I find vindication when I discover that he can’t seem to stand the silence. I feel as though I’m making him slightly uncomfortable, and I find that I like it.
“Maybe you’re thinking about the other night?” he asks.
I open my eyes, turning to lock them with his. I refuse to look away first.
At this moment, all I can see of him are his hair and his green eyes peering at me over the canvas. Although it’s somewhat intimidating to be looked at like an object, I realize that I don’t mind being the object ofhisintense perusal.
“Is that it?” he asks in the absence of an answer. He raises a questioning brow. “So I’m right? I’d love to know whatyouthink happened up here that night. You want to know what I think happened?”
Closing my eyes and turning back to face the wall, I block out his all-knowing stare and let his voice drift over me.
“I think you woke up.”
My eyes snap open at that.Damn him.
“I think you finally saw me. Didn’t you? What did you do? Run upstairs afterward and look up every article ever written on me? If that’s the case, I wouldn’t talk to me either.” He stands and places his paintbrush down. “Well, you’ve seen me, Gemma. Maybe it’s time you saw her.”
I wonder what he means. I’m curious, so I finally speak. “How?”
“Ah, so now you speak?”
Heedless of my nudity, I stand and move to place the violin back in its case. It’s obvious he’s finished for the moment.Turning to him, I cross my arms over my chest. “How?” I repeat, refusing to rise to his bait.
Realizing I am not going to answer his last question, he tilts his head to the side and steps out from behind the easel. Today, he’s wearing jeans with a rip at the knee and a long-sleeved black sweater. He looks dark and sinful, and I can’t help but find him sexy.
He walks over to me slowly. “Do you want to seeArmor?”
I blink and lick my lips, giving myself time to think. I’ve seenArmormany times, but I have a feeling he means something more.Maybe the original?I can’t help it. I’m just as curious as he expects me to be.
Somehow, he knows how I feel about her. He’s worked it out. He knows I’m just as intrigued by Chantel as he was. So I give him the only possible answer there could be.
“Yes.”
Wrapping the towel around myself, I follow him out of the studio and down the stairs. I steal a quick peek at the hanging picture and keep walking, because he is moving fast.
In fact, he is walking so quickly that I almost miss that he makes a sharp right at the end of the hall to the left of the stairs. Making my way down in the direction he headed, I look at the walls and catch sight of several paintings I have not yet seen. I want to stop and look at them but find that I am more intrigued about what is at the end of the hall.
I haven’t been down to this end of the chateau. Usually, the large wooden door is closed, locking it off from the rest of the occupants. My mind suddenly catches up.This is where his bedroom is.I was standing outside of this part of the house that morning I saw him through his open window.
Just as I get to the end of the hall, he appears from around the corner. I stop immediately, slightly shocked because I didn’t expect him to come back.
“It’s down here,” he tells me.
All of a sudden, every single fear I have determinedly pushed aside into the little you-are-crazy box comes flooding back.
“Down where?” I ask hesitantly.
Smiling slowly, he lifts a hand, crooking a finger at me. “Come with me, Gemma.”
His tone is so seductive that he’s managed to make me forget I’m apprehensive—and the fact that I’m wearing just a towel. I feel as though he’s hypnotizing me.
“What’s down there?” I ask, cursing the fact that my voice is trembling.
Nothing prepares me for the answer he gives.
“Chantel.”
Phillipe can tell by the look on her face that she’s about to flee. Gemma’s eyes have widened, and her breathing has picked up to rapid pants.
