Addicted

Addicted Page 20

“So you decided to seek fulfillment of your needs someplace else?”

I took a seat on the chaise longue and lay down inMarcella’s office for the first time. The secrets I was about to reveal to her had tormented me for so long. While it might be painful, it was going to be a great relief to get it all off my chest. “Because we fell in love so young, I’m the only lover Jason’s ever had. As far as he knows, the same is true in my case. Up until a year ago, Jason was in fact the only lover I ever had. Then the madness began. . . .”

chaptertwelve

I was attending the opening of a new public high school when I first met Quinton. It was a magnet school, specializing in the performing arts, and Quinton was the artist commissioned by the city of Atlanta to paint a mural in the cafeteria.

Quinton Matthews was renowned throughout the world, and as an arts dealer, I was very familiar with his artistic talent. I had seen his picture once, but it didn’t do him justice.

When I arrived at the opening, I was late, and the mayor had already done the traditional ribbon-cutting ceremony. A business associate, Rebecca Swanson, had invited me, and before I made it ten feet into the cafeteria she greeted me with a huge smile and a glass of champagne.

Meeting Quinton Matthews was my main reason for attending. At the young age of thirty, he had already achieved legendary status as a contemporary artist. I was hoping tosweet-talk him into letting me produce some of his originals as prints and add them to my sales collection.

The mural Quinton designed on the cafeteria wall was nothing short of breathtaking. It depicted dozens of teenagers, of all ethnic groups, involved in various activities, everything from ballet to playing musical instruments to portraying Shakespeare on a stage.

As I walked along the wall, pausing to glance at each scene, I shuddered to think how many hours it must have taken to create such a masterpiece. I also wondered what kind of man had the vision and creativity to commit himself to such a task. It reminded me a lot of Jason, the time and effort he put into his architecture.

The high school wasn’t the only place I had seen Quinton Matthews’s work up close. His creations were all over the city. My favorite was one of the Atlanta skyline on a concrete wall in a downtown MARTA station. I used to go down to the station, just a few blocks from my office, sit on a bench, and eat lunch. The mural seemed to have a calming effect on me, and sometimes even an arousing one. I have no idea why, but I somehow equated his creative nature with sex. Then again, I equated most things with sex back then.

Maybe that’s why I was such a huge fan of his, and perhaps the real reason I wanted to meet him was curiosity—not about his work, but about the man himself. Curiosity might kill most cats, but it made the cat between my legs purr.

When I got to the section of the mural depicting a group of ballerinas with their arms neatly folded over tutus, standing on the hard toes of ballet slippers, I felt someone breathing down my neck.

“You like the mural, huh?”

His voice was deep and distinguished. I didn’t turnaround. I assumed he was one of the several hundred patrons who had come to the opening to see how their generous donations were spent.

“I don’tlikeit! Iloveit! Quinton Matthews is a great artist, isn’t he?”

“Hmm, if you say so.”

I didn’t like the sarcasm in his voice and quickly spun around, ready to defend my favorite artist and confront the arrogant son of a giga monster who lacked a true appreciation of his gift.

“Listen, he’s—” I froze.

“Yes? He’s what?”

I must have had the most ridiculous look on my face, because I was damn sure embarrassed when I realized I was face-to-face with Quinton Matthews himself.

“Mr. Matthews!” I grabbed his hand and started shaking it like a political science major who’s just snatched up the opportunity to meet the president of the United States. “It’s such an honor to meet you!”

He stopped shaking my hand but refused to let it go when I tried to retrieve it. Instead, he lifted it up to his mouth and kissed it. “One problem.”

“What’s that?”

“We haven’t officially met yet, Ms.?”

“It’s Mrs. Mrs. Zoe Reynard.” I flashed the wedding ring on my other hand at him as if I needed to provide some form of physical evidence to support the statement. I was really trippin’. I was used to meeting men, but I was acting like a nervous teenager around Quinton Matthews.

“Damn, just my luck.” I noticed he

was still holding my hand and pulled it away, pretending I needed it to prevent my purse strap from falling off my shoulder. “The good ones are always taken.”

I started blushing. Hell, who wouldn’t blush with a man that damn fine paying them a compliment.

Like I said, I had seen his picture in the newspaper before butdayummmmmmmmm!!!!Quinton was about five-eleven, green eyes the color of emeralds and a clean-shaven bald head. His skin was the color of burnt sienna, smooth and flawless, and his smile perfect.

He was sporting a dark gray double-breasted suit with a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned just enough for me to see the baby-fine hair on his chest.

I was so busy checking his ass out, I didn’t see Rebecca approaching. As a matter of fact, he was checking me out too, and making no bones about it.

“Zoe, I’m about to leave. Bobby’s running a fever, and the school just paged me to pick him up.”

Rebecca could have been calling out the winning numbers for that night’s lotto, for all I cared. “Okay, Becca. Take care, girl.”

She gave me a quick pat on the arm. “All right, girl. Take care, Zoe.”

I realized how rude I was being. “Hold up, Becca. Have you met Quinton Matthews, the muralist?”

“Yes, we’ve met.” They shook hands, but nowhere near the seductive way he and I did. “Nice to see you again, Quinton. Your new mural is the bomb!”

“Thanks for the compliment!”

While he was thanking her, I was trying to sneak a peek at the bulge in his pants. I snapped back to my senses; I knew good and damn well I had no business thinking about another man’s dick.

“Zoe, I really have to run!” Rebecca was already halfway to the door, bumping into a waiter and almost causing him to spill a whole tray of drinks, when she yelled out, “I’ll call you tomorrow!”

I waved at her as she disappeared from our view.

“Mr. Matthews, I really have to be running along also.” Suddenly, I was scared to even be near him.

“Aw, so soon?”

“Yes, my husband will be expecting dinner at a certain time, and I still have to stop at two different places to scoop up the kids and all.”

“I understand. Domestic life must be hectic. Don’t let me keep you.” He was talking to my breasts and not my face, which made me even more uncomfortable. The black dress I was wearing didn’t seem that revealing, but he made me feel like I was working the corner in the red light district.

“Well, nice meeting you, and once again, I really do love your work.”

“Thanks.”

I started walking away, feeling his eyes on my ass, when I remembered the business proposition I had come there to make in the first place.

When I turned around and headed back toward him, he started grinning. My lips were forming the words when he inquired, “Let me guess. You want me, don’t you?”

I felt like hollering “Hell, yes!” but managed not to. “Actually, I want to talk with you about the possibility of marketing some of your work.”

“Hmm, is that right?” His eyes started exploring my body again. “Well, we can definitely discuss it if it means I get to see your fine ass again.”

That did it! My nipples got hard, and my pussy got wet. “Here’s my card.” I pulled one of my engraved business cards out and handed it to him. “Whenever you can find the time in your busy schedule, I’d appreciate it if you can call me so I can go over what I have in mind.”

“Well, I already know what I have in mind.” I startedblushing while he glanced at the card. “An arts dealer, huh?”

“Yes. Exclusively African-American art.”

“Cool.”

“Thanks, and I look forward to hearing from you soon.” I zipped my purse back up. “It’s no rush, though. I realize you’re in high demand.”

“How about tomorrow morning? Say nine o’clock? My place?”

I was shook! My lips were trembling, and his eyes held me in a trance. He dug in his pocket and handed me one of his cards. I looked at the address of his studio and made a mental note that it was within walking distance from my office. “Nine tomorrow would be great. Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” He took my hand and kissed it once more.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to your other admirers. I didn’t mean to hog your attention.”