The Body Painter (Master of Trickery Book 1)

by Pepper Winters

  Gil didn’t move, his eyes narrowed and suspicious. “I expected you to run in the opposite direction, not into my arms.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I demanded you stay with me.” His spine stiffened. “Of course, my request was denied...and you left without a goodbye.”

  “I didn’t leave because I was angry at you for forbidding me.” I fought the urge to touch him again. “I left because I have a job.”

  His jaw clenched. “It wasn’t safe to go without me. If I knew you were that damn stubborn about menial labour, I would’ve escorted you.”

  I ignored his deliberate zing. “I can take care of myself.”

  He sighed, his entire body forlorn. “That’s the thing, O. In this...you can’t.”

  My pulse picked up pace. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means...” He looked away, shedding off the truth. “Doesn’t matter. You’re okay. We’re together again.”

  My heart flipped. “Are we?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Are we what?”

  “Together together?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Not in that way.”

  Not yet.

  I smiled weakly, doing my best to change the subject. “Would you believe me if I said I missed you?”

  He scowled. “Not in a million years. Why would you? I’ve been an arsehole.”

  In a crystal moment of absolute vulnerability, I murmured, “Would you believe me if I said I missed hugging you? We’ve kissed and connected in ways we never did as teenagers, but we haven’t hugged.”

  He sucked in a breath.

  I braced myself for a warning—a scathing telling-off. Instead, his knuckles nudged my chin, bringing my gaze to his. I froze as he stared into me, seeing my fears, my guilt, my endless need for him, and he closed his eyes as if he couldn’t survive what he saw. “I keep saying this, and you keep ignoring me, but...please stop. I can’t take much more.”

  My lips tingled for his. My body warmed. My heart raced. “I can’t stop what I feel.”

  “You shouldn’t feel anything for me.”

  “I’ve always felt something for you.” A couple of colleagues walked past, reminding us we were in public. This wasn’t private. And yet, the intensity that’d sprung between us was visceral.

  Gil sighed heavily. His knuckles dropped from my chin. “Just...don’t.”

  I winced at the plea in his voice, the aching, quaking request not to tangle emotion with whatever physical chemistry we shared.

  I’d asked him the same thing in the shower when he’d traced my tattoo.

  Don’t.

  Please don’t.

  Don’t make me fall.

  Don’t make me hurt.

  The last thing I wanted to do was cause him more pain.

  Clearing his throat, doing his best to return to callous and cold, he said, “You need to pack a few things. You’re coming back to my place. No arguments.”

  “Eh, excuse me?”

  “You refused to stay longer than a night—even though I’ve been explicit about the danger—”

  “You haven’t told me anything—”

  “Let me finish.” He scowled. “I get that I came off...overbearing. So, I’m asking you to stay with me until I can fix this.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighed, “And if you’re going to stay, you’ll need clothes.”

  I blinked. “How long are you suggesting?”

  “I don’t know.” His shoulders slumped. “I’ve failed in every way to resolve it quickly, but it has to end...soon.”

  “Why?”

  His face etched with shadows. “Because there’s only so much a person can tolerate before they’re pushed too far.”

  I froze. The need to touch him overrode all other function. Moving closer, I cupped his cheek. “You can tell me what—”

  Arching his face out of my reach, his forehead furrowed with impatience at himself, at me, at whatever he battled. “You’re living with me until I say otherwise.”

  “And if I don’t like sharing a home?”

  “You don’t really have a choice.”

  “I always have a choice, Gil.”

  His eyes shot black as memories sucked him deep. “No one has a choice.”

  The softness between us vanished into thick smoke, leaving behind the charred remains.

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Three nights, okay?” His eyes jumped over suited men and women, assessing for threats. “That’s all I’ll ask for.”

  Three nights were an eternity.

  An eternity for all new romances.

  Time took on a different depth at the beginning of a fledgling love affair. An hour wasn’t just an hour when love and lust were involved. A minute wasn’t just a minute when hearts had countless of opportunities to fall.

  There would be no more places to hide. No more lies we could tell ourselves. Only the stark truth that both of us were in danger and had been for years.

  Couldn’t he see that?

  Couldn’t he taste the hypocrisy?

  Three nights would destroy us both.

  Gil fought against my silence, saying, “Pack a bag with clothes for three nights. If I haven’t fixed the problem...then you’ll probably have to move countries because you won’t be safe anywhere.”

  I snapped out of my worry. “I never took you for being dramatic.”

  “I’m being deadly serious.” His voice was flat and cold.

  Ice slithered down my spine. I shivered, pointing to the sunny evening, needing warmth and open air. “Let’s go. We can talk about living arrangements later.” If we were ever to have an honest conversation, I wanted to be anywhere else but here, surrounded by strangers.

  “Fine.” Gil bowed a little, letting me lead the way.

  My back prickled as he fell into step with me—not submissive in my leadership but wary and watchful. I understood why he’d placed himself behind me. He’d done it out of protection. Even in my office building, he acted as if the devil himself was going to crawl through the floorboards and claim me.

  Pushing open the glass doors, I turned to face him as he stepped into the late afternoon sunshine. “How long have you been waiting for me?”

  He kept his eyes on the men and women leaving for the day. “Since I kicked Justin out and came directly here.” He glanced at me. “I saw you arrive. I got here before you did.”

  “You’ve waited all day for me?”

  “I told you I wasn’t going to let you out of my sight.”

  “I was out of your sight, though.” Striking off into a walk, my black kitten toe heels clicked on the pavement.

  “You were in the office building all day. I was satisfied you’d be safe up there.”

  “You were satisfied?”

  He nodded, ducking behind me to let a man stride past talking loudly on his cell phone.

  “So, you decided not to drag me from my place of employment even though you did such a thing yesterday?”

  “I was wrong.” He walked beside me with firm, even steps. “You were right.”

  I slammed to a stop, my temper rising for no other reason than sexual frustration and star-crossed heartaches. “Wow. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Sarcasm isn’t becoming on you, O.” Grabbing my elbow, he pulled me back into motion. “Where do you live?”

  I studied him, unable to take my eyes off his thick eyelashes or the way he still had black smudged on his cheek and yellow decorating his hair. He’d told the truth. He’d raced to my work the moment Justin was gone.

  His desire to protect me wasn’t just some pantomime but a deep-seated drive.

  Once again, guilt crushed me for the awful, awful thought I’d had and my messages with Justin.

  How could I be that cruel? That distrustful?

  Tilting his head, he caught me staring.

  I blushed but didn’t look away. “You’re just the same as before...but different too.” I hated how my cheeks burned, giving away
my heart’s truth all over again. “I always found you very handsome.”

  His face darkened. “What the hell has gotten into you?” Pulling me forward by my wrist, he grumbled something undeterminable under his breath. “Don’t mistake me being here for anything other than what it is. We aren’t dating. We aren’t together. There is no us or we.” He winced. “Got it?”

  “I get that you’re fighting what could be.”

  “I’m accepting what is.” He strode forward, dragging me along. “Enough.”

  I ignored the fresh pain, the rampant confusion. Why did he care about keeping me safe if he was determined to keep me away? “Maybe we should go on a date. We never wined and dined when we were younger. We’ve slept together...it makes sense that we at least go to a movie.”

  His eyes flashed. “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “That isn’t a good enough reason, Gil.” I tried to tug out of his grip. “I’m tired. I’m doing my best to be patient and understanding but there’s only so much—”

  “For fuck’s sake.” Yanking me to a stop, we created a little island in a sea of people. His gaze was bare, turmoil clouding the wintery green. “No movies. No dinners. Nothing. Don’t ask me to hurt you any more than I already have. Don’t ask me why I can’t keep you.”

  “Why can’t you keep me?” My voice was small, the tiniest mouse in a world of predators.

  He groaned, low and tortured.

  I whispered, “Why touch me if you can’t explore even the slimmest notion of—”

  His arm banded around my waist, yanking me into him. His lips cast hot breath against my ear. “I want you. I’ve always fucking wanted you. I’ve been honest about that. You know what you mean to me and I can’t deny that there are things between us that will never go away.” He pulled back, pinning me with darkness, allowing finality to fill his voice. “But whatever we shared, ends here. Whatever you thought was happening, is over. Touching you was the worst mistake of my life. I refuse to do it again.”

  Jerking me forward, he weaved around a pack of pedestrians, glaring at the buildings looming over us as if he could guess which apartment was mine. “Where do you live?”

  I couldn’t answer him.

  My tongue had turned useless. My voice mute.

  I’d been hurt by this man over and over again.

  But that? Here, now...

  “Touching you was the worst mistake of my life.”

  A silent tear fell down my cheek, more liquid blurring the world around me. I went loose in his grip, following meekly all while I broke inside.

  His fingers fisted tight, his own pain leeching into me. “I’m...sorry.” He kept his stare straight ahead. “I didn’t mean it like that. I—” He groaned again, sounding as if he’d just cut out his own heart. “I just mean...I can’t be with you. I should never have—” He cut himself off.

  I bit my lip to staunch more tears, swallowing them back. He didn’t need to know how hurt I was. Didn’t need more power over my emotions.

  “O?” He slowed, still not looking at me. His voice went toneless. “Where is your apartment?”

  Straightening, I pushed away the catastrophe that’d just happened. I was a dancer. We were used to agony and pushing forward. The show must go on, after all. “I don’t need you to walk me home.” My voice was empty. I’d fought to win him. I’d done my best to stay friendly and kind—despite all my questions and heartache from our past. I’d given what little strength I had to heal the hurt inside him...unable to see him so lost.

  I’d fallen in love with the idea of not being alone anymore.

  Loneliness was my one true companion. While I accepted it as my bedfellow, confidant, and lover, life couldn’t scar me too badly because loneliness was the most painful of curses. Nothing else could compare—not destitution, not car accidents, not even the death of my dreams.

  But Gil...he’d always been the one that’d promised a cure to my loneliness.

  The only one.

  I’d felt it when we spoke that first time in the corridor.

  I’d felt it each time we fell a little deeper.

  He was different to the others because he didn’t just patch up the lonely holes inside me, he filled them until they never even existed.

  He completed me by just being there.

  I didn’t need much.

  I’d never asked for anything.

  Yet on that busy street, the truth finally shattered my final dream.

  Of us.

  I stumbled as the hot, lacerating blade punctured my heart and the rest of my hope.

  Gil’s hold kept me from falling, his gaze landing on my tears. He jerked to a halt. Once again, we were an island in a sea of pedestrians, but this time...our island was cracked and cratered by unfixable earthquakes.

  I rolled my wrist, doing my best to be free of him. “I need to be alone, Gil.” I kept my gaze on the pavement, allowing fallen tears to dry on my cheeks. “Please...let me go.”

  His hand fell away, his fingers curling into fists. “Olin, I—”

  “No.” I shook my head, striding forward with my arms wrapped around myself. “Just...leave me alone.”

  Each footstep was eternally heavy. All I wanted to do was go home, curl up on my couch, and forget I’d ever found Gilbert Clark and his painful box of colours.

  We didn’t speak as I followed familiar streets, crossed roads, and bypassed buildings.

  Gil trailed after me.

  He didn’t leave me alone like I’d asked...escorting me to my door in silence.

  * * * * *

  Gil didn’t leave, standing stiff and protective while I fumbled in my handbag for my keys. His eyes skated over the grunge-covered walls and the cobwebs in the corners. The stairwell of my building wasn’t exactly five stars, but at least the tenants kept to themselves, and it was mainly a quiet place to live.

  Slightly depressing, but affordable.

  Inserting my key, I turned the lock but didn’t open the door. “You can go now,” I murmured, not turning around to look at him. “I’m safe here.”

  He shifted, his clothing rustling with a harsh breath. “You’re not safe anywhere.”

  I shrugged. “That might be, but I want to be alone.”

  His large palm landed on my shoulder, shooting heat and dazzling need through me. “Olin...” His fingers squeezed in both affection and frustration. “Hate me. I deserve it. I would rather you hate me than forgive me. But...you have to let me inside.”

  The thought of letting Gil trespass on my private sanctuary made my body tremble. “Please, Gil...not tonight.”

  He reached around me, his front scorching my back as his hand dropped to cover mine on the handle. “He knows where you live. I can’t let you stay here.”

  “This is my home.” Temper once again infected me.

  “And I’ve destroyed it.” His voice was endlessly sad. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t let you be here on your own.” Pressing down on my hand, he worked the handle to unlatch the door then gently pushed me over the threshold.

  I tensed as he followed me inside then closed the door behind him, flicking the lock back into place. Once secure, he sucked in a deep breath as he surveyed my home.

  Strange that the last place he’d seen of mine was technically my parents. He’d watched me while I’d cooked in a fancy kitchen. He’d thanked me with his sad eyes when he’d soaked in a bath after a severe beating. He’d tiptoed through that two-story house as if he wasn’t welcome—and the reality was, he wasn’t because it wasn’t mine. It’d belonged to my parents who didn’t even know he existed.

  This apartment, however.

  This is mine.

  I’d moved into it when my dancing dreams died, and I’d had to relocate from London. I’d had no one to couch surf on. No parents to ask for support. While my body healed from slashes and surgeries, I’d sourced it, signed the lease, paid my bond, and sparsely furnished it all on m
y own. It’d been hard but filled me with triumph that I’d succeeded.

  I’d expected no hand outs; I’d asked for no short-cuts. I’d accepted that my life path had changed forever. What little I had, I guarded with a fierceness that knew what it felt like to lose what was most important.

  I’ve lost him.

  He was precious and I’d lost the war.

  All over again.

  Forcing myself to stay proud of my rag-tag achievements rather than dash around and try to improve on what couldn’t be improved upon, I said, “You can see no one is here. No monsters in the corners. No kidnappers in the kitchen.” I looked at the door behind him. “You don’t need to stay.”

  He didn’t respond; his jaw gritted as he glanced at my threadbare couch, scruffy dining table, and the kitchen that barely fit a fridge and oven. Compared to his impressive warehouse with its industrial shelving and priceless painting equipment, my tiny one bedroom was depressingly sad.

  Stalking through the small space, he didn’t say a word as his fingers traced the bench top that still held my dirty coffee cup and empty wine bottle.

  I would’ve been embarrassed if I wasn’t so emotionally exhausted.

  His boots carried him over the ugly carpet as he peered into the postage stamp-size bathroom and the bedroom next to it. The cream and navy floral bedspread I had was rumpled and needed making, but the gauzy fabric I’d hung from the ceiling to drape on either side gave it a slight Moroccan feel.

  Marching back toward me, he muttered, “There’s no art anywhere.”

  I scanned my walls, noting the bareness, the barrenness after the huge graffiti in Gil’s place.

  I shrugged. “I’m not an artist.”

  “You were with dance.”

  I flinched. “Were being the keyword in that sentence.”

  He studied me. His green eyes so piercing it was as if he could see the rehabilitation and surgeries I’d endured. The fact that I’d just been thinking about the loss of something so dear made the pain all the more acute.

  His voice hovered around a whisper. “Do you miss it?”

  Breaking eye contact, I kept my scarred and tattooed back straight as I kicked off my heels and padded into my bedroom. “Would you miss painting if you couldn’t do it?”