Chapter 2. Constructivism
“Are you enjoyin’ the display?” Spike asked, waiting impatiently for her to face him so he could finally learn the color of her eyes.
She shivered when a deep husky voice rumbled in her ear. She knew it was him and was at the same time both excited and scared of turning around.
Her heart thundered in her chest and sent her pulse racing in her veins at the very thought and that wouldn’t do. She refused to appear like an infatuated teenager in front of someone who obviously was a very sophisticated man. Standing tall, she inhaled deeply to gather her bearings before facing the man behind the voice and confirming her suspicions.
Sure as she’d been that it was him, she almost couldn’t give credit to her eyes when she saw him standing in front of her. The glimpse of him from across the room hadn’t prepared her at all for the impact of his presence, the way his eyes bore into hers until she felt he could see inside her very soul, the way he made the world disappear so there was just the two of them in the room.
He was rendered breathless—or would have if he were capable of breathing—by the sheer beauty of the most delicate pixie face he’d ever seen. And her eyes, a man could drown in those emerald green eyes. He’d thought she was beautiful from afar, however, now that she was in front of him, facing him, that he could study each and every one of her features and commit them to memory, he realized she was nothing short of a goddess.
“Y-yes,” she answered, wishing she could kick herself for showing how much he affected her before clearing her throat and continuing with more certainty in her tone. “Yes, I’m enjoying it very much, Mr., err…”
“Where are my manners? My name is Spike James. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss…”
“Elizabeth Summers, but please, call me Buffy.”
“Buffy,” he repeated, savoring the name in his mouth as if it were the finest of wines while taking her hand in his, his long fingers gliding sensuously over her wrist as he did, feeling her pulse run wildly in her veins, before bringing it up to his mouth. He kissed it, caressing her soft skin with his lips for what felt like an eternity though it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, wanting, needing to taste her in any way he could. He rejoiced in her sharp intake of breath, in the way her heart skipped a beat at his actions and in the faint aroma of her arousal that left him with little doubt his attentions were not as un-welcomed as those of her ‘escort’.
Her knees buckled and she almost swooned when he took her hand in his and then to his mouth, kissing it without taking his eyes off hers. She could scarcely believe her body’s response. With the most innocent of gestures, he’d made her feel more than Riley Finn, or anyone else for that matter, ever had. What that gesture elicited in her though was anything but innocent. His hand felt cold as it held hers, but his lips burned a fiery path through her skin and into her blood igniting a flame of desire.
She shuddered under his unwavering gaze suddenly uncomfortable with the way he was making her feel. She managed to look away, trying to focus elsewhere and blushed. Lowering her eyes to the floor, she wished the earth would open up and swallow her whole as she realized that several people were watching their exchange quite intently.
He felt her shiver through their connection, wondering what, exactly, had caused it. Was it his intensity, the difference in their body temperatures or dare he hope, desire? ‘Or perhaps, it could be that you completely forgot the fact you’re in a room full of people who seem unable to mind their own business?’ he asked himself while following her eyes as she glanced at those around them, before lowering them to the floor, her cheeks turning a lovely shade of red. He couldn’t stop thinking how adorable she was even when embarrassed and how much he’d love to lose himself watching her in any way he could, if only... No, it wouldn’t do to wish upon the impossible. He sighed regretfully, knowing he had no one to blame for this but himself and hoping he hadn’t ruined his chance to spend some time with her as he released her hand.
He glared at the people that were still focused on them before saying, “Don’t mind them, love, they’re just envious.” Relief coursed through him when she looked up at him.
“Envious?”
“That I’ll have the honor of escortin’ the most beautiful woman here throughout the rest of the exhibit and they don’t.” He smirked.
“Ha, I sincerely doubt that,” she laughed. “I’m definitely not the most beautiful woman here or anywhere else.”
He leaned in closer to her, whispering into her ear, “I think you are.”
She blushed even more at that, her senses reeling from his nearness and the whiff of his scent that filled her nostrils. It was masculine, earthy and… powerful? Yes, that was it; the man exuded power from every pore of his body and that, combined with the smooth sophisticated aura that surrounded him, made for a lethal blend. What chance did she stand resisting his charm? There was no doubt he knew exactly what to say to make her melt, but her self-esteem dictated she make at least a token protest, “A-and anyway, don’t I have a say on whether you’ll escort me or not?”
“By all means,” he conceded. “Miss Summers, would you allow me the honor of escortin’ you throughout the rest of the exhibit?” He offered her his arm, leaving her the choice of accepting his offer or not.
“Well, since you asked so nicely, yes, of course, I would love that,” she replied. “Especially since my escort seems to have disappeared on me, not that he’d be missed or anything.”
‘Hmmm, is it me or does she want me to know she’s not interested in the bloke?’ he mused.
She smiled at him as she took his arm and he forgot about her escort or what she’d meant by her last comment. He felt as if the sun had illuminated him with its rays for the first time in forever. It had been so long since he’d been this close to a woman he felt an attraction for. And she attracted him like nothing had ever attracted him before.
Spike smiled back at her as he guided her to the next painting on display. It was his favorite, his masterpiece, and he waited impatiently for her reaction, knowing it would cement or destroy the illusion of this night, the emotion of sharing his work for the first time with the world, with her.
“Now, tell me, what do you think of this piece?”
She gasped as her eyes settled on the landscape. It was the most captivating piece of art she’d ever seen in her life. It went beyond the fact that it was beautifully done, that every stroke, color and shade made the painting seem as if all you had to do was extend your hand and you’d enter through it and into a magical world where anything was possible. It was so much more than that. It felt as if the artist had poured his very soul into it, as if she felt what he’d felt while painting it. Knowing Spike was waiting for her answer, she whispered reverentially, “It’s beautiful.”
Pride swelled inside his chest over her answer, but most of all, over her reaction. It was all he could have hoped for and more, so much more. He had been right about her. He was about to ask if the painting told her anything, when she continued.
“It’s just like… I’m not sure how to express it, I’m not too good with words, but it’s not only that the artist managed to make the painting live, thrive and breathe through his strokes and sense of color. It’s not only that I feel like I could step into the painting and enter this fantastic place where possibilities are endless. No, it’s more than that; he poured his soul into it. I can sense his love for this place, his passion for everything that it represents, even his… loneliness.” Her brow furrowed as she said this. “Don’t ask me how because I can’t explain it, I just know that even if all his other works are important to him as an artist, this is… the one.”
“Th-the one?” he asked, clearing his suddenly very dry throat.
“Yes, the one piece that the artist just couldn’t part with because it would be like parting from his own soul.”
He was speechless for a moment, thinking about everything she’d just said. She understood. She truly did. All those things she’d sensed, his love for his home, his passion for everything that surrounded it and above of all, his loneliness. The loneliness that was ever present in his mind as he worked on this particular piece. As a general rule, he didn’t wallow in the fact that he felt lonely. He’d made that decision a long time ago, and although it was hard to keep at times, it allowed him to live at peace with himself and the few chosen mortals with whom he rarely interacted. His resolution had never weighed so heavily on his shoulders until this precise moment, though, when he’d finally met her.
Yes, he considered this particular painting to be his masterpiece... one of the many he still expected to create. As a true artist, he’d been waiting, waiting and searching for the perfect subject matter, one worthy of his genius, worthy of turning into his obsession. The one... that when he laid his talent on the canvas, he could pour his soul into capturing its essence with brush and oil but his entire being, until it became the finished product that ultimately would be his magnum opus.
Who knew? Even she could turn out to be the subject of his next masterpiece, although he doubted he had the necessary skills to recreate something that even resembled her radiance.
“It’s truly a shame that this piece isn’t on sale. Although, considering the prices being asked for some of the other paintings, it would surely be out of my budget anyway.”
She smiled at him, but the forlorn look of want in her eyes couldn’t be mistaken. She was genuinely sorry that she couldn’t own it.
Spike took a decision right then and there. Regardless of the fact he would never see her again after tonight, he was sure of one thing, she was ‘the one’. He’d come to this exhibition more out of curiosity than anything else. He’d wanted to know how his work would be appraised by the group of so-called connoisseurs and at least, until he met Buffy, he’d been gravely disappointed. None of them understood or appreciated his paintings, not the way he wanted them to. They only cared about their monetary value, she didn’t. She wanted it because it meant something to her, because she understood what he felt when he’d painted it, because in some measure he’d made her feel what he felt while she looked at it. In a room full of people, only she understood. That made her the only one worthy of owning it. And she would, before he left tonight he’d make sure she did.
“I think the artist might be inclined to sh—” Spike was rudely interrupted from commenting when her boorish excuse for an escort reappeared, settling himself between the two of them without even excusing himself or acknowledging his presence. His eyes flashed yellow for an instant, his anger escalating because of the man’s behavior before reining it in. It wouldn’t do to let his demon loose in a place like this and there were other ways to get what he wanted. Much more effective ways, he smiled evilly.
“Riley? What…” Buffy blinked in surprise when he appeared from out of nowhere. She’d been so focused on the painting and the handsome stranger currently escorting her that she’d forgotten all about him.
“I really don’t know what you see in these!” He motioned to the painting she and Spike had been discussing, without giving a damn if anyone else heard him or not. “And let’s not start talking about the outrageous prices they’re asking for them either. I was invited to a private bidding for a few of these pieces, but really, I don’t know if I want to spend that much money on something that’s not truly worth it, I don’t care how much I could resell them for. It’s a question of principle.”
Question of principle? Was he insane? She wished she had the money to buy at least one of these magnificent pieces and here he was saying they weren’t worth it? Argh, the nerve of the man! No wonder she never felt inclined to give him half a chance. She was about to give him a piece of her mind when she saw him turn his back on her and lean in to listen to whatever Spike was telling him.
Spike had heard more than enough. He could care less what this man thought of his paintings but what little he could see of her reaction with the overgrown boy’s body between them, he was making Buffy uncomfortable and… dare he say, angry? He moved a little to the right to have a clearer view of her. Yes, her lovely green eyes sparkled with what could only be barely-contained fury and even if he’d thought it impossible before, she looked even more gorgeous now than when she’d been describing his painting. He wondered for a second if her eyes shone like that too when they were ablaze with passion, before shaking his head. He’d never find out. He wasn’t going to see her again after tonight so it was best not to go down that path.
Deciding to intervene and get rid of the man at least for the time it would take them to finish viewing the exhibit, he tapped him on the shoulder, waiting until he turned before looking deeply into his eyes, concentrating his thoughts and energy into them while his own eyes flashed yellow once more. As he felt the man fall under his control, he beckoned him to lean closer so he could whisper in his ear, “Think you should go back to that auction, mate, and bid on those paintings until you win all of them. Considerin’ you were invited to this event, I’m quite sure you have more than enough money for that, don’t you?” He smirked as the man nodded numbly before leaving them without a backward glance. He wiped the satisfying smile from his lips when he felt Buffy’s incredulous gaze turn on him. “What?” he asked, his face a study in innocence.
“How—you know what, forget it. The important thing is that you got rid of him. Believe me, if you hadn’t I’m not sure what I might have said.”
‘Feisty little thing, aren’t you?’ “Ah, I see. You’re… with him?”
“With him? As in my boyfriend? Oh God no, I don’t have a boyfriend, he’s just a business contact. I won’t lie to you, he wants us to be more than that, but there’s nothing there, at least on my side,” Buffy hurried to explain. “I inherited my mother’s gallery in the States and he was her contact here in London. Since I don’t know anyone, I continued our business relationship, but after that little display you just witnessed, I’ll be looking for another person with whom I have more in common as soon as I get back to The Mandeville where I’m staying.” She looked at him from beneath her lashes, hoping she hadn’t scared him by coming on too strongly, but unable to resist herself. She liked him, even if he hadn’t said much… yet. The night was… well, maybe not as young as a little while ago, but they still had time, or so she hoped.
She was interested in him, of that he was certain. Should he allow himself to pretend he was someone else? Could he, if only for tonight, be just a man interested in a woman and not the reclusive creature of the night that he truly was? He’d lived in the obscurity that his eternal life had turned into for what seemed like centuries, with the only company of his paintings and the few people he trusted enough to work for him. Who could blame him for desiring to experience the warmth that her mere presence elicited in him for as long as possible? Yes, he could do that. He could indulge in the fantasy of not having to be alone any longer, of being with someone that understood him and who he could talk to without fear of her discovering what he truly was, even if it was for just a few minutes. However long the time they had left was, it would suffice to construct a beautiful memory he could carry with him always. The memory of what could have been were he anyone other than himself.
“Well then, shall we continue with the exhibit so I can persuade you to tell me more about yourself, love? Who knows? Perhaps I know of someone you would have more in common with than your... non-boyfriend.” He winked at her, offering his arm once more, delighting in the way her heart sped up before taking it as they walked towards the next piece on display.
He called her love again and wanted to know more about her? Was he flirting with her? Oh God, she hoped so. “Okay, but only if you tell me about yourself, too. After all, you already know more about me than I know about you.”
“I’m not that interesting, sweetheart... however, fair is fair. What would you like to know about me?”
Not that interesting? Her eyes raked over his lean form as furtively as she could. Somehow she doubted that was true. “Hmmm, let’s see… I’m curious, what is a man like you really doing at an exhibit like this? I mean, it doesn’t seem like the type of place you would frequent. Most of the people here seem far less interested in the art than they are in being seen here. You, however, appear to be one of the few that came to admire these gorgeous paintings.”
He felt the warmth spreading inside him at her choice of words. Why should he care if anyone else understood or even liked his work as long as she did? However, her question only confirmed what he’d suspected. She was perceptive, very perceptive and he should take care in what he said otherwise, she may uncover his secrets. “That’s because art is my passion, my joie de vivre. I have no interest in the type of people I encounter at these events… tonight, though, is definitely an exception.” He covered the feminine limb that rested on his arm delicately with his free hand, gazing into her emerald depths so as to leave her with no doubt he spoke of her.
She felt as if she couldn’t breathe for a minute as she got lost in those bluer than blue eyes. There was no doubt in her mind now that he was flirting with her. And those eyes, those eyes could make an iceberg melt. What chance did an ordinary girl like her have to escape them unscathed? Not that she wanted to, escape was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment.
Without releasing his hold to her in any way, he led them towards the next painting. They continued talking amicably as they moved from one display to the other, discovering things about one other, realizing they had more in common than either imagined at first.
Buffy was in heaven, he hadn’t relinquished his hold on her even after they resumed walking. The seemingly unconscious sweep of his thumb over her skin made her tremble with desire, wishing they were somewhere else rather than in a room full of people. She wanted this night to never end. Logically, she knew it was impossible, but logic had no place in her mind at the moment. He was without a doubt the most interesting, charming man she’d ever met and if he asked to see her again, she wouldn’t hesitate to agree.
He hadn’t, though, even remotely suggested that he’d like to see her again and they were already nearing the last of the pieces. Maybe he wasn’t as interested in her as she’d thought? Maybe he was just too polite to leave her alone after asking to be her escort for the rest of the display?
As they neared the end of the exhibit, Spike withdrew a little inside himself, content with listening to her talk, interjecting the appropriate gestures or answers when needed as he realized that he had to put an end to this night.
He’d been nothing but a fool. He’d thought his plan was flawless. Spend time with her, pretend to be someone he hadn’t been in forever and when the time came, leave with a barrage of memories to revere her by. Simple or so it should have been. He hadn’t, however, taken into consideration that the longer he stayed at her side, the more he learned of her and basked in the radiance of her smile, the less he’d want to leave. He hadn’t imagined that once he touched her, he wouldn’t want to bring it to an end. He was ravenous for the warmth of her touch, captivated by the music of her voice, drawn to the purity of her soul. For as much as he’d love to keep her with him for the rest of eternity, he was well aware that he couldn’t. He refused to contaminate her with the underlying darkness that resided in him. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t given in to the urges of his demon in what seemed like forever, that he was above that now, that he’d turned into a recluse so he could begin to atone for the sins of his past. The only thing that mattered was that he couldn’t hurt her, or himself, by continuing with this charade.
Right on cue, he saw the overgrown boy reappear at the entrance of the salon. When she turned to see what garnered his attention, he took both her hands in his and, leaned in to deposit the sweetest of kisses on her cheek, before sighing regretfully, whispering, “Good night, my sweet girl. Don’t forget me, I know I shan’t forget you.” With a last look full of longing, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
“Wai—”
“Who was that?” Riley asked as he joined her, jealousy dripping from his tone.
“He was…” ‘The one.’ “Just someone I met tonight,” she responded, not ready to share what Spike was to her with anyone, let alone Riley.
“He seemed awfully familiar with you.”
“I imagine it must be the customary way for British men to say good-bye, I have seen it in movies. You should know though, you’ve lived here long enough.” She shrugged, deciding it was time to change subjects. “And anyway, where were you?”
“I told you I was invited to a private bidding.”
“Yes, but you also told me the paintings weren’t worth the outrageous prices asked for them,” she replied annoyed.
“Well, I changed my mind.”
“You bought some of them?” she asked incredulously.
“Some? No, I bought the whole lot. You should have seen their faces, Buffy, the other bidders weren’t happy when I outbid them all,” he said smugly.
He bought the whole lot and outbid the other people interested? What was going on here? She recalled seeing Spike whisper something to him before he left them alone. Did he have anything to do with Riley’s sudden change of heart? No, he couldn’t have made Riley do something he didn’t want to do, could he?
“Well, I think I’m ready to call it a night. How about you?”
“Yes, we can leave.” She scanned the room once more, hoping to have another glimpse of Spike before leaving but it was of no use. It seemed he’d left already. Sighing sadly, she walked by Riley’s side out of the room, refusing to take his proffered arm.
******
He watched from the shadows as she talked with the odious man, waiting for a sign—any sign—that what had transpired between them had affected her as much as it affected him. And when he saw she didn’t acknowledge the big oaf’s extended arm, he wished he had the right to sweep her in his arms and carry her into the night. He couldn’t though. He had to remember that, although with each passing second his reasoning seemed less and less founded.
When she left the salon, Spike turned to his assistant, Jonathan, who waited patiently at his side.
“I need you to do something for me, Jonathan,” he said, before telling him in detail what he needed to do tomorrow as soon as the Royal Academy of Arts opened in the morning.
tbc
I truly hope I didn’t disappoint with the follow-up of this first meeting. So, tell me what you thought of it, pretty please?