As for Jared Rush, he remains unmoving on the large Chesterfield sofa, a force of nature even at rest. Of course, he is not at rest, not even close. He is a tiger about to pounce. He is the wild animal I sensed the moment I stepped inside the room with him.
The knowing look on his face tells me he’s aware of my reaction to him, then and now. Since I tend to wear my emotions on my face, he must also be aware of my outrage at his ballsy proposal.
My chin hikes up. “You’ve got a very high opinion of your own work, Mr. Rush. If you ask me, what you have is a sadistic eye, not to mention a disturbing concept of beauty.”
“Mel, don’t.” Daniel’s voice is a tight, strangled whisper next to me.
He’s terrified of Jared Rush. After tonight, he’s got good reason to be.
Seventy-five thousand reasons. Never mind about the rest he owes someone in Las Vegas.
Reminded of those enormous sums, my heart sinks. I grew up poor and struggling, the oldest of two girls with a hard-working single mom since the time I was thirteen. I don’t know what it’s like to gamble away that kind of money. Until tonight, I wouldn’t have guessed Daniel could be so reckless and stupid. I know how hard he works, the hours he devotes to his career. What the hell was he thinking, racking up gambling debts nearly the sum of my entire student loans?
I’ve never been so furious with him in the entire time we’ve known each other. Yet as upset as I am, I’m also scared for him because I care.
I don’t turn my back on people I care about, and as much as I may wish I could right now, I’m not going to start tonight.
While I don’t want to make things worse for Daniel, I can’t stand here and pretend I’m not taken aback by what Rush is suggesting. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to cower in front of the arrogant man.
No more than I’m going to stoop to posing for him.
“Tell me what else you think about my art, Ms. Laurent.” He leans forward, those elegant, powerful fingers lacing together between the wide sprawl of his knees. “I’m interested to hear your full, unvarnished assessment. It’s obvious you’d like nothing more than to let me have it.”
Daniel’s sharp inhalation beside me should be enough to keep my tongue in check. It probably would be, if not for the challenge sparking in the depths of Jared Rush’s stare.
I force myself not to blink. “Your paintings are masterpieces, no one can argue that. But they’re also cruel. I don’t see any beauty in them at all.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes. You peel your subjects to their bones with your paintbrush. You might as well use a scalpel. I can only imagine what it takes for someone to sit for you knowing you’ll expose every flaw and imperfection you can find—not only on their bodies, but in their souls.”
Have I shocked him? His brows quirk in response, but there is no humor in his schooled expression. “I paint the truth, Ms. Laurent. It can be difficult to look at, and painful to reveal.”
A charged silence crackles between us. When it lengthens, Daniel awkwardly clears his throat. “I think what Melanie’s trying to say is that she’s uncomfortable with some types of art, Jared.”
“I heard what she said. I don’t need you to translate.”
Daniel chuckles, a nervous sound that scrapes up the back of my neck. “I’m just saying, you’d understand if you knew Mel. I mean, we’re talking about a twenty-five-year-old woman who refuses to sleep unless there’s a nightlight glowing in every room.”
I nearly gasp at the intimacy of what he just shared. I flinch internally, not out of embarrassment, but from anger. I don’t want Jared Rush picturing me outside of this room, in my bed or anyone else’s.
I don’t want him already clued in to a weakness only the people closest to me are aware of. Dammit, after three months together, Daniel ought to realize that much about me.
I tear my gaze away from Rush’s probing stare. “I want to leave now, Daniel.”
Pivoting, I begin to take a step in the direction of the study’s exit. Daniel reaches for me. His fingers catch mine, his unmoving feet an anchor holding me back.
There is a pleading desperation in his eyes. “Melanie, wait. Shouldn’t we at least . . . consider Jared’s offer?”
“We?” I nearly choke on the word. “You’re not the one he wants to eviscerate on his canvas, I am.”
“I know that.” His handsome face collapses with regret. “Don’t you think I know what I’d be asking of you if you do this for me? Jesus, Mel. I’m the man who loves you more than anything. I messed up tonight. I never intended to drag you into my problems. You’ve got every right to walk away right now and forget I even exist.”
“It’s good advice, Ms. Laurent. I reckon you oughta take it.”
I glance over and see that Rush has poured himself another glass of whisky as he intrudes on what should be a private conversation. The longer we’re in his company—and the more alcohol he consumes—the more pronounced his accent has become.
“Are you saying you’ve changed your mind about painting her?” Daniel asks.
