I suck in a breath, gathering the nerve to press my mouth to his...
Then doubt plagues my heart. He could have kissed me last night, but he didn’t. Why didn’t he? I know he desires me. I felt the proof digging into my backside during our foreplay session.
And yet…
He didn’t act on that desire.
Is it because he doesn’t want to? We could have done so much more in my hotel room. I offered to, and he refused. I didn’t feel rejected at the time, but what if that’s exactly what that was? What if I make a move and he rejects me again?
I imagine leaning in, only to have him pull away. I don’t know if I can bear that pain. I hardly managed to recover from him rejecting my invitation to catch up over a meal the day he got fired. How could I handle him refusing a kiss?
It conjures a memory I haven’t thought of in a while. A ring of girls, staring down at me with terror and disgust while I wipe fresh blood from my lips. Blood from a girl who cowers, covering her ruined ear as she calls me a monster?—
Monty clears his throat and slowly steps away. Whether I shattered the moment with my hesitation or it was never there to begin with, my chance has passed. He runs a hand through his hair, tousling his pale curls. “Shall we?” A sweet smile curves his lips, tinged with shyness. Maybe I didn’t imagine that moment after all.
Maybe this…thingthat’s growing between us, this emotion that’s already taken root, means to him what it means to me. Maybe he feels what I do. Maybe I just need a moment to tell him. To ask. Maybe I don’t need to brace myself for rejection.
You’re a monster. You may look like a lady, but you’re nothing more than a beast.
…Or maybe I’m just getting ahead of myself.
No sooner than we return to Angela does the train arrive at the station. As we gather our belongings, I steal a few glances at Monty. He returns them with that same shy smile he gave me in the corridor. Tenuous hope blooms in my chest. It grows as we exit the train car, and he holds my hand to help me down the steps, giving it a squeeze as I land on the platform beside him. He leans in close and whispers in my ear, “I really do want to hang your newest piece in my bedroom.”
A shudder runs through me. Why is he saying this now, when we’re in public, surrounded by passengers who flood the platform? Why couldn’t he have said this when his body was pressed against mine in the empty corridor? It could have given me the courage to kiss him like I wanted.
At least it serves to embolden me now.
“Why have just a painting when you could have the real thing?”
His eyes darken. Then a corner of his mouth quirks in a thrillingly seductive grin. “No, the real thing is too pretty for my shabby apartment.”
I arch a teasing brow. “So you’re saying my art is less pretty?”
“Not at all. I’ve seen your…art. I know how magnificent it is.”
Heat pools in my core. I don’t know if he intended to speak in innuendo, but my mind fills with the words he said to me before the mirror.
God, that’s fucking art.
Do you see that? Do you see how beautiful that is?
“Maybe I can paint something special for you,” I whisper back. There’s no denying what this is. We’re flirting. Seducing each other with our words. Words that would sound benign to anyone who overheard us but mean so much more to us. Just us. “I’d need you to pose with me again. I do have a full-length mirror at home.”
“I think I can accommodate you,” he whispers, then steps back. Angela descends the stairs and strides past us, oblivious to the secret smile we exchange behind her back.
It’s yet another beautiful moment I wish I could keep.
Another divide between hope and despair.
Before the moment is shattered with Angela’s excited squeal. “Father!”
CHAPTER THIRTY
DAPHNE
Monty’s reaction to seeing his father is immediate. He sucks in a breath, face going pale, shoulders tensing.
I turn to watch Angela bound over to a middle-aged man. He’s tall and lean with sharp features, dark hair, and a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. Just behind him stand two human figures, who I assume must be servants. A maid and butler perhaps. I see only a small resemblance between father and son, which makes me wonder if Monty takes more after his and Angela’s mother. All I know for sure is Monty is not pleased to see him.
