He sounds so disinterested, I have to wonder if I’m not at all what he was expecting. Is it my scar that he finds so offensive, or the fact that I haven’t told him where it came from? His sudden lack of interest is curious, coming from a man who’s made a fortune from exposing human frailty and pain.
I let my hair go, watching the rigid lines of his shoulders and spine as he pours his drink.
“That’s got to be at least four shots of whisky since I arrived. Isn’t that a lot for eight o’clock in the morning?”
He grunts, eyeing me over his shoulder. “I wasn’t aware you were keeping track.”
“Maybe someone should.”
My reply brings him around to face me, his sensual mouth drawn up in a faint sneer. Then, as if in defiance of what I’ve said, he downs the whisky in one swallow while holding me in that scorching gaze of his. He sets the glass down with a hard thump.
“You drink too much,” I inform him, as if he doesn’t already know. “Is that why it’s been nearly two years since you’ve produced anything new?”
The question leaps off my tongue before I can hold it back. His stare bores into me as he steps toward me. His legs are long and powerful. Two strides carry him within arm’s length, close enough that I can smell the smoky whisky on his breath and see the hauntedness in his dark eyes. I can also see the barely restrained anger in his handsome face.
“Your clothes, Ms. Laurent. Put them back on.” The smooth Southern edge of his low voice is far from soft now. “As soon as I leave this room, one of my staff will be in to clear away these dishes. I suggest you dress quickly and preserve your dignity, unless that good-girl attitude of yours is only a facade.”
God, he’s an arrogant bastard. I should let him go. I should not say another word. I should simply be thankful this awkward exercise is finished, and pray the remainder of my time with him will be over just as quickly.
But maybe there’s something ruthless inside me, too, because I can tell I’ve hit a nerve and it only makes me want to probe deeper. He’s trying to shut me out, and for some reckless reason, I don’t want to make things that easy for him.
“Why start painting again now?” I press. “And why start with me, aside from the fact that you want to recoup the seventy-five thousand that Daniel owes you?”
He scowls. “Isn’t that reason enough?”
“Obviously, you don’t need the money.”
“Are you suggesting I should forgive your boyfriend’s stealing just because I don’t need what he took from me?”
“Daniel didn’t steal anything from you.”
“Didn’t he?” He steps closer to me, closing the meager distance. A dangerous fire smolders in his consuming brown eyes. “Only a cheat gambles with money he doesn’t have. A thief, Ms. Laurent.”
He sounds so indignant, I can’t help myself; I scoff. “Then why not offer to have Daniel pose naked for you instead of me?”
“Because I wanted you. And you said yes.”
His voice skims over my bare flesh like a stroke of his hand. Dark, heated, and utterly in control. I swallow, my mouth as dry as the core of me is drenched. He hasn’t touched me, yet my skin tingles as if his hands have stroked every bare inch of me. Arousal coils deep within me, uninvited, yet undeniable.
Just from the power of Jared Rush’s gaze and the smoky rumble of his voice.
A cold, knowing smile pulls at the hard edge of his mouth. He leans in a little closer, his deep voice going even lower, a vibration I feel all the way to my marrow.
“And just for the record, Ms. Laurent, if you were mine, I would’ve put a fucking bullet in my head before I’d ever give you up to a man like me. Not for any reason. Not for any price.”
I stare at him, unable to speak. My lungs don’t seem to function, except to soak in the dark, enticing scent of him.
He takes a step back, and his eyes make one final sweep of my nudity. “We’ll be leaving for my studio in ten minutes.”
10
JARED
I feel her stare on me as I stalk away from her.
It carves into me even though I can’t see her changeable blue-gray eyes. Intelligent, inquisitive eyes. Brave, beautiful eyes that see more than they should, more than I intend to allow.
She’s fearless, too, marching into my house wrapped in a sweet summer dress and haughty defiance, like a virgin sent in to face a dragon and determined to not go down without a fight.
