Deception

by twitchytwain

The moment Bonnie meets the gorgeous art forger, Kol Mikaelson; she's headed down a road of no return. She's married, older and recklessly ready to risk it all for him but is he worth the risk?

Title: Deception

Plot: The moment Bonnie meets the gorgeous art forger, Kol Mikaelson; she's headed down a road of no return. She's married, older and recklessly ready to risk it all for him but is he worth the risk?

Tags: Erotica, Romance, Suspense

..

Bonnie saw him across the room through the maze of people clad in chic clothes to view the exhibition of hauntingly beautiful black and white photographs depicting the war in Congo and Syria by various African and Syrian artists.

He was wearing a black leather jacket over a white T-shirt and walking around with a glass of wine. The lights glinted off his dirty-blond hair and his brown eyes danced as he watched her. He looked to be about twenty three or twenty four, far too young to be looking at her. Especially how he was looking at her; the way his gaze slid over her body in the wine-colored figure hugging dress, her breasts and her legs. He made her feel even more naked in the backless costume.

"Who are you looking at?" Caroline, her friend looked back over her shoulder.

"Nobody." She smiled, shaking her head and diverting her attention back to the blonde in front of her.

Davina, her second assistant came over and announced, "Its time. You ready for your speech?"

"Yes. I guess is now or never" she nodded to Davina then returned to look at Caroline or rather over her shoulder to see him watching the room again before catching her eye. She walked to the front of the room and took a deep inhale. Touching her fork against her glass, she smiled at the small crowd before her as each one of them turned to acknowledge her.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is an honor to introduce to you my baby, my heart, the Ryan art gallery. It's taken years to get here and I am so blessed that this day has finally arrived. My name is Bonnie Bennett and the work you will view today is by new emerging artists who not only have a high caliber of art but also very relevant and needed voices."

His eyes blazed at her across the room. It was the way he looked at her, like he knew everything about her, knew her desires, her fantasies, Clearing her throat, she thanked her guests for coming, wished them a great evening and encouraged them to buy heaps of art.

"How'd I do?"

"You were brilliant." Caroline patted her forearm.

"Fantastic, "Katherine chimed in, leaning to give her a quick hug before rushing off to greet another guest. After Caroline excused herself, she stood alone watching the crowd and nodding her greetings to a few guests.

She paused in the act of taking a sip of her drink and glanced across the room, their eyes colliding. He navigated toward her through the small crowd just as a waiter with a tray of wine approached her.

"Un autre verre?" he asked, gesturing to the tray.

"Oui. Vin rouge s'il vous plait"

He was unbearably beautiful, she thought taking in his dimpled chin and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

Handing her the glass of red wine she'd requested, he stated "You're American"

"You seem disappointed."

"Non. J'aime les femmes Americaines."

"I'm married." She warned, heat flushing her face.

"Even better. Where's your husband?"

"In L.A on business."

"What does he do?"

"He's a novelist."

"French?"

She combed her back hair with her fingers "American."

"Your eyes," he said. "Are incredible."

Wanting to get his attention off her and her personal life, she turned toward a photograph a wall in front of them and asked "Do you like the pieces?"

"Yes."

"This one is called iya ati omo. It means mother and child in Yoruba."

"Mere et l'enfant, "he smiled then followed with, "sounds better in Yoruba."

"Yes." She half smiled and gazed into his eyes, which held hers just as firmly. There was a moment where neither said a word but just stood staring into each other's eyes.

"I want you to have this." He finally said, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and handing her something.

"What is it?" Bonnie reached out for what looked like a business card.

"La joie de vivre, d'aimer et de faire l'amour."

"The joy of living, of loving and making love." She heard herself translating his words.

A slow smile bent his mouth when he said, "I'd like to see you again."

"I told you I was married."

"And I told you I didn't care."

"Besides you're a child. I could be old enough to be your mother. "Her stomach tensed even when she said the words.

"But you're not my mother. This is France. Live a little." And with that, he walked away and out of the gallery.

She stared at the card in her hand and felt a smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

….

After the opening party had died down and the last guest gone, Bonnie, her small staff and her friends gathered in her office for celebratory drinks. She cupped a bottle of champagne and released the cork with a pop.

Giving a generous pour to each glass, she handed them to her friends then held up her own glass in a toast and the rest followed suit.

She smiled at her gathered friends, "To everyone whose vision made this day and this moment possible, thank you."

"Here, here" Anna cheered and took a swig of champagne.

After a few more toasts and laughter, they called it a night and locked up, setting up the alarm. A gleaming black Mercedes Benz was waiting outside for her as they bid heir farewells, Caroline and Katherine rode together in Caroline's car and her two assistants said that they would catch a taxi.

She held the door open, leaned out and asked if they wanted a lift home.

"Were actually heading out for more drinks" Davina laughed.

"Join us" Anna coaxed.

"I'm afraid its way past my bed time" she laughed, closing the door and shutting out the city noise.

….

Dropping her house keys on the entryway table, Bonnie stripped her shoes off her aching feet and padded toward the kitchen. She passed the dining room with its glossy hardwood floors and fresh flowers arranged in crystal vases atop a long mahogany dining table, the living room with a baby grand piano with a dozen family portraits spread out on its surface and walked into the kitchen.

Glancing at the stack of mail in the center of the kitchen island, she opened the fridge and pulled out the box with Cade's birthday cake. She closed the door using her hip and peeled open the tiffany-blue box. It was a cake she`d bought him days ago for his forty-third birthday. It was also a cake they hadn't enjoyed as a family because Cade was in L.A.

She too was turning forty in a few weeks, an age she wasn't yet ready to face.

She retrieved a small plate from the cabinet and a dessert fork from a drawer then she cut a piece, picked up a fork and dug in. It was soft, gooey and delicious. It was just what she needed after tonight. A few bites later, she put her fork down and pulled out the business card the kid had given her from her clutch. She traced the edges of the card before bringing it up to her nose to smell it. His masculine scent lingered in the paper.

She put it back in her purse, placed the cake back in the fridge and washed her plate. Then taking a deep inhale of breath, she left the kitchen and walked past their library as she made her way to the bedrooms upstairs. Standing in the quiet of the library, she stared at the walls adorned with original works by Kandinsky, Pollock and Basquiat. Cade's grand-father, who came from old family money in Philadelphia, had been an avid collector who passed the pieces down to his son when he died and so the tradition continued.

Cade came from a long line of black elite. His ancestors had owned slaves during the American Civil war. His grandfather had been an industrialist and following his father's footsteps, Cade's father owned several banks and real estate in Philadelphia, Chicago, New York and Los Angeles. Cade was a popular author whose picture adorned many book jackets and now he was getting into film.

Trailing her fingers over the ornate wrought iron banister, she started climbing the stairs to their bedroom. She flicked a switch. A small crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling revealed a king sized bed draped in luxurious silk and cushions set against a high velvet headboard with brass nail-head trim, an antique chair with a blue velvet cushion and lavish drapes covering an entire wall of windows.

Her feet sank into the soft ivory carpet as she sauntered into their walk in closet and took in his clothes and his wall of shoes to her left and her own clothes, bags and shoes to her right. There was a dresser-style island in the middle topped with a mirror. She opened one of the drawers and pulled out a white silk chemise to sleep in.

The kid from the gallery dominated her mind, the way his gaze had jolted her heartbeat, the way her stomach her tensed at the idea of him but she needed to stop thinking about him.

He was way too young and she was turning forty.

….

Sunlight spilled in through the bay windows over the kitchen sink as she turned on the coffeemaker and took out a mug from a cabinet. She loosely tied the belt of her silk robe and called her daughter.

"Morning, honey"

Ryan grunted back as a way of greeting. Bonnie smiled; at fifteen Ryan was a typical teenager with raging hormones and mood swings.

"Had a good sleepover at Nora's house?" she asked as she opened the fridge, leaned down to scan the shelves and grabbed a carton of milk.

"Yeah. Great. "

"You coming back today though right?"

"Well today's Friday. I thought I could come home on Sunday? I think daddy might be back by then."

Bonnie poured milk into her coffee and sipped cautiously.

"Right. You sure you brought enough clothes? I can drop some more off for you."

"Thanks."

There was an awkward silence before Bonnie said, "I love you."

"Ok thanks. Gotta go" came Ryan's response before she hung up the phone.

….

Photographic prints littered her black-lacquered desk as she bent over, studying them. She was always looking for young and emerging artists interested in exhibiting their work at her gallery. They certainly were no Matisse, Kandinsky, Renoir or Cezanne but they too had new and exciting voices.

"Am I disturbing?"

Bonnie looked up to find the kid from last night. He stood at the threshold of her office and soaked her in. He took in the wide straps and square neck of her green dress and his gaze flickered down to the swell of her breasts.

"I was just reviewing a few submissions."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, walking around her desk and motioning him inside. She leaned against the edge of the desk and folded her arms across her chest. Her nipples pebbled beneath his gaze.

"I have an appointment."

Shaking her head in confusion, she replied "I don't recall making an –who are you?"

"We met last night. I'm Kol."

Of course she remembered him but she was still confused as to why he was here. "And you have an appointment?"

"Oui"

"I don't remember any-I am very busy right now and after this I have a lunch meeting with an art dealer and then-"

"Kol Mikaelson?"

Bonnies head snapped toward her first assistant, Anna. Dressed in a white shirt with big billowing sleeves and black pants, she cut the image of a professional.

"Oui"

"Annabelle Zhu but you can call me Anna." She stuck out her hand which he shook and she clung too long to his, her eyes raking over him.

"Why is this man here?" she turned to ask Anna

"Showing me his work. He's hoping to show at this gallery."

"Can you give a minute?" he raised his forefinger indicating that Anna should give him a moment.

"Sure, my office is just around the corner. Find me when you're done here."

"Will do."

After Anna's departure, she turned to him and asked, "What do you want?"

"Dinner."

"Pardon?"

"Have dinner with me tonight. I'll bring some of my prints."

"That would be highly unprofessional."

"You're not answering my question."

"No."

"You have my card should you change your mind"

….

As soon as Kol left her office, her phone rang. She checked the screen and saw that it was her husband, Cade. Taking a seat, she leaned back against her leather executive chair and picked up the call.

"So, how'd it go last night?"

"Great turnout."

"Did you get the flowers?"

"Yes, they're beautiful" she glanced at the bouquet of red roses sitting on her desk. He'd sent them yesterday, the morning before the opening of the gallery. Picking up the lavender colored card that had been tucked between the flowers, she fingered it with her manicured nails and read the two words that were scrawled on the card. Good luck.

"How's your day looking?"

"I have meetings with a few web designers for our website." She replied, tossing the card in the trash.

"Christ, can't you leave that sort of thing to one of your assistants?"

"No, I want to be hands on with this."

She heard a cacophony of voices on the other side of the line, particularly Sybil, the woman she suspected he was sleeping with. Sure she was his assistant but the sexual tension between the two of them had always been palpable and Cade was no stranger to infidelity. He had cheated on her before when Ryan was younger and then again when they first moved to Paris five years ago. She didn't really care anymore if he was sleeping with someone. They hadn't made love in months.

"You sell anything last night?"

"Yes. Quite a few pieces actually."

"Great. "

"How's L.A?"

"Great."

"When are you back?"

"Not sure yet but I'll call you. Gotta go, bye.|"

"Bye."

She hung up and stared at the prints spread out in front of her. She turned to her computer and splayed her fingers across the keyboard.

It was time to get back to work.

…

She'd been so engrossed in her work after her lunch meeting that she hadn't noticed how the hours had flown by. It was only when her stomach rumbled in hunger that she realized how late it was.

Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was close to six 'clock.

She clicked her mouse and closed the slides she'd been viewing on her computer screen and then shut down the machine. She took out her phone and texted him, when her phone pinged back with a message from him her gut clenched and her heart pounded in her throat.

This was it. The roller coaster before the fatal drop

Hiking her oversized tote over her shoulder, she turned off the lights in her office and locked the door behind her.

She caught a reflection of herself in the glass, illuminated by the gallery's soft recessed lighting. Nightfall had made mirrors out of the windows overlooking the street. Though her brown skin shimmered under the lights, her green eyes looked drawn and tired.

She was turning forty.

Christ where had time gone?

She turned on the alarm and locked the doors. The gallery had a great location where several restaurants and boutiques lined the tree-lined street.

Click Click

She unlocked her car using the remote and slipped inside the butter-soft white leather interior. Taking a moment to check her reflection in the mirror, she took out a tube of red lipstick from her bag and lifted a hand to apply a coat before stopping. What was she doing? This wasn't a date. No it wasn't a date but she still wanted to look professional she decided and touched up her lipstick

She pulled out of the parking and made her way to the bar he'd suggested. She met him at a small pocket sized bar with narrow tables and soft lighting. He was sitting at the bar with his back to her.

She approached and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Bonsoir"

"Salut, ca va?" he asked, rising from his chair.

"I'm good. Thanks."

"This way. "He guided her down to a corner booth, hidden at the back.

He turned to a passing waitress and said "Un autre vin rouge s'il vous plait." Then turning back to her asked, "And you?"

"Same."

The girl nodded and moved away.

"Let me see the prints."

"Straight to the point, no foreplay." He teased

"This is a business dinner."

"D'accord." He lifted a shoulder in a shrug and took out his portfolio. He spread a few prints in front of her, a beautiful kaleidoscope of delicate watercolors. His work was beautiful; she picked up another print and held it up. The layers of paint made for rich and sumptuous work that jumped off the page.

In the midst of her reviewing his work, the server came back with their drink orders.

"Very strong pieces" She said softly, her eyes never leaving the pages.

"Thank you." He sipped his wine watching her intently.

"How long have you been painting?"

"All my life"

After another round of drinks they ordered some food, steak for him and a ravioli stuffed with fresh lobster for her.

"My apartment is a few blocks from here." He informed her over dessert. It was a blatant invitation.

"Of course it is." She half smiled. She wasn't surprised by his audacity. He was just being French. He pulled out his wallet and peeled off a few euros, placing them on the table.

"Shall we?"

A flush swept over her face as she rose from her chair, tugging awkwardly at her shoulder grazing hair. She couldn't believe she was actually doing this. She slowly took her bag and followed him out of the bar.

Twenty minutes later she stood outside his apartment watching as he unlocked his door. He flipped on the light switch causing the fluorescent lights to sputter. She took in his place, a cavernous loft with exposed brick walls, chunky wooden columns and beams. She loved the contrast of brick walls and warm wood

"This is a nice place. Mind if I ask what you do for a living?" her eyes glanced at some books piled haphazardly on a coffee table.

"I'm a painter." He replied looking confused since they'd spent the better half of an hour going through his portfolio.

"Emerging artists don't make enough to afford a place like this."

"I cashed in on my trust fund."

For a moment she thought he was a gigolo but quickly pushed the thought out of her mind.

"You sticking to wine or you want coffee?" he called over his shoulder, making his way to the kitchen. It was an open floor plan so she could still see him as he moved around the gleaming stainless steel kitchen.

"Wine please."

Opening a dark wood cabinet, he pulled out two wine glasses and rinsed them out in the sink then took out a corkscrew from a drawer before padding back toward her. Making space on the coffee table, he set the glasses and corkscrew down and went back to the kitchen. He returned with unlabeled bottle of red wine and pulled the cork open using the corkscrew. His movements were fluid as he poured two generous amounts.

He handed her a huge, bowl-sized glass with a long stem and as his fingers brushed against hers they sent a wave of electricity from her belly to her groin. Her skin hummed with tension as his gaze moved leisurely over her body. Willing herself not to get affected by him, she curled her fingers around the generous bowl of the glass and savored the wine.

"You like music?" He asked moving away from her again. He shuffled through some records then plucked one out, slipped it on to the turntable and dropped the needle.

"Sure."

Charles Aznavour's voice filled the room and Kol turned from the turntable, making his way back toward her. He gently swirled his glass, nosed the wine then took a slow sip, his eyes fixed on her.

"My studio's upstairs." He gestured with his head to a corkscrew staircase behind him. Keen to see the rest of his work, she followed him up the stairs, her eyes fastened to his firm buttocks in the black jeans. Once they reached the floor, they took several more steps until he stopped at a door to his left. He opened it and their air stung her nostrils as soon as she stepped inside.

Scents of turpentine and fresh paints wafted in the air and huge canvases leaned against the walls. It was cluttered but she could see the passion emanating from the room. One piece caught her attention and she studied it. It was a monochrome painting ripe with emotion.

"It's a good painting, "she smiled" Maybe even better than good."

"Thank you" he replied, his closeness starting her for a moment. She lost herself in the heat of his breath against her neck.

Her gaze shifted from the painting to his face," Very Gerhard Richter. You paint with such passion"

He tilted her chin with his fingertips so that she was looking directly into his eyes "I'm going to kiss you now." His voice was hoarse, the words low and rough and she felt sweat pool in her palms. She watched as he put his glass down on the worn surface of a workstation before relieving her of her own glass. Too stunned to say anything, she waited. He gripped her face tightly in his hands and kissed her fiercely on the mouth. Letting out a moan, she quivered against him, returning his kiss hungrily and wrapping his arms around his neck. She felt his fingers threading through her hair, questing down the nape of her neck, her back, they were urgent, hungry and needy like the kiss itself. She panted. He panted until they could both barely breathe. She felt his hands slip under her dress, reach around to grab her buttocks and squeeze them roughly.

"Please," she cried half-sobbing, not sure if she wanted him to stop or to tear her apart. All she knew was the heady orgy of sensations in her head that made her feel like she was losing herself in him, over the edge, ready to risk everything for him.

….