The Painter's Passion

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  Mr. Tall, Dark, Handsome, and Confident was holding a singular raw shrimp over the sink, trying to figure out how to get it out of the shell. Hearing the soft sound of her chuckle, his frustrated gaze switched its subject from the shellfish to herself.

  “What?” he bit out grumpily, only adding to her entertainment.

  “Where do I begin?” she teased. “First, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you so frustrated before… and all because of a shrimp.”

  “Have you seen me around you?” he returned.

  “Mmm… I don’t think even I have made you that frustrated.”

  He muttered something else and she could have sworn it was “You would know if you saw me every morning.” But, at the risk of delaying dinner – and all rationality – any further, she continued with a safer course of conversation.

  “And second, you look like you have no idea what you are doing.” She giggled again.

  When was the last time she giggled?

  He scowled at her and she bit her lip to stop herself from laughing harder at his distress.

  “Well, that’s probably because I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. Any chance that Your Majesty would like to show me how the hell I’m supposed to peel these before I feed them all to the garbage disposal instead?”

  She sighed. As much as she wanted to continue to watch him struggle – because it was refreshingly entertaining – she walked back over to him in the interest of not starving either of them tonight.

  “Here,” she said, picking another prawn out of the container. Grabbing a paring knife, she showed him how to slice along the bottom of the shrimp, creating a relieving incision so she could then peel the shell off the main body of the shrimp and then pull it completely off with the tail. “And that’s how it’s done.”

  He grumbled and took the knife from her hand. Ana tried not to shudder visibly at the spark that radiated through her.

  Turning quickly, she walked back over to her safe spot by the stove. Turning on another burner, she heated oil and butter in a frying pan.

  “How do you not know how to peel shrimp?” she couldn’t resist asking. “I would think that Pierce Almighty would know everything.”

  “I don’t cook. So, there is no reason for me to know anything.”

  “You never cooked?” she wondered incredulously.

  “No.”

  “How did you survive?”

  He just laughed sardonically, shaking his head. He walked towards her and set the bowl full of peeled shrimp on the counter next to her. “Done.”

  Ana just nodded, unsure of what to say. Taking the shrimp, she began to lay them one by one into the sizzling pan, watching as their gray color began to change immediately to a pinkish-white.

  “Do you like to cook?” he surprised her by asking, instead of letting the awkward silence continue.

  “I do.” She began to flip some of the shrimp over. “It’s one thing that I’m good at.”

  “I’m sure you are good at a lot of things, Princess.”

  She spun around to face him; he’d moved back and was leaning against the island, watching her. Eyes wide, she said, “Is that a… compliment?”

  He scowled at her. “I never said you weren’t good at anything.”

  “No, I just don’t know that I’ve ever heard a compliment come out of your mouth as of yet,” she retorted. “I’d begun to assume that your standards were just too impossible to meet.”

  “Nope.” Again, with the sardonic laugh. “Just never cared about anyone meeting them before.”

  Her breath caught and her heart did a flip.

  Was he implying that he cared about her?

  No, it couldn’t be. He didn’t care about anyone – or anything.

  “Your timer is about to go, Princess.” He nodded to the stove behind her, just as the buzzer went off violently.

  Her frantic heartbeat matched the obnoxious noise. She grabbed her potholders and pulled the pasta from the stove.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Call me ‘Princess’ or ‘Your Majesty’ or whatever else you’ve come up with.”

  “Let me do that,” he insisted, his arms reaching in front of her to take the pot from her hands.

  “Pierce, it’s hot…” she trailed off as the weight was removed from her hands. He deftly took the burning handles in his grasp and didn’t even wince. He dumped the pasta and the water into the colander that was sitting in the other half of the sink as she watched dumbly.

  Setting the pot down on the granite counter next to the sink, his eyes returned to hers and he raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “Wasn’t that hot?”

  “I’m sure it was, but I’ve felt worse.”

  Ana heard his words but it was the darkness that spread over his face that worried her. Like his scar, there was a story much more sinister inside of him; and instead of her usual overwhelming urge to know about something, the only thing that she felt was her desire to ease his pain.

  She closed the distance between them and grabbed his hands with hers. He stared at her unexpected move, watching as she hesitantly flipped his hands over to look at his palms. No scars, no wounds, no nothing. Only slightly red from the heat that they’d just held. But still, she knew that sometimes the scars that hurt the most are the ones that can’t be seen. She remained almost in a trance as her fingers rubbed over his palms.

  She had no idea what she was doing; all she knew was that she needed to do it, she needed to touch him.

  One of the shrimp popped on the stove behind her and pulled her from her daze. She dropped his hands and returned to the stove without meeting his eyes, having no explanation for what she’d just done.

  “I call you those nicknames,” he began hoarsely, “because you are always needing to be in control of everyone and everything around you. You make the rules and everyone has to obey.”

  “Except you.” She turned off the stove, taking the frying pan off of the heat.

  “I’m doing what you’ve asked me to do,” he replied, pretending to be offended.

  “Only after you did what I told you not to.” She sent him a look that dared him to try and deny it. “I’d be foolish to believe that doing what I asked was the only thing that you’ve done today… or the only thing that you are going to continue to do.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a smile spread over his face.

  “If you don’t believe me, you could always handcuff me to your side…” He trailed off huskily. “Although I’m not sure if that would just encourage a whole different kind of naughty behavior.”

  Again, heat roared through her body, throwing her off guard. She decided that ignoring the insinuation was the best thing to do and moved to open the cupboard to grab two bowls.

  “Let me.” She heard him say just before she felt the hard heat of his body press against her side as he reached up around her to grab the dishes that she’d been eyeing.

  Ana bit her lip, suppressing a moan that wanted to escape her.

  Thankfully, as soon as the bowls were on the counter, he stepped back and she could breathe again.

  “Thank you.”

  She made quickly work of plating their portions, setting the bowls on the countertop, pushing one in his direction.

  He picked up the bowl and with a devilish smile turned towards the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” she blurted out.

  “To eat in my room,” he replied, moving up another step.

  “You still haven’t told me what I asked for.”

  “Right,” he said with a fake sigh. “Looks like you’ll just have to follow me then if you really want to know.”

  He disappeared into the stairwell and Ana stood there on the precipice of a decision – to follow him or not.

  It was a decision that was already made.

  She only hesitated because she couldn’t fathom why he made it feel so good to be making all the wrong choices.


  Chapter 13

  He’d just opened the door to his room when he heard her soft footsteps following him up the stairwell.

  Another gamble that he’d been unsure of winning.

  Why was it he was always willing to risk a loss with her? For her?

  He shook off the thought as he waited just inside the door for her to catch up, the displeased look on her face bringing a smile to his.

  She wanted to be there – she wouldn’t have made the choice to come otherwise.

  “We can eat in the sitting room,” he said.

  “As long as I don’t have to look at a naked woman while doing it.”

  He grimaced. He couldn’t blame her for her sarcastic retort – or for the way that she glanced around his room as though she expected a naked woman to jump out from behind every corner.

  “Ana—” he began, the need to apologize for that rushing through him again, but still, she wouldn’t let him.

  “You really shouldn’t be eating up here at all. What if you get something on the furniture?” she asked. He didn’t even have time to think about how he wanted to answer before she continued with another question. “So, you don’t know how to cook, but you do know how to make your bed perfectly?”

  His jaw tensed, but she was walking behind him so at least she couldn’t see his discomfort.

  “When you don’t sleep in the bed, you don’t have to worry about making it.”

  “Why don’t you sleep in it? Where do you sleep?”

  “On the couch,” he answered as they walked into the sitting room where she could see the blanket and pillow that were strewn on the settee – his makeshift bed. “I told you, I don’t like beds.”

  “Why not?” she persisted.

  He spun to face her, levelling her with a hard stare that stopped her short. “Because I almost died in one.” Her mouth parted slightly and all he wanted to do was kiss every other question out of her mind, but he was hungry and he imagined that she was too.

  This wasn’t the time to even think about his past – let alone share it. No one needed to hear what his mother had done. No one needed to hear how he’d almost bled to death. No one needed to hear about the part of his life that showed him that while love may exist, it didn’t exist for him.

  No one needed to hear that shit. Especially not Ana. Especially not now.

  And not ever if he had anything to say about it.

  “Sit. Eat.” He instructed, nodding over to the couch where he usually slept and for once, she listened to him.

  He didn’t follow her, instead sitting in the wooden arm chair that he usually painted from.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes as they ate.

  “This is really good, Ana,” he said between bites; he’d hardly seen her put much into the pan and yet it was one of the most delicious meals that he’d ever had.

  Her eyes that had been wandering in the room, just beginning to take in the sight of the canvases, easels, palettes, and brushes scattered throughout the space, returned to his at his words.

  “Thank you,” she replied softly, about to take another bite before she paused to ask. “Is this all of your stuff? Have you been painting in here?”

  He nodded and with a tight smile replied, “Don’t worry; I’m being very careful of the furniture, Princess.”

  He was telling the truth; there were drop cloths over most of the carpet in the room. There was also a drop cloth over the stack of portraits of her that he’d been unable to stop himself from working on.

  “So, let me guess, you’ve always loved cooking.”

  “No.” A look crossed her face that told him he wasn’t going to like what she was about to say. “My ex-fiancé liked when I cooked, so I learned how to.”

  Now, it was his turn to be shocked. He didn’t know she’d been engaged before. Part of him wanted to murder the man – not for whatever he’d done or not done to make him an ‘ex,’ but because he’d touched her, he’d touched something that Pierce viewed as his own. The other part of him wanted to thank the man for doing whatever he’d done to make him part of her past; otherwise, she wouldn’t be here with him now.

  Both parts, however, wanted to know the ‘why.’

  “What happened?”

  Her eyes darted up to his and she was silent for a moment. He took the last bite of his meal, chewing slowly so that she knew he was going to wait for an answer to this one.

  “He cheated on me,” she replied softly.

  His fork clattered into his bowl and it took every ounce of his will to not chuck the entire thing across the room in rage.

  He changed his mind. He didn’t want to thank the man for what he’d done; he wanted to murder him.

  “However,” she continued before he could, “I didn’t come up here so that you could get more information out of me.” She set her bowl down onto the cloth on the floor and crossed her arms over her chest. “I came up here because you are supposed to be sharing details with me.”

  He wanted to press, but he was already pushing his luck with having her up here in the first place.

  “Of course, Your Highness.” He sighed, picking up his sketchpad off of the floor and lazily putting it on the easel in front of him.

  “What are you doing?” Her eyes narrowed on him.

  “Nothing. Just sketching while I talk; it helps me think.” He winked at her.

  “Location. What did you find out?”

  “Venue space is on the thirty-fourth floor of the building – part of the Shangri-La Hotel. Guest list is at seventy. Over half are staying in the hotel that night.”

  “How did you find that out?”

  “What can I say? Linda was easily persuaded.” He didn’t need to tell her that the concierge was a lovely sixty-plus year-old woman who was only so helpful because Pierce had told her he was planning on proposing to his girlfriend at this party and so he wanted to get the lay of the land and how many people it could accommodate.

  “What else?” She refused to acknowledge his comment.

  “So far, there are at least ten other ‘vendors,’ as you like to call them, that will be present. A few of them are selling paintings, the rest I’m not sure about. The room is completely open, windows covering almost half of it, so the two entrances are condensed onto one side of the room.”

  “Perfect. I can have Tony and Gino by each one then.”

  He nodded. “The concierge wasn’t quite sure how the room will be set up, but there’s going to be a bar, string quartet, small dance floor, and then small tables interspersed throughout.

  “Did you get the invitations?”

  “I did,” he confirmed.

  “Can I see them?”

  “No,” he refused flatly.

  “Why not?

  “Because you will try to find a way to go without me.”

  “We already discussed why you should be there,” Ana replied.

  “And I’ve insisted that from the beginning, but that hasn’t stopped you.”

  “How do I know you won’t try to do the same thing?” she returned hotly.

  “Because, Princess, I’m looking for more reasons to keep you within arm’s reach,” he answered hoarsely, unable to stop the desire from coming out in his voice. “And this way, I know you’ll be forced to keep me in your sights.”

  This was the time for her to stand up and leave.

  Their hunger had been addressed. Her request for information had been addressed. The only thing that remained unsatisfied was their desire.

  It was definitely time to leave.

  She stood – it was a start.

  Ana watched those smoldering eyes widen slightly, wondering if she was really about to leave; they dared her to do it – to walk out on the electricity between them that was about to catch fire.

  Her feet took determined steps towards the door as her body begged her to be carried into the darkness. She’d almost made it when she heard her name.

  “Ana.” It was barely there – barely
a caress on the air around her. Maybe she’d imagined it – her mind willing her to hear what her body wanted. Whatever it was, it stopped her.

  Ever so slowly she turned towards the handsome devil who had ensnared her – the man who made it feel like a sin to push him away.

  She’d tried to be strong. She’d tried to rule over him in an attempt to control her feelings; she’d failed. He wanted her.

  Pierce. Wanted. Her.

  Out of all the women he’d had – he could have – there he stood, her name on his lips, begging for her.

  “Wow… how did you… That’s…” she trailed off, momentarily distracted by the sketch he’d done of her. Before she could think the better of it, she was standing at his side, tilting up the sketch paper to take a better look at his work.

  “Did you not believe that I was that good?” he asked with a small laugh.

  “No… yes… I don’t know.” She shook her head, her fingers reaching out to lightly trace over the lines of her face. “I think it was easier to believe that it was only your pride speaking when you insisted on your talents.”

  He cleared his throat. “There may be certain skills of mine that I might inflate, but, Princess, there are two talents of mine that I don’t exaggerate: painting and pleasure.”

  Her eyes darted to his, heat searing up her spine at his words. After earlier, and now this, she didn’t doubt him.

  She saw out of the corner of her eye as he set the paper down next to him, his gaze still locked with hers as he slowly drew to his full height in front of her.

  Her mind screamed at her to ‘be strong.’

  Her body begged her to be seduced.

  It was too bright in the room and the way he was looking at her told her that giving in completely was going to open up her scars – literally and figuratively; and that wasn’t a possibility.

  So, she compromised.

  “I want to draw you.” Her voice, while husky, came out with a resolute firmness.

  She’d taken art classes in college. At first, it had been a joke between her and some of her friends – a fun elective that included fine, male specimens to stand before them in the nude. Then she’d realized that she wasn’t half-bad – not nearly as good as Pierce, but not half-bad. It was right about that point when Shane had entered her life and told her that he didn’t want her involved in any class that required her to look at other naked men; at the time, she thought his jealousy was adorable. Now, she realized it was just the start of how his control had begun to seep into her life.