Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Lean and toned. Light brown skin. And that raven dark hair. I want to wrap my fist in that hair and taste her lips.
But most of all, I want to stay here and watch her work.
Instead, I move away. If she catches me, it might ruin the moment, and right now things are delicate. Whatever Ren said to her, she’s finally breaking down and making the right choice.
I want her to work.
Hell, I want her to survive this.
But that can only happen if she obeys me.
“Asshole.”
I stop in the hall. It was her voice, clear as day.
I turn halfway back, and I hear it again, louder this time.
“I know you were watching, asshole.”
I smile to myself, my heart racing in my chest.
My little devil girl.
Chapter 11
Hellie
I find Erick down in the kitchen. Whatever he’s eating smells incredible. He takes small bites from a large bowl while reading the paper on a large tablet. Marina’s at the stove, whistling to herself. Outside, the sun’s setting.
“Here, asshole.” I toss the drawing down onto the table in front of him and flop into the chair opposite. “Take a look.”
He stares at me for a long moment. I should really try to be less abrasive, but I’m exhausted from working all day and I haven’t really eaten anything. Besides, he’s my freaking kidnapper, and I don’t really owe him anything.
Marina comes over with a bowl and a glass of wine. “Enjoy,” she says, smiling warmly as she pats my shoulder. I’m too starved to wait—I start shoveling forkfuls with rice, beans, shredded pork, guacamole, and fresh vegetables.
“Holy crap,” I say as the flavor hits me in the skull and my stomach growls. I gulp down some wine and keep eating. “Marina, this is so good!”
“Glad you like it,” she says and sounds like she means it.
Erick’s staring at my sketch.
“It’s rough,” I say with my mouth full. “Just blocking it out. Getting the forms. If you think it sucks, I don’t really care.”
He says nothing. Only keeps staring, which makes me unreasonably mad. The least the guy could do is say something. I mean, I get it, he’s got a lot riding on whether I can convincingly fake an old master’s painting style, but to hell with him. I worked hard on that stupid charcoal piece, and even though it’s pretty basic, it’s got all the right elements in place.
“This is good,” he says finally, looking up. “This is very good.”
“Oh.” I lower my fork. “Really?”
“Yes.” He sets the drawing aside carefully. It’s the way he makes sure that the paper doesn’t touch anything, not the food, not his glass of water, that’s how I know he really means it. He treats the sketch like it’s an actual prize.
Which lights up a strange feeling in my chest.
I’m proud of the way he’s looking at me.
“Thanks,” I say, cheeks flushing red. I go back to eating to cover my embarrassment. “It’s just a start. I mean, doing the whole painting, making it as realistic as possible, it’s going to take a lot of work. I need first-hand accounts of what the painting looks like, you know what I mean? Close-ups of the brush strokes if possible. We’ll also have to figure out what colors he used and what those colors were made from so we can make it as historically accurate as possible. If we’re smart, we can make it such that nobody can ever tell the difference, even the experts.”
He’s staring at me again with that look, like he’s glowing on the inside. Like he’s freaking into the way I talk, which I hate. I hate to keep remembering that no matter how handsome this man is, he’s my kidnapper. He drugged me. He stuck a needle in my arm in a goddamn parking lot.
“We can do that,” he says at last. “I’ll get you whatever you need.”
“Start with the pigments. Hire someone to do the research, or get me books and I’ll do the research myself.”
“No, you paint. I’ll hire someone.”
“Fine.” I clear my throat and take a slower sip of wine. “Okay. Great.”
“I am very happy that you decided to take me up on my offer.”
I shake my head slowly. “I haven’t done that yet.”
“No?” His eyebrows raise. “Then what’s this?” He gestures at the drawing. “Why talk about pigments? You’re excited. You’re planning. And I’ll be honest, it looks good on you.”
I hold up a hand. “First of all, quit complimenting me. You’re so full of shit.”
“I mean every word. Your excitement is intoxicating. I love the way you light up when you talk about your work.”
I grind my jaw, annoyed that he’s making me feel good. “I haven’t accepted yet because we haven’t discussed terms.”
He stiffens. His face drops into that mask again. Erick is so good at shutting down, it’s terrifying.