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I waited until he’d left before taking the crate into my office, locating my cordless screwdriver. Then I stood in front of the four feet by five feet wooden box, uncertain I wanted to unearth whatever Zorro had decided to send me. Was this some kind of game, much like I’d dreamt about? Sighing, I chastised myself for being ridiculous then unscrewed the front flap.
The moment I exposed the painting underneath, the series of shivers grew more intense. The vibrant colors used for the piece were bold yet seductive, the depiction of the woman shackled to a tree powerful. I was stunned by the excellent artistry, a true masterpiece in my opinion. While some might consider the portrayal scandalous, the creation evoked such emotion that I was immediately drawn into the moment.
Able to hear her cries.
Able to feel the lash of the whip used on her naked body.
The comparison to Talon’s paintings was there, but the one I stood gawking at had taken the artistry to an entirely different level. The word brilliance could be used. The painting would be considered breathtaking even if it hadn’t grabbed me around the throat.
Blinking several times, I forced myself to look away, taking deep breaths. Was this meant as a gift? If so, why? After a few seconds, I returned my gaze, noticing both a signature in crimson paint on the bottom corner as well as an envelope—a red envelope. There was no reason my hands should be shaking as I bent down to the floor, but they were. My heart was also pitter-pattering, my mind still fixated on the model’s pose. Was it real or from his imagination?
And why did it look entirely too much as if I was the female model with thick rope around her wrists? The signature was exactly what I’d expected. Signed with one name.
Zorro.
The man’s talent was phenomenal, his taste questionable. I pressed my hand to my lips, doing what I could to shove the dream aside. While I hadn’t been on a date for almost two years, my reaction to the man and his work was out of character. I grabbed the envelope, lowering my bottom to the floor before opening it. The note did little to ease my concerns.
My beautiful Aphrodite.
You inspired me last night.
I hope this brings you a smile.
Until we meet again.
Pronto,mi perteneceras.
Zorro
What in the hell was this about?
Brief thoughts about months ago entered my mind. Was it possible this was the same man who’d sent me the roses? If so, should I be troubled or flattered? Even though I was cautious, there’d been no way of Zorro knowing I’d been invited to the party.
“Whoa. That is an incredible piece. Whew, baby. That can’t be the same artist who painted the other pieces of crap.” As usual, Jasmine’s harsh criticism cut through the fog that had developed around my brain.
“No. It’s not the same man.”
“Oh, a male painted it. I wonder if he’s single.”
“This was a gift. What does this line mean?” I handed her the note before rising to my feet.
“Is this from the dude last night?”
All I could do was nod.
“It says ‘soon, you’ll belong to me.’ I thought you didn’t know this guy. It’s either extremely romantic or you need to take out a restraining order.”
I was leaning toward the restraining order.
I jerked the note from her hand, immediately moving away from the painting. “I don’t know him. We talked for about five minutes.”He seduced me for the entire time with his eyes“Notice he signed it Zorro.”
“Oh, sexy.”
“Yeah, he was, but he painted this. Last night.”
“No way,” she huffed then took a closer look, dropping onto her knees for a few seconds. Why was I holding my breath? “Shit. I think you’re right. Some of the paint is still fresh. Who the hell is this guy?”
“That’s the thing. I have no idea, other than he’s friendly with Senator Campbell.”
