Another Brush of Love (The Carnal Exhibitions Book 3)

by LW Barefoot

  “What do you say we take a stroll once I’m done?” I ask and smile at him.

  “You got it, kid.”

  Tom closes the door. I finally take a deep breath, pushing down those nerves that demand attention.

  I start the water for a bath and listen as the pipes warm up. I adjust the temperature and pull my phone out of my bag along with my portable speaker. I push away the disappointment when I check the screen for Evan’s number that isn’t there. I turn on Milo Greene in hopes, they can wash away the residue of the strange morning I’ve had.

  I wait until the music and running water hum through the two rooms. I force myself to stroll through my old bedroom and studio. I lock and unlock the balcony doors several times. There are new locks on the top and bottom. One pushes up into the door frame and the bottom one sinks in the floor.

  I learn the routine of the locks and follow through with it several times. Locking and unlocking the entire set.

  I was a different person the last time I was here. So strange to think about how such little time has the ability to change so much. This obsessive action I do with locks and repeating it over and over is something the old me would do. It used to calm me down and remind me that I’m safe. But as I unlock the entire set one more time, I let go and push the French doors wide open.

  The Sculptor’s presence isn’t something I’ve forgotten because I’ve carried it with me all these years. I’ve never gotten over what it felt like. It’s not only the physical reminder he left but those wretched words on repeat in my head. He isn’t the only one who needs closure. No matter how hard I’ve tried over the years, I haven’t been able to shake the aftereffects of my time spent with him.

  I feel as if I would have had some kind of panic attack, but I’ve never fooled myself in releasing the fear of him in the first place. Only that absence would cause me to have a mental breakdown now.

  As the late afternoon sun warms up the space I once called home, I move back to the bathroom, leaving those doors wide open.

  That fucking voice that’s been on repeat reminds me this isn’t over. There is unfinished business between us. At some point, I’m going to come face to face with him. I’d rather that be sooner rather than later.

  Those dreams I convinced myself were just fragments of fear were real. The Sculptor yelled at me to stop when I plunged the knife. I crawled to get away from him, using the wall to help me. I needed those stab wounds to hurry up and bleed faster. I willed them to pump my life away along with my feelings. My heart raced when I moved down the hall and I needed it to stop altogether. I remember making it to my bedroom and then instantly regretting it.

  I was fading in and out when he marked me, he took his mask off then. I watched him scrawl the knife with his signature. I force myself to remember his face and his words and the feeling of him cutting me… ‘How could you do this? How could you fucking do this to me?’

  I did it for me but I’m not sure if that’s what I said or if I just thought it. I see him as he chokes me. Tears rolling down his face and I struggle to remember his words. For the first time, wanting to remember what he said because I’ve been trying desperately to forget… ‘I’ll follow you into the dark, my love, I swear I will come after you.’

  I blacked out during his rant, during his confusion to finish me off faster or save my life.

  It wasn’t until Evan that I felt my heart beating again. I was among the numerous ghosts who haunt this city. I no longer want to take my life for granted. I’m not going to be able to sit back and calmly live out my life. I’ve known this but there’s a difference in living and being alive.

  I climb in the bathtub in my forced bravado and courage. By fooling myself, I hope I believe it comes true in the process. That girl I once was no longer has a place here hiding behind a multitude of locks and lies.

  My eyes are wide open and my breathing finally evens out. I begin to relax as I sink in the tub.

  The Sculptor

  “I think it’s time you make something out of me,” Sarah whispers from the bed she’s tied to.

  Her insecurities are starting to surface. It was only a matter of time before she made this selfish request. She’s had fascination in her eyes watching me work and despite my best efforts to rectify her misguided awe, it’s still there. So much like every other woman I’ve seduced, manipulated, became bored of, and ultimately broke.

  I had to take her when I did to stop her from causing any more trouble.

  “I’ve always admired your work,” she says, trying to get my attention.

  I haven’t turned toward her. Painting a blank canvas is far more alluring than listening to her whimper. She should use this time with me for some much-needed reflection. I have her to thank for my new found creativity which is why I’ve been as patient as I’m capable of. She doesn’t know I’m already making something out of her.

  This clean canvas shines. I need to make it dark to match my daunting puppet. The kind of depth I seek to emulate would hold more truths than any Sarah possesses. Her black shadows are empty, just like her.

  “I felt powerful purchasing your hard-to-find work for Joe,” she murmurs.

  I haven’t attended my shows in years. It’s arrogant and egotistical and I don’t give a damn. Every painting I’ve sold over the last five years has been void of any true artistic revelation and progress. They were dark, unimaginative, and my worst work to date. Technically beautiful but that’s where they stopped.

  Just like this woman trying to lure me in with her spoken thoughts. She’s beautiful, by the world’s standards, but lacking all the things that make someone truly beautiful. So unlike my sweet Casey with her insecurities and intriguing grace.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she says, but she doesn’t have a clue. “We were having a hard time making decisions when your agent mentioned he still had a few pieces from several years ago. He pulled them up right there on his tablet. Joe didn’t see the differences or changes in your progress, but I did.”

  “Where is that painting now?”

  “You should be asking where are those paintings,” she smiles as if she’s proud of herself and she should be. She’s caught me completely off guard. That long forgotten ache of worry crawls up my spine.

  “Where are they?” I demand.

  “One is at the Hawthorne estate off St. Charles,” she baits me.

  “I’m listening,” I say and it feels like she’s won as she takes a breath to collect herself.

  “The other was a gift to Evan. Joe gave it as an apology for taking his newest toy and almost breaking her. I believe it’s still at his plantation,” she smirks.

  She will play whatever angle for her benefit. I’m thankful my back is still turned from her inquiring stare. I roll around her last taunting statement and weigh her words. Anger consumes me, sobering up any beliefs I’ve held about who is really in control. I knew there was more to how Sarah claimed she found me, but I should have listened closer, should have paid better attention.

  Long minutes pass and she knows by now to keep her fucking mouth shut. When she mentions Evan, I haven’t been able to control myself from lashing out and she’s the one taking the brunt of it. So she’s tamed her tongue, at least, to the point of not asking questions that will get her harmed.

  “I find it interesting you’re just now telling me about this plantation. I’ve waited patiently, and you haven’t said a single word about where I could find this ex of yours and the son of the person who summoned me,” I say.

  I gather my thoughts and place my paint brush down.

  I’ve never tied anyone up and found them looking the way she is now. Her wrist tethered to the bedpost and she looks proud of herself. She schools her features as she mentally prepares to endure another round of abuse.

  I don’t miss the tick of her lips as I approach her. She inhales deeply before demonstrating the stance she’s been trained to take and that’s no easy task.

  Harper

 
Mae and Brad arrived with our luggage when I was upstairs. Mae is the only one who protests our little excursion.

  “We need to walk around before the sun goes down,” Brad says as he shuts the door to the townhouse.

  Tom and I stroll through the French Quarter with Ryan and Brad trailing behind us. I become the bait in the late afternoon with tourists walking around us. We listen to street musicians and throw money in their open instrument cases.

  Tom’s jaw is set in a hard line as he scans the vast area through Jackson Square. My heart doesn’t pound a deafening sound as I stand out in the open like this. I feel brave and challenging until Ryan grasps my elbow and leads us back to my house.

  I knew nothing would happen out in the open, but with the harmony of violins filling the Square, I wished to glimpse the face of the monster that has haunted me for years. I wished to see the shock on his face and the absence of depth in his eyes.

  Grayson and Jamie went to pick up gyros for us at a place on St. Peters a few blocks over. It’s one of the places we all agreed we missed when we were in Florida. Jamie has a dedicated Sriracha bottle just for their wraps in our fridge.

  I have to restrain myself from getting Mae alone and bombarding her with questions.

  “How have you been, Harper?” she asks.

  “Better now that I’m back home.”

  It’s all I can think of so I don’t ask her what I really want to. I’ve held out this long, I can hold out longer. Mae has this ability to look at you and see right through you.

  “Don’t be naive, baby girl. This isn’t the home-stretch, it’s only the beginning.”

  “Tell me what am I missing?”

  I pull a handful of utensils out of the drawer and napkins before turning back to her.

  “You already know everything I do. Just don’t give up,” she says.

  Her statement could hold so many different meanings. Her voice and presence I’ve missed. Above all, I’ve missed her affirmations that I could do this. That I’m stronger than I think.

  “Are you ready for tonight?” she asks.

  I look up at Mae and I don’t understand her meaning.

  “What’s happening tonight?”

  “Another party out at the plantation.”

  I let out a deep breath as Mae says this. I want to become that gossiping girl who needs reassurance from someone other than the source.

  The guys come in with bags full of styrofoam take-out containers.

  “I need to get back,” Mae proclaims and she makes sure I’m paying attention to her just before she leaves.

  “See you later tonight, Harper.”

  It’s not a question.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  It’s the only thing I can think of before she slips her sunglasses on and leaves me with a house full of men and an even fuller determination to get out to the plantation tonight.

  Harper

  I’ve had weeks of worry and preparation. After our afternoon stroll, Ryan and Tom’s insistence on me leaving seals our plans.

  My makeup is set as well as my tastefully erotic lingerie. The almost-sheer dress I tie over it does nothing to hide the intricate lace bra, stays, garter belt, and cheeky panties. It makes it sexier and highlights the contours of my body. My outfit covers the necessary elements that keep me from looking like a full-out slut and revealing my scars.

  When I descend the stairs, Jamie has already gone to work. Grayson looks nonchalant and ready for just about anything.

  “Are you ready?” he asks.

  “Yes, are you?”

  “Of course.” He holds up a bottle of wine and a corkscrew. “This might be our only chance to celebrate without wandering eyes.”

  I agree and smile, remembering how we played hide-and-seek while drinking liquor in the dark. So much time and understanding have passed since that night. We both want the same things. No more distance, no more lies separating us from Evan.

  Our gazes caught after one of the worst nights in Miami, his eyes reflected the same loss I know mine possessed. There’s strength in numbers and Evan needs us. I won’t let misunderstanding and doubt get in the way of what’s really important.

  When I suggested to Brad and Grayson going out to the plantation tonight, neither one of them hesitated. We came up with a plan and agreed the only people that should know our whereabouts were in the living room this afternoon. Tom thought that was the answer to me getting out of the city and Ryan agreed eagerly. If the Sculptor’s watching he might get brave enough to come back to the townhouse once he sees that I’m back. I’ll be long gone while Tom and Ryan wait for him to make a move.

  “I’ll get the glasses,” I say.

  I don’t care if they never make it back here either. I grab a couple from the kitchen and then my purse. Looking in it to make sure I have everything I need for an overnight stay.

  Brad waits by the curb with the new valet opening the doors to the car for us. Grayson and I climb in the back and get comfortable. I shrug off the black cloak concealing my departure.

  “Hey, I brought you some water.”

  Grayson offers the bottle to Brad, putting it in the console in the front.

  It’s as if each one of us quietly soak up the feeling of being back home. Grayson and I sip wine during the drive. It feels as if it takes forever and blurs by in seconds.

  We pass the entrance to Lorraine’s Bed and Breakfast. Grayson’s fingers work in my hair, his one and only means of comforting or touching me. His flirtations ended the night we left for Florida. Something shifted between us, no more teasing, nor misunderstanding. We never cross that line, only when he sees me vulnerable in the witching hours of the night. When he pulls me from the demons who haunt my dreams. But these steps we’re taking, miles we’ve crossed to get back here, they’re the most vulnerable of them all.

  In a broad spectrum display and declaration that Evan can’t get out of his feelings for me. They can’t be pushed away and ignored and neither can mine. Because the truth of it is out there and it’s going to be used against him. I saw it the other night in Anthony’s lies and his false hope that I was still insecure and blind to what was happening.

  The last time we were in a car on this stretch of highway, we were leaving. Broken and shattered pieces of each one of us littered the unknown. That distance of time and space made each one of us truly accountable for our intentions. We all love Evan and we’re on our way to show him.

  Brad catches glimpses of us in the rearview, but he’s focused on the last few miles of our destination. He doesn’t like that he won’t be escorting me around but understands the necessity of it.

  “Do you remember what I told you the last night we were here?” Grayson asks.

  His fingers lightly tugging the ends of my hair. The tires crunch as the car rocks on the rural road.

  “That you would protect me from Evan,” I say meeting his eyes. “But Grayson, he’s the only one I don’t need protection from.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Brad pushes.

  I finish what’s left of my wine and look out the windshield. We’ve been over this, voicing every imaginable outcome and it always comes back to me having unwavering trust in Evan.

  The plantation’s lights flicker up ahead through the trees I love.

  “Absolutely.”

  I take his mask out of my bag and tie it behind Grayson’s head. His green eyes would have made my heart skip a beat once upon a time, but as he openly checks me out, nothing happens. Not a single beat happens for that lust. But I appreciate it because I want that look on Evan’s face. It’s Grayson’s way of helping me with my confidence.

  No matter what the outcome of tonight is, I swore I wouldn’t make a scene. I won’t put my dismay out there for others to take advantage of.

  Grayson smiles and turns his attention to the road in front of us.

  Cars, limos, even party buses surround the circle drive and parked across the perfect landscape. Grayson and
I worked out that he would escort me around the party. Since I’m not collared, I couldn’t safely walk around alone. That would leave me open as a willing companion.

  After I find Evan, and all goes well, Grayson would leave us and make sure we’re left alone. If worst case scenario happens, Brad paid for us to have rooms at Lori’s B&B.

  I keep my head up high. If I look at what I have on, I would second guess everything.

  “You’re gorgeous, Harper,” Grayson says.

  “Thanks. Do you mind?” I ask lifting up my mask.

  Not allowing those fears of these guises to come into play. The Sculptor took his off, laid it out there for me, and it’s my turn to slip back in the shadows.

  Grayson secures it with a bow underneath a section of my hair.

  Martin’s face lights up when he sees Brad and opens my door. When I crawl out I hug Martin and it takes him by surprise.

  “Harper?”

  He pulls back and tries to keep his eyes off what I have on.

  “The one and only.”

  I wink at him and hold my finger up to signal him to keep quiet.

  “I’m glad you came,” he whispers as he pulls me in for another embrace.

  Brad falls back because he would be a dead giveaway. After all our workouts and training, I can hold my own.

  Grayson’s hand is warm on my back as we walk up the stairs. I don’t want to think about the last time I was here. Explosions in the sky and a tearing in my heart, but it’s stitching itself up slowly as we walk in the house.

  Antique chandeliers sparkle, highlighting the extravagant details of the mansion. Music pulses through the crowded foyer. Waiters in tuxedos with trays of cocktails work their way around the guests. Unlike the one and only party I attended, there is no attempt to close doors or hide anything. Scantily clad people mill about making my outfit look almost innocent.

  The assault of sins and emotions is heavy. Lust, desire, degradation and pain, all point out the obvious missing thing these serve to replace. All of it’s wrapped up in expensive fashion in an artistically created atmosphere.