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I blamed that for my actions. The sight of Carla with another man made me see red, and my fingers had itched to wrap themselves around her neck and remind her who was boss.
But I’d fought the urge, and somehow ended up in my personal version of hell.
Watching Carla paint was as erotic as watching porn. Even more so. She’d turned on classical music, and as she moved her brush, she swayed to the soft violin, swinging her hips deliciously to the beat of the music.
It was more than that though. Carla came alive when she was working. Her fingers were swift and sure, and her blue eyes were wide with excitement, and then narrow in discernment. Seeing her like this made it clear that the person she showed the world was a shadow of what lay beneath.
“You’re staring at me,” she said, turning slightly to look over her shoulder.
I glanced back down at my book, quickly feeling like a fucking middle schooler with a crush.
I grunted in response.
“I can feel your eyes boring into my back.”
I ignored her, pretending to focus on my book. That was until it was snatched away from my hands.
“What the fuck!” I snapped, jumping up slightly.
Carla was holding my book in her hands. Her paint-stained fingers were on my pages, and I tried not to cringe as I thought about how she was likely staining the pages. “That’s one of my favorite books.”
She shrugged. “Then maybe you should not have used it to spy on me.”
I reached out to grab the book out of her hands, but Carla was surprisingly swift for someone so tiny.
“Carla…”
She shook her head. “No,” she told me. “You can get it back when you answer my questions.”
“Don’t you want to paint?” I’d watched her closely as she’d worked, and I assumed that she was so focused that she didn’t notice. “Isn’t that why we are here?”
“I can’t work with you staring holes into my back.”
My brow lifted as I looked at the canvas. “Looks pretty painted to me,” I muttered. I didn’t really know what she was painting, but I wasn’t as well-versed on art as I was in other areas.
“I like to cover the canvas and use light and shadows to create shapes.” The book was in reach, but I was enraptured by the words she was speaking, and I wasn’t paying attention. My eyes were on Carla, whose intensity crackled around her like electricity.
“Show me.” My voice was low and husky, and I could feel the shift in the air between the two of us.
“What?”
I stood up and walked towards Carla. “Show me.”
Her pink lips opened slightly, and I nearly groaned as her tongue swiped over her bottom lip. “Okay.”
Carla placed my book gingerly on a spare table. The cover was smudged from her painted fingers, but I didn’t care. My focus was entirely on Carla.
She’d turned her back to me, picked up her brush, and returned to her canvas. The entire thing had been painted black once more.
“What are you painting?” As I squinted, I could see the outlines of a silhouette. This was similar to what she’d created at the house. Carla clearly had a style.
“I don’t know.” She placed her brush on the canvas, adding a large glob of white paint. “I just let my hands work. Painting has always been my escape. A way to get my thoughts out.”
I said nothing as I watched Carla. Speaking right now felt like sacrilege. Her small hands gripped her brush lightly as she worked on the canvas, and I could see what she meant about her process. She blended the white across the space, creating the outlines of a shape. What I thought was a silhouette started to take shape, and I could see hands reaching out towards the viewer.
The sight of it made my stomach turn. If this was what was in Carla’s mind, then no wonder she never slept.
Leaning down, I pressed a kiss to the slope of her neck. I didn’t know what the hell possessed me, but the sight of the small, black flecks on her skin made me want to lick them off.
