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She’d bet her life on it. And this window into his psyche was both more illuminating and far worse than anything she had imagined. That he had immense talent was in no doubt, and as another type of artist she found that bond between them reassuring—though everything else about the paintings troubled her and told her she was right to be concerned. Listening, she was reassured to hear the shower still running. What other secrets could she uncover in the time she had?
She wasn’t here to pry, but to sense things, Savannah told herself, remaining motionless in the middle of the room. And then the water stopped running. And she was completely exposed. She braced herself. All the clever words and questions she’d been preparing for Ethan deserted her. But when he didn’t emerge from the bathroom curiosity got the better of her. Tip-toeing to the door, she peeped through a crack. Sensation streamed through every inch of her at the sight of Ethan standing in front of a mirror with just a towel around him.
He was magnificent.
Although his scars were far, far worse than she had thought, she had never seen anyone half so virile or appealing. His legs were beautifully shaped and muscular, and his naked torso was everything she had dreamed of. The extent of his injuries, of his scarring, only proved it was a miracle he had made it through, and the thought of the pain he must have experienced cut her like a knife. He was twice the man she’d thought him. And more.
Savannah jumped back in alarm as Ethan thrust his fists down on a marble counter-top. For a moment she thought he’d seen her and that that must have prompted the angry action, but then she realised he was leaning over his braced arms with his shoulder-muscles knotted and his head bowed, as if the sight of his own body had disgusted him. She knew then that everything she had feared for him was true: Ethan’s injuries had scarred more than his body, they had scarred the man.
‘Savannah?’
She gasped out loud as he wheeled around.
‘Savannah! I’m speaking to you!’
The ferocity in his tone made her back away.
‘What do you think you’re doing here?’
‘Looking for you…’ She backed away, hands outstretched in supplication. ‘I knocked, but you didn’t hear me.’
‘You didn’t hear the water running?’
‘I heard it, but.’
‘You didn’t leave immediately?’
‘No, I.’
‘You what?’ he flashed across her. ‘Wanted to try out your amateur psychology on me?’ As he spoke his glance swept the paintings which he knew she must have seen. ‘I thought so,’ he spat out with contempt when she didn’t reply.
‘Ethan, please.’
‘I thought we’d agreed you’d stay away from me?’
‘Did we?’ Her voice was trembling. ‘I don’t remember that.’
Straightening up, Ethan dipped his head. His stare was menacing.
‘Stop trying to intimidate me.’ If only her voice would stop shaking.
‘Then tell me why you’re here.’
‘Like I said, I was looking for you.’
‘Because?’ he prompted harshly.
‘I wanted to speak to you.’
‘And so you sneaked into my room?’
‘No!’
‘Go back to bed, Savannah.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. But how was she going to put all her thoughts and impressions into a few short sentences when Ethan would never give her the time? Shorthand was her only option. ‘I care about you.’
‘You care about me?’ Ethan’s laugh was cold and ugly. ‘If you only knew how infantile that sounded.’
