She huffed her discontent, wiping tears from her eyes and staring at the stone ceiling.
“Why don’t you play with your gifts? I’m sure Bellinor will be by later,” Rul said, as if she should be happy to be here in the dark.
She eyed the blank canvas, still sitting on the easel where she’d left it.
“What am I supposed to paint?”
“Hold on. I’ll make you something,” he said, getting up from the bed and dragging a small table to the center of the room.
She watched with reluctant interest as he raised his hands, black wisps of smoke appearing from his palms and enveloping the tabletop in a cloud. His eyes were closed, concentration etched on his face as he molded the energy, letting it slowly take form.
As the glowing embers of le Voile dissipated, a beautiful still life lay in its wake. A simple bouquet was the focal point, stunning white hydrangeas acting as a base for delicate pink rosebuds, dark green leaves complementing the pastel arrangement. A white teacup rimmed in gold sat next to the short vase, and a single rose lay across the composition, completing the display.
“What do you think?” he asked, clearly pleased with himself.
It had been a long while since she’d painted a formal still life, not since she was mentoring with a local artist, a kind woman who had taught her so much. Once her father had passed, her lessons had ceased, all her time eaten up by her second job, which kept food on the table.
Her chest clenched with emotion as she remembered those carefree days, or how she had perceived them as carefree at the time. It was only in hindsight that she’d seen the signs, the way her fatherhad meticulously set up the cottage for her, knowing what he was about to do.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you,” she said, her stomach fluttering at the proud smile beaming from Rul’s handsome face.
Isabelle cautiously made her way toward the easel, examining the paints and brushes more closely than she’d gotten a chance to last night.
“You’re welcome, baby,” Rul said, moving to stand behind her as she examined the canvas.
He wrapped an arm around her waist, cocking his head like he was trying to analyze the composition he’d arranged. When she giggled at the sight, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“Have fun,” he said, releasing her and moving toward the bed.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, watching him as he lounged on the mattress.
“I can be patient,” he said with a wicked grin that told her all she needed to know.
Isabelle turned back to the paints, choosing the ones she wanted for her palette as anticipation tingled her nerves.
CHAPTER 12
“I’M TERRIBLE AT STILL LIFES,” Isabelle said, slamming the brush down in frustration.
She’d been at it for what felt like hours, and still the underpainting didn’t look right, splotches of color dotting the canvas in a disordered array. At least it had taken her mind off things, even if that was solely due to irritation.
“It just takes practice,” Rul answered, still lounging on the bed like he didn’t have a care in the world.
She’d been surprised by his patience, the back of her neck prickling as she’d felt his heated gaze watching her. She’d expected him to drag her to the bed, but he’d let her suffer in peace, making conversation here and there, but generally remaining silent.
It felt like a beast had taken over, a primal being that lived within her and had been begging to get out for so long. A romp in the bedroom with Henri orPierre may have held her over for a few weeks back home, but now she was longing for Rul to put her in the same space he had yesterday, that delicious numbness overwhelming her senses.
The charged tension from last night with Bellinor didn’t help, desperate to be liberated at the hands of someone other than herself.
“I’m used to landscapes, the view from my cottage.”
Rul popped off the bed and made his way over to her as if sensing her need, circling his arms around her waist and hugging her to his chest.
“Maybe you just need to take a break…”
They fit together perfectly, her body cocooned by his, a thought which made bile bubble in her throat, just as it made butterflies flutter in her stomach. She remembered the feeling from yesterday, her body and mind succumbing to his praise, the rough way he’d used her, the intense pleasure he’d given her.
Bellinor was right; Rul seemed to know exactly what she wanted, what she needed, his firm touch at her waist grounding her even when her head swam in the stars. And it was more than just her sexual needs he fulfilled, absolving her of something she would never be able to forgive herself for.
