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“No point. I’m the only one who ever goes that direction.”
I narrow my eyes. “So? You might be a prat, but you don’t deserve to die any more than the others.”
“Waste of time,” he repeats.
I sigh, picking up the rope. “Whatever. I’m doing it anyway. Thanks for the canvases.”
He doesn’t respond, and I head back into the yard, trailing rope behind me.
Eli comes out of the house, yawning, just as I’m finishing up. The rope line looks perfect; sitting at about waist-height, it runs taut around the edges of the yard, stretching all the way from the bottom of the drive to the house. It’s discreet enough to blend into the trees unless you’re actively looking for it.
Eli looks impressed. “Holy shit.” He gives the rope a tug. “This is really smart.”
“Yeah?” I dust snow off my gloves. “Think it’ll help?”
“I don’t see how it couldn’t.” He presses a kiss to my head. “Thanks, baby.”
“You’re welcome.” I roll my shoulders. “I didn’t sleep good. I think I’m gonna go take a nap.”
He gives my bum a playful smack as I pass by him into the hall, shaking snow off my body. After all that work, I’m dead on my feet. I trail through the corridor to my guest room, ready to crash on the portable cot.
But when I open the door, the bed is gone. Instead, the room is set up like a little studio.
I look around with wide eyes. While I was in the yard, Cole must have brought all my paint in here. He’s stacked the pots against the wall, next to the pile of canvases and my folded drop-cloths. My easel is standing proudly in the middle of the room, with a little stool set next to it. There’s a battered-looking desk and chair pushed into the corner, and he’s added a couple more lamps so I can adjust the lighting.
Suddenly, I don’t feel tired at all. Excitement fires up in my stomach. I bend to pick up a canvas and put it on my easel, then start rooting through my paints.
Eighteen
Eli
I am so Goddamn bored.
I wander through the cabin restlessly, picking things up and putting them back down again. There’s nothing for me to do. It’s been over a week since the last storm, so I’ve spent the last eight days at work, giving private ski lessons. Today is my day off, though, and everyone else is too busy to hang out. Riven’s working. Cole is outside the barn, skinning some game a hunter brought him. Daisy’s painting.
My feet take me through the corridor to her door. Daisy’s left it open, so I lean in the doorframe and watch her. She’s painting a woman sitting at a dresser, pinning up her hair. The reference photo her client sent in is clipped to the top of the canvas, and she checks it over and over as she works. The painting’s obviously not done yet, but even half-finished, I can’t help admiring how realistic it is. You can practically feel the soft texture of the woman’s skin.
Daisy reaches for a clean brush, executing a little twirl. She’s dancing around as she works, shaking her hips to some crappy pop song playing over the radio. Her hair is pulled back in a bandana, and she’s got pink paint smeared on her cheek.
It’s cute asfuck.
She’s been with us almost two weeks, now, and it’s been heaven. There’s been a lot of sex. A lot. Morning sex, midnight sex, afternoon-quickies-before-work sex. It’s more than fucking, though; I just like being around her. I like having someone to come home to. We hang out all the time, cooking, playing games, watching movies. Most nights, we spend hours talking, letting the hours go by. I’ll say it now; I have a massive crush on the girl. I don’t know what I’m going to do without her. I’m seriously considering bribing the mechanic to break her car again.
As I watch, her phone bleeps. She puts down the brush and picks it up, checking the notification. Her shoulders droop as she reads.
Well, we can’t have that.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
She jumps out of her skin. “Jesus, Eli! You scared the shit out of me!”
“Sorry, Tink. What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just a text.” She puts her phone in her pocket and smiles up at me. My heart patters in my chest. I can’t handle the way she looks at me. There’s so much softness and fondness in her eyes. “Did you need something?”
“Attention.”
She laughs, crossing the room into my open arms. I kiss her, long and deep. She makes a soft sound, dragging her hands down from my shoulders to my biceps. I make sure to flex, so she gets the full experience of feeling me up, and she hums appreciatively. Her fingers trace over my tattoo.
