The Living Canvas (Master of Trickery, #2)

by Pepper Winters

  She gave a side-eye to Justin before nodding slowly. “I like him as a friend. We can hang out.”

  “Great. Good girl.”

  “But I miss O. Can we go back to see her tomorrow?”

  “Maybe.” Backing away, I imprinted the image of my friend watching cartoons with my daughter then turned around and walked out the door. I’d keep that image safe. I’d pull it up when I got sentenced and I was alone in some goddamn cell, missing Olive with every fucking fibre of my being.

  Not for the first time, the urge to pick up my daughter and run hijacked my nervous system.

  I wanted to fly away and hide on some secluded island where I would never have to be torn away from her again.

  But that was selfish.

  That would backfire on Olive as she got older.

  I meant what I told O.

  I was done running.

  I’d been running since Tallup blackmailed me into sleeping with her—always wondering when I’d be arrested for sexual assault.

  Well, I wouldn’t have to wonder anymore.

  Consequences were almost here.

  I’d done what I could to protect Olive from the worst of it.

  But tonight...tonight I was going to be selfish. So fucking selfish.

  Tonight was for me.

  My last shred of happiness.

  Tonight...O was mine.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ______________________________

  Olin

  “WHAT ON EARTH?” I froze on the threshold, confused.

  Did I walk into the wrong apartment?

  Where my couch and dining table used to be, a black sheet now hung from the window and draped on the floor, creating a void of darkness, a backdrop to nothingness.

  “You’re later than I planned.”

  My attention shot to the kitchen where Gil stood, mixing paints. He’d lined his bottles and tools up neatly, pigments from gold and taupe right through to aqua and obsidian waited to be used. He tested the airbrush, wiping the nozzle with a paper towel all while I gawked like an idiot.

  “Eh...” Closing the door behind me, I slung my handbag onto the floor, kicked off my heels, and padded toward him. “What are you doing?”

  “I came to say thank you.” His green eyes met mine. “And to say goodbye.”

  My heart fisted tight. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean Olive and I moved out today. I thought you’d be home before I could come back but you weren’t...and...” He looked at the black sheet and his takeover of my place, adding. “I had some spare time on my hands.”

  “You moved out? Without telling me?”

  “It was for the best.” He gave a sad smile. “My daughter is attached to you. She needs to bond with Justin, so she’s comfortable for when I—” He groaned low, cutting himself off.

  I nodded, hating the way my chest squeezed. “That makes sense.”

  He cleared his throat. “I hope you don’t mind me, eh, redecorating.”

  Grasping at the change of subject and latching onto a less painful conversation, I said, “Depends what you’re planning on doing.” I crossed my arms, keeping the breakfast bar and my body language between us. “Do you have a canvas coming here to be painted? Did you get a commission?”

  Gil winced, shaking his head. “No...no canvas.” Placing the airgun down, he pinned me with his stare. “Only you.”

  Goosebumps scattered over my arms. “Gil...I told you I can’t be painted again. Not yet.”

  “I know.” He stared hard, his gaze deep and deliberate. “But I can’t accept no for an answer, O.”

  I backed up, goosebumps turning into trembles. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?” He tipped his head down, watching me beneath shadowed eyes.

  “Like you don’t care if I give consent or not.”

  He shrugged. “I love you. I want you. And now...you’re here.”

  I gulped, grasping to say something normal and not laced in lust.

  I failed.

  I swallowed.

  Gil placed his palms on either side of the sink, bracing against the countertop. The same countertop where we’d had a furious quickie. Where we’d chased fast pleasure. Where our hearts had once again become tangled.

  His voice was decadent and dangerous as he murmured, “I’ve had a lot of time to decide if I should do this or not.”

  “Do what?”

  “Take something from you that you undoubtedly don’t want to give.”

  I swallowed again. Hard. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You do know.” His gaze turned brittle. “You know exactly what I mean. Leaving me alone for so long wasn’t a good idea, O. It’s not been good for my self-control.” He looked down at his ankle where the monitoring device kept him leashed. “This is the last time I can be here. I’ve changed my address with the authorities to Justin’s apartment. I won’t be able to come and see you before I go to court.” His fingers clutched against the counter. “This is the last time I’ll have you alone. And I’m done.”

  “You’re done?”

  He nodded once. “I’m done. Done pretending I can cope without you in my life. Done lying to myself that I don’t need you. Done accepting your choice to break my fucking heart.”

  Heat filled my cheeks as his gaze travelled over my cream blouse and pinstripe skirt. “You should probably strip, O. I don’t want to ruin any more of your clothes.”

  I coughed. “Excuse me?”

  “Have you eaten? Are you hungry?” His voice stayed smoky and deep, even though he’d just sent me into a free-fall.

  “Hungry? No, I’m...”

  “Okay then.” Pushing off from the countertop, he exited the kitchen and stalked me. He stopped within touching distance but kept his hands fisted by his sides. His energy wrapped around me. Energy that used to match mine. A synergy of auras and souls.

  Tonight, his energy was treacherous, precarious.

  I shivered with premonition. “Gil...what are you doing?”

  “I’m going to paint you.”

  “But I told you—”

  “That it brings bad memories.” He nodded. “I understand. But it doesn’t change the fact that tonight, my brush is touching your body and my paint is staining your skin.”

  “It does if I don’t say yes.”

  His brow tugged over turbulent eyes. “But you will.”

  “Why? Why would I agree to let you paint me after the last time?”

  “Because this is the last time we’ll ever have.”

  “When you painted and drugged me and prepared to sacrifice me for Olive, I believed that was the last time we’d ever have. That I was about to die because of you.”

  “I was never going to kill you.” His body twitched with pain. “I would’ve killed myself before he was able to do what he threatened. You have to know that.”

  “You almost did die, remember?” My temper crackled into awareness, remembering that night, the fear of him dead on the forest floor, the promise from Jeffrey of sex slavery and child molestation. “You left us both unprotected, all because you didn’t ask anyone for help.”

  “You’re right. Just like you were right last night. I asked for help too late and I paid for it. Who knows how our lives would’ve turned out if I’d told you back at school what Tallup threatened me with. We might be married. We might have our own family. But...I didn’t ask. And I lost you. Twice.”

  His hand cupped my cheek, digging the pads of his fingers into my softness as I tried to back away. “Tonight, I’m not asking anymore. I’m telling you what I need. I’m being honest for the first time in my godforsaken life. I’m about to be locked up like an animal, O. I’ve done my best to ensure Olive will be okay, I’ve accepted way too much support from Justin, and I’ve stayed in your home without telling you exactly how I feel. I should walk out that door. I should pay you the pittance I have for the days you let us stay, and I should accept that I will never see yo
u again.”

  His arm slithered around my waist, jerking me into him. “But I don’t accept. I can’t accept. And tonight, I’m done doing what I think I should. Everything I do is wrong. My natural instincts are fucked. So...I’m ignoring them. I’m ignoring the fact that you’re trembling and want me to back the fuck off. I’m ignoring the part that this is yet another assault. For once, I’m going to be selfish.”

  “Gil...stop.”

  His hand left my cheek and captured the back of my head. His other arm crushed me to him, bending me, imprisoning me. “I can’t stop.”

  My palms smacked against his chest, fighting his control. “Let me go.”

  “No.” His lips smashed on mine. His tongue broke into my mouth. And the ferocity of his kiss was precisely what he said.

  This was an assault.

  Unwanted. Unprovoked. Assault.

  His lips were warm and wonderful.

  His body felt like home.

  Every part of me screamed to give in. To rock with him, dance with him, explode with him.

  But a final shred of common-sense made me squirm in his embrace.

  You can’t do this.

  You’re not strong enough.

  My fingernails dug into his chest. I wriggled and fought to get free.

  But he kept kissing me, holding me, forcing me to take what he gave.

  He’d never been coldblooded before. Icy and impenetrable. Explosive and stubborn. But never violent against my wishes. Never tried to take something that wasn’t his.

  He groaned into my mouth, his tongue withdrawing, his lips leaving mine.

  Our eyes locked and he showed me everything. The fear. The apology. The pain.

  “Be my canvas.”

  “It’s too late,” I whispered.

  His forehead pressed against mine. “It is too late. Everything is too fucking late. I’m too late to make any money. Too late to fix my business. Too late to save my daughter. Too late to repair everything broken between us. But it’s not too late to say goodbye.”

  My heart jackhammered as he clutched my hair and tugged, forcing my neck back, kissing his way along the column of my exposed throat. “I’m running out of control. I’ll ask one last time before I won’t ask anymore. Be my canvas, O. Let me paint you, fuck you. I need to remember you for always.”

  I shivered at the naked beg in his voice. “I can’t.”

  “You can.” His lips were cool, but his tongue hot as he captured me in another kiss. He breathed against my mouth, “Fuck me one last time, O. You said your goodbyes the other night. You used me for closure. I pleaded with you not to make me do it. I begged you to stop. But you didn’t. You took from me. And now, I’m taking from you.”

  I tried to push him away again, cursing how my blood bubbled and wetness gathered between my legs. “I didn’t rape you, Gil. Don’t you dare insinuate I’m anything like that bitch who—”

  “You’re not.” Capturing my wrist, he jerked my hand down and pressed it over his erection. “I wouldn’t be hard if I didn’t want you. I’ve never been with anyone else. It’s always been you. It will always be you. You’ll move on after this. You’ll travel the world and find a perfect ending, all while I rot in my jail cell. The only thing that will keep me going is my memories of you.”

  He rocked his hardness into my palm. “Let me have you, one last time. Let me paint you, love you, fuck you, imprint you.” His lips trailed along my jaw until he found my mouth again, kissing me long and slow.

  I did my best not to respond. Not to kiss him back. But a low moan echoed unwillingly in my throat.

  “Let me try to forget you, Olin Moss, even though I know that’s impossible.” Stepping back, he let me go.

  My hand fell from touching him. My lips tingled from his kiss. And we stood facing each other as if drawing the battle lines for war.

  He acted as if he’d force me against my will, and I actually believed he would do it. But I also knew, he’d hate himself the entire time. He’d use me, but he’d ultimately suffer.

  He was right.

  We’d run out of time.

  Everything was too late.

  The end was here, and there was no right or wrong anymore.

  I couldn’t be with him. I shouldn’t do this. But...it was all over anyway.

  Another night together wouldn’t change that.

  Gil shuddered, his eyes dark. His erection wedged against his paint-splattered work jeans while the black hoodie he always wore in his time-lapse videos held colours from other canvases.

  I might be the last one he ever painted.

  All the rage inside me vanished.

  He’s losing everything.

  Not just his freedom but also his art.

  He’d stood in my apartment a few months ago and asked how I’d tolerated losing dance. He’d genuinely seemed perplexed that I’d survived having such an integral part of me stolen.

  He’d told me he wouldn’t survive if he couldn’t paint.

  I’d believed him then.

  I believe him now.

  Jail wasn’t just an institution where he would be captive. It was the accident, the car, the restaurant window. Jail was going to strip him of his ability to paint. Possibly forever.

  I sighed heavily, allowing my body to shed its terror and embrace lust.

  Deep, deadly, unhealthy lust.

  “Will Olive be okay if you’re gone for a while?”

  Gil stayed frozen, his hands balled by his sides. “She’s with Justin. It’s best they have time to figure their shit out before I can’t be there.”

  “What happens after?”

  His throat worked as he swallowed. “I walk away.”

  “And if this destroys us even more?”

  “Then we’re destroyed.”

  “This won’t change anything.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “I can’t be in love with you anymore, Gilbert Clark.”

  “I’m not asking you to be.”

  “I should curse you. I should hate you.”

  “You should.”

  Tears erupted out of frustration. “So why can’t I?”

  He stepped into me, cupping my cheeks with quaking hands. “Because I can’t stop loving you either.”

  I couldn’t feel anymore.

  I didn’t have the strength.

  But I also couldn’t lie anymore.

  I didn’t have the power.

  “You’re a walking gift of pain, Gilbert Clark.”

  “And you’re the ultimate gift of redemption, Olin Moss.” Brushing his thumbs over my cheekbones, he let me go to flip his black hood up and over his messy hair.

  His mask in place. His face obscured.

  I flinched. “You’re going to record this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you post it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  He captured me again. “Because I deserve a lifetime of agony for what I did. This video will always be there. It will be waiting for me on the day that I’m free. It will be a constant reminder of my one and only canvas—my true work of art that I did nothing but try to destroy. You.”

  “I don’t want to see it.”

  “Then you won’t.”

  “I don’t want to see you.”

  “But you’re the only one who does.”

  I shuddered.

  I didn’t want to love him, need him, miss him.

  The Master of Trickery.

  The Wizard of Paint.

  The Love Executioner.

  But my head tipped up.

  His tipped down.

  We kissed.

  And our denials were over.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ______________________________

  Gil

  O STOOD ON the centre of the black sheet.

  Her breasts bare.

  Her pussy covered by her black G-string.

  Watching her strip had almost stolen everything I had left.
My cock threatened to snap off. The tension between us hissed and crackled. And my lungs refused to deliver more than a few sips of oxygen.

  I’d meant what I said.

  Waiting for her to come home had given me far too much time to imagine what it would feel like to be with her one last time. If she hadn’t agreed...I honestly didn’t know what I would’ve done.

  I’d like to think I would’ve had the strength to walk out the door.

  But...

  This was O.

  This was the only woman I could be with without reliving the night Olive was created.

  This was the other piece of my heart, and I couldn’t go to jail without feeling whole one last time.

  Keeping my distance, I brought my paints onto the sheet by her feet. I arranged my brushes and sponges, positioned my airbrush, and drank in every inch of her.

  We didn’t speak while I prepared.

  Our silence only added pain to the quietness already torturing us.

  With shaking hands, I turned on the small video camera I used to capture my creations. I muted it so no sound was captured. I angled it so O took centre stage. And I made sure my hood tugged low over my face so I remained anonymous, even though mug shots and newspapers had shown the world who I was.

  I wasn’t a talented artist.

  I was a murderer.

  Forever and for always.

  Moving toward O, I sucked in a useless breath as she trembled. I couldn’t tear my eyes off her perfection. Off the scars on her back. Off the ink on her skin. Off her strength and femininity and broken dancer’s grace.

  “You’ve always been the most beautiful creature in the world to me.” I ducked to my haunches, unscrewing a midnight blue vial, already diluted and ready for my airgun.

  She bit her lip, keeping her gaze on the wall beyond. I hadn’t asked her to hold a pose. She didn’t need to. Just the way she stood echoed with angelic poise. Her wrists always delicate. Her fingers always curved. Her neck arched with royalty.

  She looked as if she’d once had wings, weightless and balletic before a car crash stripped them from her, leaving her to the mercy of monsters like me.