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This is not going to work. I need him to go. But I also need him to stay. And if he’s as confused as I am, this is going to be a hellish week.
I sigh and stand up, shuffling over to open my armoire drawers, looking for my favorite painting clothes. This room doesn’t have a closet so I bought a huge monster of an armoire and it takes up at least half of the small room.
I pull my leggings up stiffly, biting my lip. My body still hurts every time I move.
Then I tug my loose tank top over my head and reach out for a headband to pull my curls out of the way while I’m working.
I make my way hesitantly down the stairs, listening for Victor to come barreling around a corner at me. But he doesn’t and I make my way to the back of the house and my art studio. I flick the switch and immediately feel like part of my antsy buzz is settling down.
I need this today more than I think I ever have. So I pull out my acrylic paints and my hand-stretched canvases, loving the familiar feel of everything. I make up my palette and sit down, wondering what I should paint. And almost without any thought, I sketch him out on the paper. His deep, dark eyes and midnight hair. The wolfish, predatory look in those eyes. The huge, massive form of him dominating the canvas.. His hands are clenched at his side and he looks like he could come busting out of the picture at any moment. He’s vital and alive and so damn larger than life that it startles me. When I run the paintbrush over his form, it feels like my hands are caressing him, tracing every line of him. It’s damn near erotic how connected I feel to him so that when he clears his throat in the doorway, I shriek and throw my paintbrush up in the air.
He chuckles. “What exactly are you so intent on that you didn’t hear me?”
“You’re a sneaky man, Victor. I don’t think there’s any mystery at all why I didn’t hear you come in.”
I lean down and grab the paintbrush, my breathing harsh in my ears, my heart thundering out of control. My hands shake and I grip the paintbrush in a fist, trying to get myself under control and hoping he doesn’t see what’s going on. Hoping he doesn’t read my mind like he sometimes seems to be able to.
Hoping he doesn’t come around and look at my painting. Moving easily, I grasp a tarp and pull it over the sketch on the easel.
“What are you working on, princess?”
Dammit!I bite my lip and groan silently. “Nothing. Just sketching a fruit bowl to work on. Something easy to try and settle my nerves.”
“Right. Well, I was kinda wondering what was back here since I’m checking out the house.”
“It’s just my studio.” He meanders through the haphazard racks of paints, brushes, cleaning supplies and canvases, not touching anything but yet seeming to have stamped all of it with him. He’s so virile and overwhelmingly potent that it’s hard not to focus on him when he’s in the room. His eyes darken when he sees a painting in the corner that I just finished. He stops in front of it and nods, “Do you mind?”
I shake my head, holding my breath when I see his large hands gently pick up the artwork and study it. That one was a mishmash of feelings and emotions that I’d been attempting to get out of my system. But of course he wouldn’t know that.
“This painting.” He glances over at me, his dark eyes drilling into me until I feel my breath stall. “You’re scared and upset. What was going on?”
My eyes widen and I back away from him. “H-how did you…?”
A dark brow ticks up and his mouth lifts. “How did I know that? Guess what I took as an elective in college, sweetheart. Art. So although I look like…well, like I don’t have a clue what’s going on, I do. So when did you paint this?”
He turns to me and it’s like I can’t keep it to myself. Like I took truth serum and it only works when he stares at me with his dark as night eyes.
“That was the first night that it felt like someone was watching me. I came home from an art show and it seemed like someone followed me and then sat outside. But I couldn’t see anything.”
He nods and sets it gently on the floor where it was sitting before. “It’s amazing what the body can tell us without us even understanding what it’s trying to say. Your gut was telling you that something was wrong. That you needed to pay attention to what was going on around you. I’ve had that happen many times and it’s saved my life. Not everybody gets so lucky though. You got lucky.”
I can barely breathe as I ask him, “Did you ever not get that warning in time?”
His eyes haze over and it’s like he’s looking back in time, the darkness crowding his eyes telling me it’s not a happy thought. He shakes his head and smirks. “We’ve all had bad days, princess. But I don’t talk about mine with clients.”
He paces back to the door and pauses, his big hand on the doorjamb. His serious eyes lock on me. “Promise me that you’ll never get out of my sight. I need to know where you are at all times.”
I chuckle. “I’m pretty sure I don’t need you in the bathroom with me.”
“You know what I mean. Don’t take this lightly, princess. I won’t.”
Ice forms in my chest and it feels heavy. It hurts to breathe. But I nod my head, pushing the jokes aside. “I won’t do anything without telling you.”
He nods, his hawk’s eyes focused and sharp. “Good. If it’s alright with you, I’m going to turn in for a little bit. I’ve got the new security set up and I want to stay up tonight and keep an eye on things so I need to catch a little bit of sleep.”
“That sounds….good.” I say and watch him walk away, his long strides sure and careful. Muscles flex and release under his tight-fitting dress pants and I have to make myself look away. The man is a vision coming and going and I don’t want to stop watching him. But I push it all out of my head and uncover the painting, lifting the palette up and running the brush smoothly through the dollop of blackish-brown color that I mixed to perfectly capture the depths of his coffee eyes.
Time slips away and I yawn, my stomach rumbling when I finally set the palette aside. Victor’s sharp, aquiline face with the rough-hewn cheeks and nose is now clear as a bell on the paper. I draw in a faint breath when I lock eyes with his painted orbs. Even as an image on canvas, he’s powerful and fucking dangerous.
