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My playlist ends, indicating it’s time for me to take a break. I put down the paintbrush before I convince myself to do “just a little more.” Which will then turn into another few hours of working and the kink in my shoulder will only grow worse. I’ll soon be at the point where I need to put the painting away for a day or two and work on other things. Otherwise, I’ll over-paint and end up ruining my vision.
Sweat clings to the small of my back, between my breasts, and behind my ears. I groan as I take off my headphones, putting them aside. When did it get so hot in here? It can’t be just because I’m that turned on.
With a sigh, I stand to my feet and grab my bottle of water sitting on the small table next to me only to stop dead in my tracks.
I’m not alone anymore. And to top it off it isn’t just anyone… it’s Dante, watching me.
His eyes wander down the length of my body as if his hands are physically on my skin. The dark lustfulness that seems to lay within them sends shivers across my skin, my nipples hardening in response. God, why didn’t I wear a bra today?
Dante’s eyes linger on my breasts for just a moment before sweeping back to my face. I nearly fall back a step. The fury radiating off him is obvious. It’s told in the tension of his jaw, the rigid way he’s holding his shoulders.
I swallow hard. Oh no. He recognizes himself. He knows I’m painting him, that I’m lusting after him. It’s all laid out right here on my canvas, so of course he has to know, and now he knows just what I am. He’s offended by these liberties I’ve taken with his image.
But wait? How would he even know the faceless man in the painting is him? It’s not like he has a tattoo I’ve added or any other distinguishing marks to make him recognize himself. It’s only my own guilty conscience playing havoc with me.
A million and one emotions run through me as my heart begins to race. Opening my mouth, I attempt to say something, but no words come out. Instead, I find myself stuttering on air as my eyes rack down his body, taking in how snugly his shirt fits over the curves of his muscles before disappearing beneath the hem of his pants that covers his…
I stop. I can’t help but notice the incredible bulge in his pants, and the realization that he is hard makes me gasp.
Wait, what?
It’s an impressive size which makes my mouth go dry. Apparently, my painting didn’t just make him furious. It turned him on.
Maybe that’s why he’s angry? Because he’s responding to what I’ve painted and he doesn’t like it?
Or maybe it’s because he does like it. I meet his dark gaze again. The lust in his eyes shifts and I shy back. The intensity of my own thoughts makes my legs shake.
What am I thinking? This is meant to be my private fantasy. I know he’s not good for me. But I never expected he would see this…nor did I want to get turned on by him.
I don’t want that. I want someone who will respect me. Something Dante isn’t capable of.
My shoulders hunch forward and I wrap my arms around myself. The action seems to trigger something in him as his lip curls back.
“The fuck are you doing?” Dante snarls.
His comment strikes something deep inside me as I narrow my eyes in his direction, recalling what Madi and Sam had taught me the day before. There is no way in hell I’m going to let Dante Lewis make me feel ashamed of myself!
Before I can start, though, Dante gestures back behind him at the open door. “You left the house unlocked and the door wide open! And you were just sitting there, completely unaware. Anyone could have walked in here. You could have been hurt.”
Hold on a sec… is he serious?
“This is Willowcreek,” I say slowly, raising a brow in question. “Nobody will?—”
“There are still bad guys in Willowcreek.”
“You’d know all about bad guys, wouldn’t you?” I reply, my heart skittering like a rabbit’s, as the electric bolts continue to leap between us. “You, who are determined to take this beautiful property and destroy it. You care more about profits than you do your own family.”
Of all the people to stand up against, it has to be Dante.But it does have to be him, doesn’t it?How am I going to get over my crush if I don’t…well, crush it?
He’d never hurt me. He’s not a dangerous man. At least, not physically… emotionally is another thing. Which is why I have to do this. Why I have to speak my mind. Because otherwise, he’ll break my heart and never even know he did it.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Stop swearing at me,” I snap, my eyes narrowing as I throw the rag over my shoulder down onto the table. Though my hands tremble, I force myself to continue. “You’re so worried that a ‘bad guy’ will sneak in? Well, you’d be right because you snuck in!”
"Don't you have a girlfriend or someone you can bother?" I reply softly, turning my eyes from him to look anywhere else in the room.
He scoffs, "I don't do commitment." His words coming off more menacing than I expected.
