint?”
Phillip felt excitement stirring as it always did when he thought about his passion. “Portraits, still-life, animals. Anything and everything. It's like I put a brush in my hand and that's it. This world falls away and I'm somewhere else. I'm someone else.”
She flashed him that pearly white smile. “I know how you feel. The same thing happens to me when my fingertips touch a certain material. Suddenly an outfit comes to mind and I run for my sketchpad. Nothing and nobody matters until I nail the design. When I actually put theory to test, and it works out as I envisioned it…” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as her lips took on the satisfied tilt of a woman post-orgasm.
A fellow artist. And one whose passion for the art ran as deep as his own. Nothing could have intrigued him more. “You design clothes? Wow. I'd love to see your work.” A speculative gleam entered her eyes making them sparkle, and his body, which had already stirred, sprang to full-fledged life. Desire wasn't a strange bedfellow, but this went deeper than interest in having sex with a beautiful woman. She was almost too perfect to be true.
“You show me yours and I'll show you mine?” she asked jokingly.
Phillip laughed. “Something like that.”
“Would you paint me?”
Phillip thought his heart would stop. She was exquisite. And would be in any light, in any setting. “Seriously?”
She nodded. “Yes. But it will have to be a secret.”
“What would you want? A portrait? Something elegant? Hmmm, yes, I could see you in something long and gauzy, the wind lifting your hair and the gown's hem. Maybe a gown of your own creation?”
She bit her bottom lip, slid a glance behind her as if to make sure no one else had come through the French doors, then turned back to him and whispered, “A nude.”
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