Out of Control (Untamed #2) (11 page)

He looked up from his preparations—a new canvas and another pose while we waited for the late afternoon light so we could get back to the painting he’d started yesterday. Dare had a cup of coffee next to him, and I glanced over to find a cup of tea waiting for me again. Its presence warmed me, but then I realized he probably did that for all of his models. It was, after all, just common courtesy. I needed to stop reading into things that weren’t actually meaningful.

“Paint who?” he asked, focusing on his brushes again.

“The girl from last night—
Giselle
.” It was all I could do to not roll my eyes as I said her name. But I wasn’t a sulky teenager…even if I felt like one at the moment.

“I don’t paint just anyone,” he said quietly, then glanced at me for a brief second before uncovering his palette and nodding toward the futon. “Let’s get started.”

Not quite sure of what to do with that information, I walked over to the futon feeling utterly off-balance, untied the robe, and let it fall to the ground. Was Dare telling me something? I wanted nothing more than to believe that she didn’t mean anything to him, and that
I
did…but…I had nothing to confirm that. He’d left me and spent the evening—and probably the night—with her.

But he didn’t paint her? He didn’t paint
just anyone?

What the fuck did that mean?

“Why don’t you choose a seated position this time?”

I sat down on the mattress, giving him my profile. One leg crossed over the other and my knee up near my chest where I could rest my chin on it. Staring toward the windows, I closed my eyes and soaked in the sunshine.

Dare was quiet, hadn’t started working yet and I couldn’t help but wonder if he didn’t like the pose. Then I realized that my hair was down, the long honey locks silky against my naked skin and probably blocking too much of my body—the thing about nudes was that you were actually supposed to see the naked form. I reached for my hair to twist it up on my head, but he stopped me.

“Leave it.” His command floated across the room, forcing me to turn to look at him. The expression on his face nearly flattened me. It was…it was the exact look he’d captured in those first nudes of his I’d seen in his Brooklyn loft. The one of Sia and the others.
Look at the way they’re gazing,
Sabine had said.
It’s clearly unrequited love. Sad and bittersweet.

Dare was wearing that very same expression. It blazed a trail of heat to the depth of my soul. I knew without a doubt that my own look mirrored his. But then his face changed. Hardened. Closed down. And he was, once again, the distant, new Dare I was coming to know.

“Leave the hair,” he said again. “I like it down. Wild and free.”

I lowered my arms and turned back toward the window, my heart beating too fast for its own good. I took a deep breath, trying to get it to calm the fuck down.

Once Dare began working, I rested my elbow on my knee and leaned my head against my hand to watch him paint. It was a surreal feeling because I could tell he didn’t see
me
when he was working. He saw lines, shapes, shadows, light, tones of colors, but not the whole person before him, and I could forget that I was sitting there completely naked. His sharp features softened when he painted, there were no walls, no barriers between us. It was the perfect time to study him.

He glanced up at my face and caught me staring.

And then he smiled just like he used to…and the power of it took my breath away.

That was the look I’d known so well, the one I’d craved ever since I saw him at Montmartre. Warmth flooded my body, bringing with it something I hadn’t felt in a long time. I quickly realized that
something
was happiness.

Pure bliss.

But when I started to smile back, the look on his face changed, like he’d caught himself, remembered who I was, what I’d done, and his guard came back up. In a single moment, he filled my heart with hope, and in the next, he knocked the breath out of my lungs.

Why did this have to be so fucking hard? How many times and in how many ways would I have to pay for my sins?

There were so many whys and hows when it came to us. Too many. So I just pushed them all out of my mind and studied him. Took him all in. Tried to memorize him.

After all, I didn’t know how much longer I had with him. Once this project wrapped, we’d go back to existing on our two different planes.

C’est la
fucking
vie
, right?

“Dinner?” Dare said, a few hours later as I got up to stretch. Holding a position was not as easy as it looked. I glanced at the clock and was surprised that it was already seven-thirty. I was starving. And I hadn’t even noticed. Around Dare, food seemed of little importance.

“Sure.” I nodded and he left the studio, walked down the hall and into the kitchen. I could hear him getting out pots and placing them on the stove.

I pulled on my robe and gazed around the room for a moment. Although we’d been working together, I hadn’t had much time to look at his newer pieces other than from afar. So I slowly walked around his studio, flipping through the canvases that leaned against the walls. So many street scenes, as I’d noticed in the artists’ market, and a handful of nudes.

The models were exquisite, and it sent a jagged, knife-like pain through my soul to think of him sitting in this room with these naked beauties ripe for his picking. God, they even looked turned on, their faces so full of desire as they gazed at me that I could practically hear them moan.

Oh yeah, he’d fucked them. The evidence was right here in front of me, captured in paint.

Pots clanged in the kitchen, turning my attention away, and a large, dark brown fabric-covered sketchbook lying on top of a wooden cabinet caught my eye.

When I lifted the heavy cover to open it, I couldn’t believe what I saw inside.

Page after page of sketches…of
me
.

I read over the dates down in the bottom right corner of each drawing. They ranged from a year ago to—
oh, god
—a month ago. Before I’d run into him on the street.

I looked over toward the doorway, heard him opening cabinets in the kitchen.

There were two more identical sketchbooks underneath it, and I flipped each one open to find more sketches of me. From two and three years ago.

Oh. My. God.

Dare had been thinking about me all this time. A LOT. Just like I’d been thinking about him.

I glanced at the nudes on the floor. What if he’d been trying to fuck me out of his head with those models, as I’d been trying to do with random guys for the past three years? From the looks of the latest sketches, he hadn’t been able to.

Neither had I.

My heart pounded at that thought. Maybe all wasn’t lost. Perhaps I still had a chance.

When I walked into the kitchen, Dare was standing by the stove barefoot, his paint-splattered jeans hanging low off his hips. It was almost painful how amazing he looked, how desperately I wanted to just slip into his arms and slide back into his life. Knowing that he’d been thinking about me so much made the desire that much stronger and made it that much harder to stand there and not touch him.

Get a grip. Focus on getting through dinner. One thing at the time.

Dare had set several different cheeses on the counter next to a carton of milk and a couple of eggs. After he’d placed some fresh parsley and a knife on the cutting board, I realized exactly what he was making.

Macaroni and cheese.

Holy shit.

I stood there in stunned silence. This was a purposeful move, no doubt, but he was so hot and cold with me that I didn’t want to get my hopes up.

He noticed me then, and paused in his preparations, a hunger in his eyes that had nothing to do with food. I couldn’t breathe for the hope that filled my entire body in that moment.

“Can I…help?” I asked, and held my breath. Literally.

He stared a few beats more, then nodded toward the cheese. “You want to grate?”

“I’ll do anything,” I said, and his eyes flicked back to mine. I nodded, wanting him to know I wasn’t just talking about dinner.

He made room for me at the counter, and I started grating as he melted butter and mixed in some flour.

I picked up the second cheese. “These are different than what you used to use.”

“France has some pretty kickass cheese, so I’ve been experimenting,” he said, pouring milk into the pot. “Wait until you taste this. You’ll love it.”

Even more hope expanded in my chest, but I didn’t know whether to let it fill me or squash it down. Every beat of my heart was fueled by it. My hands shook a little and my breathing became shallow and quick.

I was terrified, I realized. What if I’d read something into this that wasn’t really here? What if Dare shot me down again? I wasn’t sure I could take it. I needed him like I needed air, like I needed my heart to beat.

He came over next to me and started chopping up the parsley. His arm brushed mine, sending shivers through me. I was suddenly hyper-conscious of the fact that I was practically naked, standing there next to him in the cramped kitchen. A soft layer of silk was the only thing covering me and it was held on by one loose tie. I wondered if Dare had noticed. His arm had stilled next to mine, but he hadn’t moved it, like he wanted to touch me as much I wanted to touch him.

I felt simultaneously weak with worry and totally turned on.

“What made you choose Paris?” Dare asked suddenly.

“Art. Sabine.” I wasn’t sure which had held more sway in the destination I’d chosen. “The fact that I could work for her here helped a lot. It was a way to dip my toes into the business while under the guidance of someone I trusted. Not to mention, it was also far away from…everything.”

“So you hadn’t heard…” His voice trailed off and at first I didn’t know what he was getting at.

“That you were here?” I shook my head. “How would I? You dropped off the radar completely.” I focused on grating again, debating whether to say it, and then decided I had nothing to lose at this point. “No, it was just a happy coincidence. If I’d known, I would have come sooner. Much sooner.”

Dare inhaled sharply. Fuck. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it.

He moved over to the stove and poured the pasta into the boiling water, and I went to sit on a barstool at the counter.

“What about Harvard?” he said as he started making the cheese sauce. “Wasn’t that the original plan?”

“That was my dad’s dream, not mine.”

His lips lifted into a half-smile. “How is the old mayor?”

“Pissed as hell, I’m sure. I haven’t spoken with him.”

Dare’s eyes snapped to mine, his gaze filled with an emotion I couldn’t quite identify. “You’re really not the same girl, are you.” It wasn’t a question, and it was said with…god, was it satisfaction?

“I sound stronger than I am.” I shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t have the guts to talk to him. Or my mother. I’m afraid they’d find ways to pull me back in.”

“You’re stronger than you think,” he said. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

My cheeks warmed. Though I wasn’t sure I believed him, I really liked that he’d said it.

“What about your dad? Is he…out?”

Dare stirred the sauce, didn’t respond. He poured the mixture over the pasta and slid the dish into the oven to bake. He set a timer, then came around to sit next to me. A hard lump settled into the pit of my stomach and even though the food smelled amazing, I didn’t know if I’d actually be able to eat a single bite. His sharp, angular jaw was tight. He was clearly pissed I’d asked about his dad. Probably because of my dad’s threat to release him from prison.

“Dare—”

“My dad’s an asshole,” he snapped. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

I shifted to look at him and my robe slipped open a little, exposing my legs. Dare’s gaze trailed down my bare skin and he clenched his fists as if fighting with his resolve to not reach out and touch me. My insides heated at his gaze, and my common sense dissolved. I could no longer help myself. I had to push it. Push him.

I uncrossed and re-crossed my legs, the robe slipping further. Dare watched my every move, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. The silence between us was charged. His gaze caressed my legs, slipping up my thighs, scorching me, making my skin tingle everywhere it touched.

I swiveled my body to face him, letting the robe slip completely open, exposing me from abdomen to ankle. Ever so slowly, I placed my legs on either side of his, totally bared to him as the spot between my legs pulsed with pure need.

I was playing with fire—I knew that—but I was much too drawn to the flame. I had to touch it. Even if that meant getting burned.

Dare’s gaze devoured me until something inside him broke free. He reached for me, running his fingers up one thigh, grazing my core, making me gasp, then trailing back down again. He leaned forward, tugged the tie of my robe so the garment slid off my shoulders, exposing me completely. Cupping my breasts in his hands, his thumbs circled my nipples, sending electric currents down to my clit.

Jesus
. This was the Dare I knew. The man I remembered.