He advanced until he stood in front of the easel. His fingertips came alive. It was as if static energy coursed under his skin. His hand shook lightly as he caught the corner of the sheet. Slowly, as if he was undressing a woman, he pulled the sheet down until the painting was revealed in all its naked glory.
Holy God!
A stone lodged in his chest and dropped to his stomach. He stared at the image for several seconds, unable to make himself look away and simultaneously hating that he was looking. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this.
He forced himself to take a step back, and another, and another, until the spell that held him let up. Rushing to the nearest wall, he plucked the sheet from the painting. He did the same with the one next to that one. He ran from painting to painting, ripping the sheets to the floor until everything was uncovered. Taking a few steps back, he stopped in the middle of the room. Each and every painting was the same. He was staring at thirteen faces of Godfrey.
Chapter 7
Was Olivia demented? A memory of Clara entered his brain. Was history repeating itself? Clara had stopped being a wife to him a long time before she’d taken her life. He should’ve known, but he’d carried on being a husband to her, hoping his devotion would carry them through the rough patch. That rough patch had turned out to be mental instability, and he’d been a fool for not admitting it sooner. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. Olivia was an intelligent woman, and no clever person could condone Godfrey’s actions. Only someone with a warped sense of reality, maybe someone with an artist’s disposition, could find affection in her heart for a man selfish enough to want the world all to himself.
Cain let out a breath and tilted his head to the ceiling. Was the woman he admired, watched, and touched this much taken with Godfrey? What did she think about when his fingers skimmed her skin? Was she with him in the moment, or did she imagine her husband in his place? It wasn’t easy to answer when a dozen and one of his enemy’s faces stared at him with cunning reality, the expressions so life-like he expected the man to grin and speak at any minute. The technique was faultless, the style one hundred percent Olivia. For some reason, it burned a hole in his chest. Was this why she was hiding her mind from him? She knew he’d see her love? Her obsession? How damn ironic. They were both obsessed, but not with each other.
He suppressed his aversion and the irrational anger that morphed into hurt, channeling his energy to study the images, instead. She’d captured Godfrey in amazing clarity and with shocking detail. The man’s physical beauty was close to perfection if one didn’t mind the freckles on his nose, but there was something disturbing about the set of his mouth and the light in his eyes. His expression was smug, if not cruel. God, she was good. Despite the subject of her study, he couldn’t help falling more in love with her work than ever before. In a world of ugly truths, she was a rare gift. It would destroy him if he ever had to snuff out such a talent.
The ring of his wrist pad interrupted his thoughts.
“It’s Josselin. A Russian satellite spotted Godfrey.”
His body tensed, going into involuntary fight mode. “When?”
“This morning. Maya just found the footage while running recognition software.”
“Where?”
Josselin’s voice dropped an octave. “See for yourself.”
An image lit up his wrist pad screen. The photo showed Olivia and Godfrey sitting on the same beach from where he accessed Olivia’s house. Anger dominated his mood. Added to the discovery he’d just made, the feeling turned into a gut-chilling notion of betrayal.
Suppressing the sentiment, he asked, “Do we have a mark on him?”
“We lost him not far from town.” There was a short pause. “Why didn’t Olivia call us?”
“I’m about to find out. Keep on looking, and let me know if something comes up.”
“You’ll be the first to know.” Josselin disconnected the call.
Son of a bitch. This didn’t look good for Olivia, and he didn’t like the options it left him. If she was working against them, her fate was sealed.
One by one, he covered the paintings. Leaving the room exactly as he’d found it, he locked the door and went outside to wait in the shade of the bougainvillea on the balcony. Not long after, the deactivating beep of the alarm sounded inside the house. The backdoor opened and Olivia entered. Her shoulders were hunched. Dark circles marred her eyes, accentuating a new hollowness that had settled over her cheeks. She dropped her bag and keys on the island counter, but didn’t spot him through the open sliding doors. She should be more careful, more alert.
“Olivia.”
Even though he’d spoken her name gently, she jumped.
She pressed a hand on her heart. “Oh, my God. You startled me.” A scornful look replaced her shocked expression. “You can’t walk in here whenever you want. This is my home.” She pointed at her chest. “My privacy.”
Why was she suddenly so angry when they’d come to an agreement? It only added fuel on his ugly suspicion.
“Come here,” he said.
She did come to him, but with her hands on her hips and her tired eyes fuming. “This has to stop, Cain.”
“We’ve already established it won’t.” He got to his feet. “If anything, it’s only going to get worse.”
“Can’t you call like any decent person before you come over?”
“I’m not just any person. Neither am I decent.” He pointed at the chair he’d been occupying. “Sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit.”
Guiding her by the shoulders, he pushed her down in the chair before rounding the back and started to massage her shoulders. Mindful of his strength, he kept his touch light, but it felt no less intimate than the times he laid his hands on her in bed.
Instead of relaxing, she tensed more. “Cain.” His name was a whisper, confusion escaping on a vent of air. “What are you doing?”
“You look tired. How’s the flu?” His fingers worked on the knots between her shoulder blades.
“You don’t have to,” she mumbled with her eyes closed.
“No, I don’t.” He wanted to take care of her and lessen her burdens, even if in the immediate moment it was only to help her relax. “Church must’ve been stressful.”
She pulled away and turned to face him. “You don’t have to remind me that you’re having me watched.”
It was hard to fight down his anger. “Do you think about it all the time?” He reached out to trace the line of her jaw. “Who do you think of when you feel eyes on you?” The man she painted, or the one who’d invaded her house and life?
Her expressive eyes sparked with indignation. At the same time, her lashes lowered in a way that made her seem sad. That flash of vulnerability was as much as he could bear.
When she lifted her gaze back to his, her eyes had a wounded look. “You lied to me.”
The accusation came like a punch. He didn’t like the feeling. “Why do you say that?”
“You didn’t tell me Godfrey was working on transdifferentiation.”
He stiffened. His hand dropped from her face. It wasn’t as much a lie as withholding information, but those two things were in principle the same. “You lied to me, too.”
A look of caution crept into her eyes. If he weren’t watching her face as well as he was, he would’ve said it was guilt. It wasn’t guilt, though. She was afraid.
Her voice came out hoarse. “About what?”
“Don’t play innocent with me, Olivia. How do you know your husband is working on transdifferentiation?”
She didn’t answer.
“He was here,” he said.
She got to her feet. “Yes, he was.”
Her posture was relaxed, but he didn’t miss the rapid pulse of the vein in her neck or the flare of her nostrils. On top of being frightened, she was angry.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she repeated.
He pondered his answer. Knowing Godfrey was trying to c
lone himself wasn’t of great importance, at least not to the media. Cloning had long since been mastered. Turning immortal was a different matter. The knowledge could get her killed. Why would Godfrey share his plan with her? Did he want an immortal queen by his side? Was that his real plan? Did she approve? The last thought almost shattered him.
He steeled himself and folded a hand around her neck, feeling the softness of her skin under his palm. “When was he here?”
The question was articulated. There was no doubt about his threat. It was meant to remind her how easy it was for him to overpower and dominate her by strength when all he wanted was to show her pleasure and give her comfort.
A look of hurt passed over her face. Her eyebrows furrowed as her eyes turned moist. “This morning,” she finally said. Her shoulders hunched as visible defeat replaced her anger. “He found me on the beach.”
His hold on her slender neck shook. This morning, as he’d been lost in her painting, she’d had a rendezvous with her husband, perhaps even a cozy tête-à-tête. He breathed in and out, taking careful stock of his control. He still had enough left not to hurt her for something she didn’t deserve, like spending time with her husband.
“Why didn’t you call me, Olivia?”
“There wasn’t time. He left straight away. By the time I got back to the house, he was long gone.”
His fingers tightened marginally. He liked having her in his hold. He felt safer knowing she was in his grasp. God help him, but he didn’t want to let go. The pain of his discovery lanced at him when it was facts he should be deciphering.
“Never again do you wander off without a phone, not to the bathroom, not to your own garden, and certainly not to the beach. Are we clear?”
Her eyes narrowed with contempt. “With you watching me, I thought I’d be safe.”
“Sarcasm won’t work on me.”
“Threats won’t work on me. Strangle me if you must, but if you’re not going to, then tell me why you omitted such important information when you asked me to help you catch my husband.”
His thumb stroked along the curve of her neck. “I’m not going to strangle you.” He moved his palm to her nape and pulled her to him with such urgency that he misjudged his force.
She tripped, steadying herself with her hands on his chest. “What are you––”
His lips on her mouth cut her short. Despite his intentions to keep this meeting impersonal, the possessive side of him took over. She fought him, pushing against his chest. When that didn’t work to put distance between them, she tried to wiggle out from under his arms, but he caught her wrists in one hand and drew her body even tighter against his with an arm around her waist. He wasn’t letting go. Not just yet. He needed to exorcise the images from her studio haunting his mind. The need to ask the question burning in his brain was overwhelming, but he’d used up all his cards. A man didn’t ask a woman more than twice if she loved another man. If her answer told you one thing and her behavior another, she’d lied.
As his tongue finally found entrance into her mouth, her resistance transformed into heated passion. Finally, she kissed him back. The victory was sweet. He had an effect on her, even if only physical. The effect she had on him was escalating, turning his body hard in a way that demanded release. Unbearable. He let go of her wrists to smooth his hands up her back under her shirt. The contact with her bare skin sent a jolt through him. Her muscles were firm and her body warm. She shivered as he drew lower to cup her middle. An ancient game unfolded between them where the rules required that he aligned his cock with the juncture of her thighs. She sighed into the kiss when he applied more pressure, parting her legs and grinding her pussy on his thigh.
They were both out of control. As he’d instigated the embrace, he should be the one to stop it, but he couldn’t summon the willpower even if he wanted. He was helpless to do anything but smolder in the desire consuming them. His hands roamed over her stomach and up her ribs to cup her breasts. Through the lace of her bra, her nipples teased him. They were hard like pearls, evidence of her arousal. If he lifted her skirt, he bet she’d be wet. He flicked his thumbs over the tips of her breasts, enjoying how they contracted further under the light caress. She clung to him, her fingers threaded through his hair. Her touch set his skin on fire with a slow-simmering heat that burned under the surface. It spread from his head to his loins, making him drunk on her kiss. Goosebumps followed in the path of the heat. He shook from the strain of holding onto the last shreds of his control. Dipping his hands under the hem of her skirt and smoothing them up her thighs wasn’t the most intelligent of moves, not if he was going to stop, but the lure was too strong. He needed to touch her where it would give her the most pleasure. He wanted to sink his fingers into her wetness and play the torturous game of imagining it was his cock. He’d stop with his fingers. That was what he told himself as reason dissipated and lust roared with the pulse of his blood in his ears.
He broke the kiss to bring his hand to his mouth and wet his thumb. Holding Olivia’s gaze, he pushed her underwear aside and rubbed his lubricated thumb over her clit. Not that he needed to have bothered. She was wet. He withheld himself from dipping his finger into that delicious wetness, dragging out the pleasure of touching her there as long as possible. As he massaged her clit in slow circles she threw back her head and uttered a husky moan. Watching her was as good as feeling her. The only thing that would top that would be tasting her. Soon. For now, he’d taken as much as he could without breaking and fucking her like a lust-crazed, hormone-dosed man who’d only just discovered his sexuality. Before desire made him do something regrettable like ripping off her clothes and tearing off his pants, he coated his middle finger with her wetness and eased inside. Her inner walls clamped down on the invasion, pulling him deeper.
They were both breathing hard. He cupped her ass with one hand for support while fucking her with the other, his thumb and finger working in sync to send her quickly to where he wanted her. It didn’t take long. She exploded with a cry, her muscles pulling taut and her pussy tightening on his finger. He dragged the orgasm out as long as he could, until she went limp. Only then did he withdraw from her body, allowing her to slowly come down in his embrace. He nuzzled her neck, inhaling the scent of patchouli he’d come to associate with her.
The fire was still raging in his cock, a dark desire that bordered on obsession and whispered sin. When she reached for his belt, he didn’t stop her. It was a point in time so sharply defined he’d never forget it. It was the moment his desire won over his conscience. It was the moment he surrendered control. The worst was that he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not now. Later, it would torment him, but not while her hands were hot on his erection.
The ringtone of his wrist pad sounded shrilly. Amid their panting it was completely out of place, a cruel pluck back to reality. Olivia dropped her hand. As if suddenly remembering herself, she took a step back, escaping the cage of his arms. The moment shattered. It fell at his feet in shards. What the fuck was wrong with him? Exactly how far was he willing to take this?
Olivia pulled down her skirt. Her voice shook lightly when she said, “You better take that.”
Yes. He’d better. He checked the screen. Ivan.
“Excuse me.” He turned his back on her to take the call, feeling the loss of her visual image as intensely as he felt the loss of her hands on his body. “Ivan?”
“It’s Alice. She’s in labor.”
Chapter 8
“I’ll be right there.” Cain cut the call and faced the woman who’d stolen his control.
“I know,” Olivia said softly. “You have to go.”
Threading his fingers through her hair, he dragged her closer for a last, much too fleeting kiss. “I don’t like leaving you like this, but it’s important.”
“You look upset. What’s wrong?”
The fact that his only daughter was about to give birth, and not just to any baby, but a seven arts baby, a child that could rob her of he
r life, was something he needed to share with her more than he’d realized. In a different world, one where she wasn’t married to his enemy, he probably would’ve.
Instead, he said, “Give me something before I go.”
Sadness turned her expression somber. “You ask me to trust you, yet, you don’t give me reason to trust you back.”
“I can’t tell you why I have to go.”
“You also didn’t tell me my husband can make dead people alive.”
“I was protecting you.”
“I want to believe you, but you’ve got to give me more.” She stared at him with a plea in her eyes. “Give me something in return. Give me the truth.”
Why was she looking at him like her life depended on his answer, like there was more on the spell than trust?
He weighed his words carefully. “All right. As you already know, Godfrey is using a process of transdifferentiation to regenerate damaged or dead cells, and I’m here to stop him at all costs. What you probably don’t know, is that if he manages to inflict the process on himself, he’ll become immortal.”
Her eyes flared in shock. “This is his plan?”
“Yes.”
“How does it work?”
“Do you know what the seven forbidden arts are?”
“I do.”
“You need one cell of each of the seven forbidden arts.”
Man (Seven Forbidden Arts Book 9) Page 12