A constant reminder that no matter how hard I tried… it wouldn’t make a difference because it would never be enough.
Walking into Beckham’s studio, I watched him place his tools down as he looked over at me. His hands were stained with charcoal while he watched me in that way that made my breath catch.
The butterflies in my stomach swarmed from his gaze, but I ignored them as I placed my things down.
He wiped his hand with a damp rag as he walked over to me. He placed his hand on the side of my face, his touch seeming too soft for a man like him.
“Why the long face, Flower?”
I shook my head.
“It’s nothing…” I whispered, looking down.
He placed his finger under my chin to make me look back up at him.
“You and I both know that’s not the truth.”
My lungs deflated. “I… got into another fight with my husband,” I admitted, hating how small my voice sounded. “And… I’m thinking I should just sell my properties. He’s upset that I don’t listen to his suggestions, and if I want to keep the peace, I think I just may have to start.”
Beckham hummed, his thumb brushing over my cheek. The contrast of his rough hands and his gentle touch was unbearable.
“Tell me, Flower… do you feelcherishedby that man…lovedeven?”
I thought about it for a moment as I blinked up at him.Do I feel loved by Gavin?Of course he loves me. We’ve been together for so long. He cares about me.
“I do… a-at least I think I do,” I whispered.
Why… why didn’t I sound so sure?
Beckham watched me, watched the way my lips hesitated.
“Have you ever felt what it’s like to be in love?” I asked him, desperate to turn the attention away from myself.
Something in his expression shifted. He came in a bit closer as he looked down at me.
“I’m not capable of love.” His voice was quiet, as if the words had been ingrained in him for years. “My emotions are rather… ambiguous. Vague. However you want to describe it. Because I wasn’t able to express them growing up, I turned to art. I was able to learn not only more about myself but more about others as I could interpret their emotions simply by drawing, sculpting, or painting them.”
A shiver ran down my spine at his dark gaze.
“Forgive me if I seem a bit superstitious about this newfound ability of yours,” I said softly, and I gulped as he wiped away my fallen tear with his thumb.
“Most people are, Flower.”
“Is that what you were trying to do with me? Trying to understand me?” I asked.
His eyes darkened. “That’s not all I want to do to you, my little flower...” His hand trailed up and down my arm, leaving my skin on fire. “While drawing you, I learned that you are a very strong-minded woman who’s been beaten down and made into an almost fragile doll. But you won’t give up… you wouldn’t let yourself.”
He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer. My head became light. Heat built in my skin, my breath shallowing, heart beating faster.
“A woman like you…” He leaned in. “Deserves to be understood. Cherished. Adored…”
I squeezed my eyes shut, his lips a gentle caress against my skin.
“Worshipped.”
His breath was hot against my skin, and suddenly, I was back in that bathtub—back in my own fantasies of him.
I shook my head as I placed my hands on his chest to push him away.
