Chapter Eleven
He awoke to the sound of Natalie’s adorable snores against his neck.
This was the third day in a row he’d woken up to the feel of her in his arms. This morning she had a leg thrown over his hips and her arm wrapped around his stomach as she’d plastered herself to his side. Unlike the other two nights, she’d been completely relaxed all night. And although she hadn’t started out in his arms, she’d certainly ended up there quickly. Not that Ren was complaining.
Although he was not complaining for the wrong reasons.
He should be happy that she was finally relaxed enough to roll into his arms because it meant she was getting closer to trusting him. Not because she felt damn near perfect in his arms.
He’d watched her paint for hours last night until she’d been too tired to hold her arms up against the door that had become her small masterpiece.
Had a hundred-dollar set of paints been the key to cracking Natalie from the beginning?
After watching her for a few hours, Ren was sure he could’ve saved a whole lot of time and money by just showing up at her door in Santa Barbara with an easel and encouraged her to do her best.
He wasn’t sure why no information about Natalie as an artist had been in her Omega file. But the more she worked on the painting, the more evident her talent became. Like professionally good.
The sheer joy on her features as she worked—the utter serenity—was so intense it had been impossible for Ren to look away. Like she’d been waiting an unimaginable amount of time to do this, and then couldn’t stop if she wanted to. And she very definitely hadn’t wanted to.
Last night, painting by firelight, Natalie was almost the polar opposite of the woman who’d been frantically searching for a way to lock windows and doors with no locks the night before. She was serene, calm and utterly beautiful.
Actually, most of yesterday had been different. Except for the incident starting the fire, she’d been relaxed and helpful. She’d surprised him by wanting to learn how to hunt and how to prepare the animals to eat. Then surprised him even more at being so deft at it.
The more she did, the more he wanted to show her. The more they talked, the more truths he told. When he’d told her about his time in the special forces he knew he was in dangerous territory. But more and more he was finding it impossible to believe that she could be in with Freihof.
And if she wasn’t, if there was nothing she could tell him about Freihof’s location, then Ren knew he needed to end this. Tell her who he was, what was happening, and ask for her help. Lay all the cards out, talk her into helping, pack them up and leave.
He looked over at her painting taking up about one quarter of the cabin door. She’d be done by the end of today at the rate she was going. He’d let her finish. Partially because doing so would hopefully make her more agreeable to helping them hunt her ex-husband. But mostly because he couldn’t stand to cut short the use of those paints that had brought such life to her so-often-haunted eyes.
He’d try to get more information from her today as she painted and was more relaxed. Maybe she knew something shewasn’t aware of. Details that weren’t important to her, but could be used for finding and stopping Freihof.
But one thing Ren knew for sure was that he needed to distance himself from her. Because, yeah, she was going to be mad when she found out he’d been deceiving her all this time. If he fostered any more closeness, it would just make the situation that much more difficult.
Natalie shifted slightly from where she was draped over him. He closed his eyes as her body squeezed more tightly up against him.
He needed distance just as much for his own sake as hers. Especially since he was the one who was undercover; and yet he was finding it almost impossible to lie to her.
For someone who had made a career out of lying to others, giving them whatever false information and security they needed in order to get what he wanted, not being able to lie to this woman was downright disconcerting.
Or maybe it wasn’t that hecouldn’tlie to her, it was that he didn’t want to. Just about everything he’d told her except for his last name—and even then, Thompson was his mother’s maiden name—had been true. Telling her about his time in the special forces? Completely unnecessary. And yet...he hadn’t regretted telling her.
He wanted her to know him. And when he asked questions, yes, he was always listening for potential info about Freihof, but he was also getting to know her.
And was liking it.
Which was possibly the most dangerous thing he could do. Especially given that nuclear kiss yesterday morning.
Distance. It was the best tactical move he could make right now. He eased himself out from under her—ignoring his body’s demands that he stay exactly where he was—and got out of the bed.
He needed distance.
* * *
NATALIECOULDHONESTLYsay she’d never seen a door be used as an actual canvas before. Her face broke out into a grin as she leaned back in to complete the section she was working on. Who cared if it was untraditional, if the paint soaked in more than it would on canvas? It still worked.
And she was painting. It had been years since she’d held a brush. Since she’d felt the calm flow through her body that she only got when painting.
She was painting the view of the Pacific from the beach house. It was an unusual choice for a cabin in a landlocked state, particularly in the middle of winter, but she liked to think the owners would come and be surprised and like it.
