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“You’ll just have to get to know me better then, won’t you?”
A nervous look filled her face. “How long are you staying?”
“A while,” he said vaguely.
She set down her paintbrush.
“What are you painting?” he asked when she didn’t say anything more.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m not very good.” Reaching down, she grabbed an old sheet, throwing it over the easel.
Curious.
“I’ve heard that artists can be superstitious about letting someone see their work before it’s finished.”
“Yes, I guess so. But then, I never let anyone see them once they’re finished either.” She sent him a smile that he thought was meant to be reassuring.
Instead, it just seemed fucking sad. He wondered why she didn’t let anyone see them. And what she did with them once they were finished. Hell, he didn’t care if she just painted shapes. He still wanted to see them.
“Well, if you ever want to show someone who knows nothing about art, then I am your man.”
“You know nothing about art, huh?” She rubbed at her hand that had been holding the paintbrush as though it was hurting her.
He frowned, wanting to offer to massage it. Damn, he was getting turned-on by the idea of massaging her hand.
You sick bastard.
“Your tattoos look like works of art to me.”
He smiled wide, putting his hands in his front pockets and rocking back on his heels. “That they are. But I didn’t do them, so I can’t lay claim to that talent.”
“But you did choose them, right?”
“I did.”
“So, you have some sort of an artistic eye.”
“Huh, guess so. Or I’m just really good at picking out pretty things.” He winked at her, delight filling him as a light blush filled her cheeks. “You must have been early to breakfast this morning since I missed you. Of course, I was rather late. One of the maids was giving me an evil look.”
“Really?” she asked. “That’s terrible. What maid? I’ll have Regent speak to her.”
Interesting that she wouldn’t talk to the maid directly.
“She didn’t really,” he reassured her. “She actually caught me talking about something inappropriate with Liam on the phone.”
“What was it?”
His eyebrows rose, surprised by her question. Then she blushed bright red and started stammering.
“Um, s-sorry, shoot, I shouldn’t have, um, asked that.”
“That’s okay. You can ask me anything.”
“I’m sure there are some things you don’t want me to ask you.”
“Nope. There’s nothing. I’m an open book.”
She stared at him for a long moment, as though trying to work out if he was being honest.
