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Had he simply been assigned a guest room? Was this the least offensive of his options? Or had he just been too tired to make it to wherever he normally slept? She watched him for several minutes. Yes, he looked very much like a bodyguard. He felt very much likeherbodyguard.
She jumped when she realized he was staring at her. She started to back out of the room, but he raised a hand off the pillow and motioned her closer.
“Sit down,” he rasped in that husky half-asleep voice some men had.
Saskia sat carefully on the edge of the bed, her thigh inches from the tip of the tattooed dragon’s tail. She scooted away from it, as if the ink might somehow pierce her skin. Marcus took her hand in his and squeezed.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She nodded and used her free hand to wipe the tears that already moved down her cheeks. She believed him. She trusted he wouldn’t hurt her or destroy her in any outward or inward way. But Quill’s bed was still the one she wanted to be in. Even though he wasn’t half as kind.
“He’ll be upset if you keep him waiting,” Marcus said. “Let me sleep, love. I’ll see you tonight. We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”
A phantom chill swept the room, and goosebumps popped out on her arms.
“Y-yes, sir.”
Marcus pulled his hand away and closed his eyes, dismissing her for the day.
10
Quill glanced up from his paper. “You’re late.”
He was dressed in an uncharacteristically casual white T-shirt and faded jeans.
Saskia was just as uncomfortable and nervous this time as she’d been the last time he’d spoken those words to her. Why couldn’t he be more approachable?
He hadn’t given her a time limit. She’d gotten ready according to his exacting specifications. Surely he didn’t think she could just wave a wand, and it would all be done instantly. It took time to look like you’d rolled out of bed perfect.
“I’m sorry, Master. My nails were drying.”
That was true. Kind of.
He made a sound halfway between a grunt and a snort and went back to his paper. “Sit.”
At the table? Like a real person? To what did she owe that grand honor?
She slid into the chair opposite from him while he read. Occasionally he brought a white porcelain coffee cup to his mouth. It clinked back against the saucer as he set it down, immersed in the financial news.
A servant brought out a plate of food. “Coffee, ma’am? Or something else?”
Saskia was taken aback by the respect. She’d assumed that if she was crawling around on the floor in Quill’s collar, that the rest of the household would treat her like a dog as well.
“Coffee is fine.”
The servant disappeared from the room for a moment and returned with the coffee.
“Leave the pot,” Quill said not looking up from the paper.
“Yes, sir.”
When they were alone, he snapped the pages of the newspaper shut and put it on the table beside him. His plate was already empty. He hadn’t bothered waiting for her.
“As soon as you’ve eaten, we’re going to start working in the gallery,” he said.
Saskia’s heart leapt into her throat. “You’re going to paint me again?”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course I’ll be painting you again, but that’s not what I meant. We’re going to work onyourwork. You will paint. I will instruct you and observe.”
