Marked by Passion (28 page)

He ran a hand over my hair and rubbed my cheekbone with his thumb. "See you around, babe."

My heart skipped, and I reached up to grab his hand before he pulled away. "That sounded like a good-bye."

He flipped his hand so he held mine in his. "Do you care if it is?"

Yeah, I did. I opened my mouth to tell him, but the words wouldn't come out.

Jesse dropped my hand and turned.

"Wait."
I gripped the back of his leather jacket, and the words tumbled out in panic. "I do care."

"Know you do, babe," he said sadly, gently disengaging my hand from his coat. "But that's not enough, is it?"

His gaze swept over me one more time, like he was taking a mental snapshot to pull out later. I wished his last look wasn't of me mussed up by another man's hands.

Guilt stabbed me as I watched him walk away. He was right—he deserved more than I could give him. I sucked.

Dazed, I walked back into my house. The first thing I saw was Rhys, standing in the middle of the room. Actually he was only thing I saw.

He stalked toward me, eyes narrowed and looking wild with his disheveled hair, tattered dress shirt, and bared, tan chest. Looking as if he was going to knock me over the head and drag me off by my ponytail.

I braced myself. "Listen—"

Spearing his hand in my hair, his forceful lips met with mine. I wondered if what I tasted could be jealousy, and why the flavor appealed so much.

Too soon, abruptly, he lifted his mouth from mine, keeping me so close his blue eyes filled my vision. He let go of me and headed for the door. "Remember the visualization."

What the hell? I whirled around, scowling. "That's it? What about training me?"

He looked over his shoulder as he stepped out. "In due time, love."

Mouth gaping, I watched the door close. What just happened?

"My world shifted on its axis, that's what happened." I shoved my hair back, knowing I had other things to think about other than how Rhys had ignited me.

Except I could still feel his energy—part of him— inside me.

Frankly, I didn't put it past him to have taken advantage of the situation. He knew what he was doing. He'd deliberately left me this way, still throbbing and achy and branded by the feel of him, inside and out.

"Bastard." I wrapped my arms around myself and paced my shack. I paced myself right back to the studio.

His eyes stared at me from the shadows, oddly lit by ambient light from outside. It was eerie, how well I'd captured them. I shivered, and then took and replaced the painting with a blank canvas.

I hadn't planned on painting, but one glance at the white space and I knew what should fill it. Exhaustion gave away to exhilaration, and I picked up a brush.

I hesitated right before it touched the canvas. I thought of my unfinished painting at Madame's house, knowing I should start the next painting in that series. But again, I couldn't do it. I just couldn't.

Stifling the logical voice that said I couldn't afford to waste my time on something that wasn't commissioned, I attacked the canvas. Life wasn't a piece of cake. It held dark shadows and uncertain feelings. Gray mingled with the black and white. Blue eyes blazed with violent passion.

Sometime around dawn I petered out. Standing up to stretch, I studied the unfinished work. The beginning of two figures, a vortex of crimson and black surrounding each of them like forbidding auras, keeping them apart. Looking at it left me feeling both pleased and unsatisfied. One thing I knew for certain: it was damn good.

Stiff, achy, and exhausted, I moaned as I tried to work out the kinks of being hunched over the canvas for so many uninterrupted hours. After a half-assed cleaning of my brushes, I tumbled onto my bed.

My lonely bed.

M
y cell phone rang a few hours later. Jolted awake, I tried to rub the fatigue out of my eyes as I fumbled it open. "What?"

"Gabby? Did I wake you up?"

" 'S okay, Paul." Yawning, I sat up and pushed my hair out of my face. "What's up?"

"I have an hour clear in my morning schedule, and I thought I could bring brunch to share at your place. What do you say? You won't even have to get out of your pajamas if you don't want to," he said with humor.

I looked around my place. I'd never cared about the squalor, but after seeing my brother's suite I wasn't sure I wanted him to come here. I just couldn't see him sitting on my secondhand futon. "No, it's better that I meet you somewhere. It won't take me long to get ready. Twenty minutes?" I asked, hauling my ass out of bed.

"I have a meeting at one, so that won't give us enough time to eat. I already had the hotel pack us a picnic brunch, and I'm not far from your home."

"What?" I frowned. I hadn't told him where I lived.

"I'm assuming you live close to the bar." He paused. "But if this isn't a good time, maybe we should try again later."

I wanted to see him, but the more I thought about it, the less I wanted him here. So I nodded. "Another time might be better. I'm not a real morning person."

"Gabby, it's almost noon."

"That early?"

He laughed. "You haven't changed at all. Remember how Dad had to practically pry you out of bed in the mornings for your workout?"

"Ugh." I scowled at the memory. "That was inhumane."

Still chuckling, he said, "Go back to sleep. I'll call you later to arrange another time."

Easier said than done. After I got off the phone, I was too awake to try to sleep again, so I got out of bed with a groan and stumbled into the kitchen to find something for breakfast.

Something
turned out to be half a Milky Way bar I found in a drawer. I was propped against the sink, chewing, when I realized I didn't have a headache or feel like I was going to bring the building down around me. Cautiously, I probed inside myself.

Nothing. Rhys's visualization still worked.

I smiled wide. If he were here, I'd kiss him.

If he were here, I'd do more than just kiss him.

As if he were tuned in to my thoughts, Rhys called me right at that moment. "How are you?" he asked.

"If you're asking about the Force, it's still locked away." I hesitated and then just blurted it out. "Thanks, by the way."

"You're welcome."

"Is that all you called for?"

"No. I was thinking about you," he said, his voice going husky.

My body recognized that tone and went on alert. "What were you thinking?"

Pause. "Wicked things."

A shock of pleasure shot through my body.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"In my kitchen. Why?"

"I want to picture you. What are you wearing?"

I looked down at my ratty sweatshirt. "Lace. Black lace."

"Perhaps later you'll show me."

"Perhaps," I said noncommittally. "Is that to say I might see you later?"

"Perhaps." He chuckled. "Until then, love."

I hung up, the image of posing for him wearing nothing but scraps of lace firm in my mind. A shiver of excitement ran down my body, and I had the sudden urge to paint the feeling. I went into my studio and sat down at the easel. Picking a brush, I attacked the canvas.

An hour later, my phone's alarm went off. Work. I made a face, resenting the interruption. Biting my lip, I debated what to do. I was tempted to call in sick. Vivian wouldn't have hesitated, and for lesser reasons. At least I had a valid need.

But I couldn't leave the bar in a lurch. Torn, I decided to let it rest on the result of one phone call.

Carrie answered, sounding her usual bright self. "Hey, Gabe. What's going on?"

"I was wondering if you could do me a favor," I said quickly, uncomfortable with asking for anything.

"Name it."

"I have the early shift, but I was struck with inspiration, and—"

"You need to paint," she concluded for me. "Sure, I'll take your shift."

I blew a relieved breath. "Thanks, Carrie. Really."

"Heck, you're actually doing me the favor. I could use a little extra cash this month."

"Let me take you to dinner after you get off," I said, surprising myself with the impulsive gesture. A couple weeks ago, I would have justified it by saying I needed to eat, too, but I knew better. I genuinely liked spending time with her, and I wanted to share my excitement about the paintings.

"I'd kill for a burger," she admitted. "You don't have to treat, though."

"I want to. We'll go to It's Tops." We made arrangements for me to meet her at the bar at nine, and I hung up feeling good.

I worked clear past dusk, stopping at eight to take a shower and dress. I'd been thrilled while I'd been working, but now, thinking about it, the influence Rhys had over me frightened me. He was worming his way into my life, becoming more and more important, and I didn't have control over it.

Pensive, I bundled up and headed to the Pour House to pick up Carrie. I got there right as she emerged from the bar.

"Hey." She grinned and gave me a quick hug.

Not used to such easy affection, I patted her back awkwardly.

She didn't comment on it. Instead she looped her arm through mine and began walking. "Vivian was really put out when she saw it was me instead of you. I think she had grand plans of torturing you all night."

"What else is new?" I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I stuck them in my pockets.

"It's so high school. I wouldn't be surprised if she t-p'ed your house." She barely took a breath before she said, "How'd the painting go? Did you make headway?"

"Yeah." I made a face. "It's different than what I'm supposed to paint."

"Really different?"

I pictured the original series. "Um, you can say that. Night-and-day kind of different."

She grimaced in sympathy. "How's that going to go for you? I altered my topic on my thesis once and my advisor practically had a coronary."

I nodded. "That about describes it."

"Don't worry." She patted my arm. "If you painted something different, there was a reason for it."

Yeah—Rhys. Today I'd ended up painting a man and woman, twined so closed you couldn't tell where one stopped and the other began. I sighed, long and heartfelt.

"There's a man behind that sigh, I can tell. I bet he has a British accent," she taunted in a singsong voice. She laughed at the look I darted at her. "Why are you so glum? If he inspires you, he inspires you. Embrace it. Embrace him."

My cheeks burned as I remembered last night.

"Or maybe you already have," Carrie said with a sly grin. "Was he good?"

So good I felt myself getting moist just thinking about it. "He was adequate."

She laughed.

"What?" I asked, frowning at her.

"Gabe, even a simple Midwestern girl like me can see there's nothing
adequate
about him. He's the kind of man who'd ruin you for life."

A scary thought. And fairly accurate. "I don't want to talk about him."

"Uh-huh."

"I don't."

"Okay."

We walked in silence for a couple blocks before I broke down. "He's driving me
insane.
He shows up out of nowhere and invades every corner of my life. Then he
kisses
me, for frick's sake."

"The jerk."

I narrowed my eyes. "Are you laughing at me?"

"Not much," she said with a grin.

"You wouldn't laugh if you knew how he kissed."

"Oh, no." Looking stricken, she laid a sympathetic hand on my arm. "Don't tell me he's a slobberer. That'll shatter my image of him."

"He's not a slobberer. He's got the best technique I've ever experienced. His kisses set me on fire," I said glumly.

"Then I'm not sure what the problem is here. He's hot, he's rich, and he likes you. The bonus is that you like him back. Underneath it all," she added quickly when I began to protest.

"Maybe."

She snorted. "Definitely. If you didn't like him, you wouldn't be this worked up over him. I may be an academic, but I'm not a dummy. I saw how you were with Jesse, and you're completely different with this guy."

I frowned. "How was I with Jesse, and how am I with Rhys?"

"You held Jesse at a distance. But Rhys ignites your passion. You've been different since you met him. More open somehow. Rhys arouses you."

To put it mildly. But Rhys also wanted the scroll. He said he picked me over it, but how could I be sure? Wu loved my mom enough to marry her, but in the end the scroll was more important to him than she was.

The scroll was more important to him than I was, too.

Fortunately, we arrived at It's Tops, and the smell of sizzling grease was enough to distract Carrie.

Unfortunately, once we ordered our hamburgers, she began the inquisition again. "So what's really the problem with him?"

I toyed with my silverware. "This girl-talk stuff is really weird."

Sympathy softened her gaze. "You don't have many friends, do you?"

"I've been busy with work and painting."

She nodded. "Since I moved here, I haven't had a girlfriend, either. Not a real one, in any case. My mom's great, though. We're pretty close, although I can't tell her everything." She smiled ruefully. "Not that there are any juicy details in my life."

"My mom died when I was eighteen," I admitted.

"That's so terrible for you." After a moment of silence, she shook her head. "I can't even imagine what that must have been like for you. And just when a girl really needs her mom's guidance."

Something in my chest eased, knowing that she understood. "It's been a long time."

"But that's not something you just get over. I bet you still mourn her."

She didn't know the half of it.

Carrie leaned forward. "If you think you've distracted me from our discussion about Rhys, you're delusional. You're going to tell me what the deal is, you know. You're just putting off the inevitable."

The waitress arrived with our food. I waited until she left before I admitted, "I don't trust him."

"Why not?" Carrie asked as she poured ketchup all over her burger and fries.

"He wants something from me."

"No kidding." She smirked as she lifted her burger for a bite.