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The household staff had let me into the house before retiring for the night. Axel, himself, hadn’t been there, and while the staff had left dinner warming for us, I hadn’t been hungry enough to eat. I had walked over to Sheena’s room— Yeah, that’s how desperate I had been for company, that I wouldn’t have minded hanging out with Sheena, but she wasn’t in her room either. In fact, all of her things had been cleared out from her room. Huh? Had she left? Was her physiotherapy work with Axel already done? Of course, he hadn’t mentioned it.
So, I had returned to the kitchen, pulled a tub of ice cream from the freezer, popped some microwaveable popcorn, and then carried the whole thing back to what had been my room, where I had watched repeats ofFriendsall evening while I finished off the feast.
When I had still not been able to sleep, I had walked over to Axel's room, crawled into his bed, and instantly fallen asleep.
Now I swing my legs over the side of the bed and straighten. My stomach grumbles in protest, I wince. Damn it, why did I have to finish off that tub of ice-cream. Seriously? The entire tub? I press a hand to my stomach, but that doesn’t help. Maybe some herbal tea? Yeah, that might do the trick.
I had taken off my jeans before falling asleep, so dressed in my underwear and T-shirt, I walk down the staircase. Reaching the kitchen, I make myself a mug of herbal tea, then walk out and up the stairs. I pass the floor on which our bedrooms are located, then reach the top floor.
I have avoided coming up here so far, but somehow, it feels like it’s time. The air here feels slightly musty, the stillness even more resounding. The hair on the back of my neck prickles and a shiver runs down my spine. I cross the short hallway and push open the double-doors to Xander’s studio.
Starlight pours in from the floor to ceiling windows and the massive skylight that makes up a big chunk of the ceiling. The silver glow illuminates the paintings that are stacked up against one wall. Against the other wall, I can make out the shape of canvasses, and to the side, there is a massive fireplace.
I feel around on the wall and hit a switch. Light pours down from two floodlights, one at either end of the studio, to illuminate a half-finished canvas.
Goosebumps pop on my skin. The hair on the back of my neck rises. That…that must be the painting he had been working on before his life was cut short. My hand trembles and some of the hot tea splashes over the side and singes my skin. I yelp, then raise my hand to suck on my hurt skin. My gaze is, once more, captured by the figures on the canvas.
I walk toward it, trying to make out what I am seeing.
There are three figures on the canvas. Three men of similar height with wide shoulders. The one on the right is dressed in a suit, the one in the middle is wearing jeans and a button-down shirt, and the one on the left is wearing jeans and a hoodie. All three have dark hair. The one on the right has piercing blue eyes, the one in the middle has blue-gray eyes, and the one on the left has eyes which are almost indigo in color. All three have similar features. All three look like Xander… No, the one on the right looks like Christian, but the other two could be Xander times two. They look so similar, like what Xander and Axel might have looked like if they stood next to each other, except for the slight variation in eye color.
Hangonasecond. Xander never knew about Axel’s existence. He died before Nonna confessed that entire story about Axel’s existence, so how the hell did he come up with the idea of drawing a picture with all three of them? I take a step forward, then another. I reach the canvas, which is massive—at least, six-feet by six-feet in size. I glance between the image of the man in the center, which is Xander—there is no mistaking his blue-grey eyes—and the one of the man I am sure is Axel. How did Xander know to draw his eyes that color? Did he know of Axel’s existence? Had the two of them met? Is that how he knew how to paint Axel’s eyes that exact shade of indigo? I reach up my free hand to touch the image when,
"Hello, Sunshine," his voice reaches me from behind.
I yelp and lose my grip on the mug, which falls on the draping that has slipped off the canvas, and comes to a stop.
I jump back, staring at the tea which has splashed onto the canvas. "No, no, no," I bend, try to use the drape, which is made of some liquid-resistant kind of polyester, then the hem of my T-shirt to mop up some of the liquid. But the T-shirt is too short."Cazzo!"The canvas is too heavy for me to move out of the way so I yank off my T-shirt, then sink to my knees and try to soak up the liquid.
A shadow falls over me and I know he’s standing behind me. But I don’t turn. I continue to try to wipe up the tea from the canvas. Sweat beads my forehead, and it’s not only from my ministrations to the painting. When it’s clear I am doing more harm than good, I finally straighten. The heat of his body instantly coils around me and I shiver. Damn it, why did I think it was a good idea to take off my T-shirt?
There’s a click, then the hiss of a lighter. I glance over my shoulder to find Axel standing behind me. The flame from his lighter burns white under the glare of the spotlight. He walks to the doors of the studio and yanks them closed. The thud of the doors closing reverberates through the space. I jump.
Without taking his gaze off of me, he reaches out and hits the light switch. The spotlight shuts off, leaving only starlight and the flame from the lighter glowing in the dark. It throws his face into relief, all hollows and planes and a jaw so hard it could have been hewn from granite.
A shiver runs down my spine.
He takes a step forward, then another. Reaching me, he bends forward, and I push back until my hip bumps against the canvas. He straightens my fallen mug, then draws himself up to his full height.
"Wh...what are you doing here?" My voice trembles. Damn it, why am I so nervous in his presence?
"I might ask you the same thing," he counters.
"When did you get back? I...I didn't hear you," I reply.
"Answering a question with a question, Sunshine?" He leans toward me and his dark, masculine essence, combined with the scent of alcohol and cigars, envelops me. My belly flip-flops and my nipples tighten. I only have to smell him for my entire body to turn into a mass of need.
"If you answer my question, I'll answer yours." I tip up my chin. His blue eyes darken until they seem like the sky at night.
"When you get sassy, it's a fucking turn on. It makes me want to shut you up with my cock down your throat," he growls.
"Gesù Cristo."My thighs clench, my toes curl, and a pulse flares to life between my legs. I shouldn't be aroused by his filthy words, but dammit, I can't get rid of the images his words have painted in my mind.
His nostrils flare. "I returned from my meeting to find my wife-to-be asleep in my bed. So innocent. So pure. Your lips were parted, your cheeks flushed as you slept. You had thrown off your covers and I couldn't take my gaze off of your creamy thighs, the shadowy region between them, only partially covered by your blanket. I wanted to lean over and run my nose up your inner thigh."
Heat flushes my chest.
"To bury my face in your pussy and draw your scent inside. To push your panties aside as I thrust, first my fingers, then my tongue inside your channel, until you were wet and wriggling under me. Then, I wanted to bite down on your cunt until you came."
