Kitabı oku: «Bonded by Blood», sayfa 4

“How original.”

Sam laughed, but it sounded a bit hollow.

Mackenzie looked up. Sam was rubbing the backs of her arms, a strained expression on her face. “You okay?”

“Of course.” But the words came out a little too fast.

Sam’s eyes drooped slightly at the corners and her posture lacked its usual energetic stance. She usually was so perky. Annoyingly perky. Had she not been sleeping well? Mackenzie decided not to ask. What woman wants to know she looks tired?

Over the top of her canvas, Mackenzie watched her roommate pull item after item from the boxes. Several large spools of wire, a bunch of hand tools and an item that looked like a freestanding, oversized butane lighter.

“What’s that for?” Mackenzie had seen a smaller, yet similar, device at Corey’s, but somehow she didn’t think Sam had bought it to light doobies.

“It’s a torch. You melt the ends of silver wire to make headpins. You know, the danglies on earrings, necklaces and bracelets? It can also fire small bits of precious metal clay. Like these.” She twisted her empty wrists and laughed. “Oops. I’m so used to wearing those bracelets, I forgot I didn’t have them on. I made these silver Celtic crosses with that clay, too, but they have to be fired in a kiln at the bead store. Too big for that little thing to work.”

“What are those going for? That’s a lot of silver. And they’re so ornate.”

“Two hundred bucks apiece.”

Mackenzie whistled and reached over. “May I? Have you sold any?” Sam came around the table and moved her scarf aside for Mackenzie to examine them more closely.

“Yeah, quite a few. I take orders for them online. Four or five should be out of the kiln today. Damn. That’s right. I need to pick them up and mail them out.”

With the scarf out of the way, Mackenzie’s eyes zeroed in not on the jewelry, but on several dark bruises marring the skin on Sam’s neck. She snapped her head up, but Sam turned away and hastily covered them with her scarf again. What the hell was going on?

“Sam? You okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Still not meeting her gaze, Sam held both palms up and shook her head as if to say she didn’t want to talk about anything.

“You’re not okay. What happened to you?”

“Mackenzie, please. I’m fine. Really I am.” Her brown eyes met Mackenzie’s and she made a sound of exasperation. “Oh, all right. Things with my new boyfriend get a little kinky, but I’m totally fine. Really. I’m not hurt. You should see what he has me do to him.”

Mackenzie kept her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t sure she was buying Sam’s story. What the hell was this new guy doing to her?

“I’m happy. See?” Sam twirled around the dining room with her hands outstretched as if to prove her point. “I’m a strong girl. I wouldn’t put up with what you’re thinking of. Promise. Now come on. I’m detecting a little envy with all your questions about my business. You totally want to set up something online, too, don’t you?”

Mackenzie tried to protest, to find out more about what was going on, but Sam interrupted. “Come on. I totally think you should get a website with all those paintings you do. They’re awesome. You should try to sell them. Maybe you could even take commissioned orders online. You know, someone likes your stuff, but wants certain colors to go in a particular room in their house or their business.”

“Yeah, I know how commissioned art works.” All right, she’d let Sam change the subject for now, but she wasn’t going to forget this.

“Well, it’s easy. Took only an hour or two to get my website up and running. Gonna be around for a while? I can show you how.”

Several hours later, although the painting wasn’t finished and she’d gotten no additional answers from Sam, Mackenzie did have a website, complete with photographs of some of her pieces. She typed a short bio for the About Me page, took a deep breath and hit enter.

CHAPTER FIVE

ON A TYPICAL weekday, area business people filled the benches in the small park near Pioneer Square, sipping espresso drinks from one of a dozen nearby coffee shops and eating takeout Thai, Chinese, Indian, Italian or pre-wrapped vegan sandwiches. Even the homeless who frequented the park drank espresso.

But in the early morning hours on Friday and Saturday, when the multitude of area clubs closed down, everything changed as humanity spilled out onto damp streets. Groups of girls who’d been prettier five hours ago stumbled down cobblestone sidewalks, while frat boys and gangbangers exchanged words, fists and the occasional knife. Some hoped they weren’t too drunk to drive and could blow less than a point-oh-eight, while others headed to all-night diners or after parties. And, like most nights, a few others looked for a different kind of trouble.

“Fuckin’ bouncer. Just wanted to finish my drink outside. If that asshole had any idea of who he was messing with, he’d be pissin’ his pants and cryin’ for his mama.” The man tugged his football jersey over his expansive middle and turned down an alley in Pioneer Square with his buddy.

“Shoulda taken him out. I would have. Can’t let ‘em treat you like that. It ain’t right.” His friend, wearing a black hoodie, bit at his nails and spat a hangnail on the pavement.

“Easy for you to say, but I swear I saw one of those Agency bastards at the end of the block.”

“Let’s wait for your bouncer friend out back and jump him when he gets off work. You can drink him in the alley and we’ll see what a tough guy he is then.” He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up against the light drizzle and yanked at the strings. “If he apologizes, you can wipe his mind after it’s over just like a regular law-abiding Council pussy. But if not, you can leave him with a memory that’ll haunt his nightmares forever. And if he really pisses you off, well, you know what you can do. Besides, they taste better when they’re scared and dying.”

Football Jersey laughed. “Tempting, dude, but no. You can, though. I got a whiff of him when he had me pressed against the bricks. I’m so sick of O-positive, I could puke. Now if he were APoz, I’d be all over him.”

Passing a Dumpster, Hoodie pointed to the mouth of the alley. “Hey, aren’t those a couple of DBs over there?”

On the far side of the park, a man and a woman sat stiffly on a wrought-iron bench under a burned-out street-lamp.

“How can you tell?” asked Football Jersey as he stepped over a drunk passed out on a piece of flattened cardboard.

“First of all, they all wear those dorky wraparound sunglasses like those two have on. Now watch. It’s said when they go through DB initiation and are assigned a partner, they sorta start acting like each other. Check it out.”

The woman leaned forward and grabbed a hard-sided suitcase at her feet and a split second later, the man did the same. She adjusted it on her lap then snapped it open. The man’s actions mirrored hers perfectly. She pushed her sunglasses higher on her nose and so did the man.

“That’s freaky, dude,” Football Jersey said.

“Yeah, but come on. Let’s see what they got.”

The woman sniffed the air and a yellowed smile creased her face as they approached. “Hey, boys, what-cha need tonight?”

“Got any Sweet?” Hoodie elbowed his friend in the gut. “We’re lookin’ for a little sugar.”

“You gotta be kidding me. No one’s got that kind of shit right now. But when we do, it goes like that.” She snapped her fingers. The man snapped his as well but remained silent. “At this hour you boys would be way too late for the candy anyway. Gotta get here early for any good stuff.”

“Damn. When are you gettin’ more in?” Hoodie asked.

“Sweet’s been tight.” She craned her head around, as if making sure no one could hear them. Her partner did the same. “That is, since the Overlord’s coming.”

“Lord Pavlos? No shit?” Hoodie elbowed his buddy, who pushed him back and cursed under his breath.

“Yeah. Only drinks the sweet stuff, so our supply is nada.”

“That’s bullshit. Where does that leave us?” asked Hoodie.

“He’s not staying long. Hates it up here.”

“Don’t we all,” Football Jersey said as he looked around the darkened park littered with people in various stages of drunkenness. “Why’s he coming then?”

“I dunno. Doing some kind of experiment shit or something,” the woman said.

“What?” Hoodie and Football Jersey asked in unison. They looked at each other, then back at the DB pair, and laughed.

The woman shrugged and the man copied her a moment later. “They don’t tell us peons nothing, but it has something to do with Sweet. Better be worth it, that’s all I can say. So can we interest you boys in a nice BPoz? Next best thing. Real fresh. Give you a good deal.”

Laughter echoed nearby and they all looked up. Clanking dishes and the sound of stacking chairs reverberated through the back door of a nearby bar as it opened, illuminating two figures in the dark alley for a moment before slamming shut again.

Hoodie held his nose in the air and sniffed. “Dude, it’s your bouncer friend. And the girl with him is APoz. What do you say? I’ll take him and you can take her. Wanna use what your mama gave you?”

“My mama would be pissed if I used it like that.”

Hoodie shrugged. “Let’s go, then.”

“Thanks, lady, but no thanks,” said Football Jersey. “We’re gonna score some off the hoof tonight.”

“Playing with fire, boys. Better watch out. I hear there’s an Agency patrol nearby. Sure you don’t want the easy stuff? Fifty bucks. And I’ll float it with a little APoz for an extra ten.”

“No thanks. We’ll save our money for the Sweet when it comes in. And fuck the Agency. Come on,” Football Jersey said to his buddy. “I’m starving.”

Under a dark freeway overpass in a section of Portland called rough on a good night, Dom spotted a group of vampire youthlings huddled around what could only be trouble. Probably doing Sweet shots.

He glanced at the still darkening sky and cursed. It was too damn early. Usually this sort of shit happened much later in the evening, after the heavy consumption of legal and illegal substances. Someone probably just scored some Sweet and they couldn’t wait to party.

In a show of intimidation, he flipped open his hip-length leather coat to put his weapons on display and hoped he wouldn’t have to use force. They were just kids, barely old enough to have gone through puberty, when the blood cravings and aversion to sunlight began. “Okay, gentlemen, ladies. Break it up. Time to move along.”

He pushed his way into the circle, heard a mumbled “fuck you, asshole” and “goddamn Agency pig,” but at least half of the kids dispersed and left the scene. Only the hardcore losers remained.

At the center of the crowd, on the gritty pavement, a girl sat straight-legged and leaned back on her hands. With wild, unfocused eyes, she stared up at the young man straddling her as he fumbled with something in his hands.

Dom grabbed his arm. “Give it to me.”

“Fuck yourself,” the kid said, sounding way too jaded for his age. He stumbled over the girl’s legs as he tried to shrug away from Dom’s grasp.

“Doesn’t work for me. Hand it over. Trust me, you don’t want this to get any messier than it already is.”

The young man lurched around and thrust a hand into his pocket. Weapon?

In a flash, Dom clamped him into a headlock and twisted the kid’s arm behind him, shoving it upwards, and the kid howled. “I said give me the goddamn Sweet.”

“I swear I don’t have any.” The kid’s voice was raspy and he choked as Dom pressed harder on his larynx.

“Yeah, and I’m Prince Fucking Charming.”

In the struggle, a small glass vial fell to the pavement, shattering and spilling its contents at their feet. With a snarl, the gawking youthlings leaped in.

For a half-second, Dom considered pulling out his blades and scattering the crowd that way, but he decided to let them act like wild animals, scratching and clawing the dirty cement until the blood was gone. Unfortunately, the micro-cuts on their mouths from the shards of glass would heal almost instantly from the effect of the Sweet. With disgust he watched them tongue the pavement, licking up every last drop.

When the frenzy died down a few minutes later, Dom cuffed the dealer with silver-lined handcuffs and yanked him to his feet.

“Everyone else—out. You’ve had your fun, now get the hell out of here.” Turning his attention back to the dealer, he said, “I’ve got plans for you.” He punched a couple of buttons on his cell phone and within minutes an unmarked panel van pulled up to the curb. An agent dressed in black fatigues burst through the rear doors, scruffed the dealer by the neck and waistband and threw his ass inside. Dom two-patted the side of the van and it drove away.

One down, how many more to go? He ran a hand through his hair and walked slowly back to the Porsche parked around the corner.

It was the same thing, night after night, here and in Seattle. God, he was so sick of it. He didn’t know how much more of this bullshit he could take. He picked up an empty blood vial and tossed it into a nearby trash can. These kids weren’t the problem. Pavlos was the problem, and he was somewhere in the South.

When he opened the car door, his cell phone vibrated. He climbed in, glanced at the screen and cursed. Nice text. Where the hell did Santiago think he was?

Portland, he texted back.

The guy was a serious micromanager. Or maybe he just didn’t trust Dom. Especially given what happened with her. He never should’ve told his boss. It should’ve been his own twisted little secret.

He cranked the seat back and closed his eyes. Not that Dom came to the Horseshoe Bay Region with glowing recommendations, but no one—not his old commander, not the other field agents he’d led or trained over the years, or even the few humans he’d worked with who knew about the Agency—questioned his effectiveness or loyalty. But then, not all of them knew about what had happened with Alfonso, either.

Dom leaned his head on the steering wheel and his mind wandered to Mackenzie again. What was she doing right now? He checked his watch. Perhaps she was home watching a movie. Or organizing something. Or cleaning. Or maybe she was in bed early on a Friday night, curled up with a book. He rubbed that ever-present ache centered in his chest and groaned.

This is bullshit. It’s got to stop.

Irritated by his inability to keep her out of his thoughts, he jumped out of the car again, hit the alarm remote and jogged back to the freeway underpass. Usually he went weeks between live feedings, but maybe someone else’s blood would dilute the effects of hers, still present and way too strong in his system. Hopefully, the human loser he’d spotted earlier down by the river was still there. He’d take a quick mouthful, and if the guy was as drunk as he appeared earlier, Dom might not even need to bother with wiping his memory.

The phone vibrated again. Shit. Santiago had decided to call this time.

He flipped the phone open. “This is Dom.”

“Your old phone—you told me it was busted.” No “hello” or “how’s it going” for Santiago.

“Yes, and …”

“Come on, you haven’t forgotten. Let me refresh your fading memory. The goddamn one with all the DB data that landed Stryker in the clinic and you with that sweetblood.”

Dom cringed. “Yes, what about it?”

“Care to explain something to me then?”

“What? The thing was busted. I told you already.” Dom clicked the volume button down a few notches and held the phone away from his ear just as Santiago erupted.

“Tell me why in the hell a broken phone would suddenly go online again. Why a broken phone started pinging from a cell tower near the mall in the Northend today. Why a broken phone has been pinging on St. Francis Hill where it’s been sitting for the last hour.”

Mackenzie’s neighborhood. Palming his keys, he turned around and sprinted back to the Porsche.

“You didn’t get the phone back from that woman, did you?”

“No. But I told you. I thought it was broken.”

“Thought? You thought? Goddamn it. You fucking lied to me. You know how important that data is. I’m sending Foss over to get it back from her one way or another.”

He felt his pupils dilate with rage as he yanked the car door open. “You keep him away from her.” He had hoped his desire for her would wane, but the thought of Jackson getting close to her filleted his guts from pelvis to sternum. His focus narrowed to a dark tunnel and her name drummed over and over in his head. He started the car and headed for the freeway.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph. You screwed up and I’m sending him to clean up your mess. First the illegal blood transfer and now this. What the hell is going on with you?”

“No. I’ll handle it. I’m leaving Portland now. Be there in two hours.”

“Handle it like you did the first time? That damn phone better be back at the field office by midnight tonight or I’m sending Foss. Two hours? You’re crazy. You’ll be lucky to do it in four.”

“I said I’ll be there in two.” With a snap of the phone, Dom ended the call.

Of course Santiago was right. He should’ve gotten the damn phone back from her that night by walking right into her house and taking it directly from her as she screamed. A simple memory wipe, and that would’ve been it. But he hadn’t.

He engaged the radar detection, punched the accelerator and merged onto 205 North. After bypassing the bottlenosed traffic by riding the shoulder a few times, he crossed the bridge back into Washington. By the time he hit the straightaway on I-5, he’d cranked it up to a hundred and twenty.

CHAPTER SIX

PIANO MUSIC FROM the foyer wafted into the elegantly appointed ladies’ room where Mackenzie fidgeted in her cocktail dress. If Sam hadn’t backed out at the last minute, she’d have known she had panty lines showing through the delicate green chiffon. Why hadn’t she worn a thong?

She closed herself into a stall, stepped out of her panties and stuffed them into her evening bag. She hoped she wouldn’t have to open it with anyone around. It was one of those crystal-encrusted clamshell-style clutches that puts everything on display when they’re opened, and it was hardly big enough to hold more than a credit card and a lipstick. How would she explain the pair of underwear and the two cell phones?

Slipping her fingers around the second phone, she thought about its owner again. Why had she felt compelled to carry it with her every day since she’d found it?

Today she had even gone to the cell phone store looking for a charger. At first the salesperson had been skeptical. Said the phone must be an advanced prototype because he hadn’t seen one like it before. He was surprised when they found a charger that fit.

She’d thought about just leaving the thing at the store for them to track down the owner. But the salesperson had practically salivated over it and she suddenly didn’t trust him. Or at least that’s what she’d told herself. Her stomach had tied up in nervous little knots at the thought of leaving it, so she’d bought a charger and taken it back home. She was shocked when it powered up.

She opened the device now, held it to her lips and imagined it pressed to its owner’s face, the cool plastic warming against his skin. She didn’t question why she felt the owner was male, she just knew. After stuffing it back into her tiny purse, she exited the ladies’ room.

The crowd at the annual benefit auction for the Northwest Alzheimer’s Foundation was the largest she had seen. Mackenzie had been attending and donating items ever since her mother was diagnosed.

“Mackenzie, I was hoping I’d run into you.” A loud voice behind her caused several people to turn around. She couldn’t remember the woman’s name—Tammy or Terry maybe. “Wow, you’re pretty brave to be wearing a dress like that.”

Mackenzie smoothed a hand over the skirt. It couldn’t be see-through—she’d double-checked that in the restroom. “Is there a problem with it?”

“Totally personal preference, but a simple, non-revealing black is so much more traditional at affairs like this.”

Mackenzie bristled at her patronizing tone of voice. The woman spoke as though she were giving advice to someone who’d never attended a charity auction before. Glancing around, Mackenzie saw plenty of brightly-colored gowns. Most were long, but a few women wore cocktail dresses that fell a few inches above the knee, as well. So what was the big deal?

A waiter walked by with a tray of glasses filled with red wine. Mackenzie grabbed one and swallowed the contents in one gulp as the woman continued talking. Were they serving any appetizers before dinner? She could really use—

“Mackenzie?”

“Sorry, what?” Her mind had been wandering so much lately, probably because she hadn’t been sleeping well.

“I asked if you donated another one of your pieces this year. Landon, darling, Mackenzie here likes to paint horses.”

A tall, balding man stifled a yawn with the back of his hand as he slowly turned around. From the looks of it, he had no idea what Tammy-Terry had said, nor did he care. Mackenzie twirled the stem of the empty wine glass and coughed.

“Um, yes, I did. No horses this time, though. Just a couple of whimsical landscapes and some art lessons.”

“Isn’t that sweet? Speaking of paintings, I’m dying to know. Mrs. Thorn-Steuben tells me you were the model for the nude that Martin Johanovich donated. Is that true? I could never do something like that—take my clothes off for an artist to paint.”

Mackenzie’s face prickled with heat. “Nude painting? I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. Martin’s a good friend, that’s all.” She pointedly avoided the question. “Oh, I think I see him now. Will you excuse me? Nice meeting you,” she called to Landon as she slipped away.

How had Tammy-Terry heard that? Martin was very discreet and had promised not to reveal that she’d posed as his model. He’d sworn the piece wouldn’t be realistic enough for her to be recognized.

As she made her way across the crowded room, she grabbed another glass of wine. That first one had helped ease the tension she’d been feeling all afternoon. Taking a sip, she felt a calming sensation as the liquid slid down her throat.

Surrounded by a bunch of his adoring fans, Martin smiled at her and excused himself. His work was highly regarded and with his charming personality, he was a darling of the vibrant Seattle art scene and a very popular fixture at local charity events.

“Oh, honey, aren’t you a sight for the visually astute.” He took her hand and spun her around. She was careful to hold the skirt of her dress down. “You look positively radiant. You must share your beauty secrets with me, darling. It’s not fair for you to hoard them all to yourself. And that color screams you, you, you.”

“Not too shockingly green or revealing?”

“Good Lord, no. How’d you get a silly idea like that in your head? You look fab.”

“Thanks, Martin. You’re looking pretty smashing yourself.” He beamed and adjusted his bow tie. Lowering her voice, she said, “Where is that nude? I thought you said I wouldn’t be recognizable.”

“You aren’t, honey. Promise. Why do you ask?”

Mackenzie relayed what Tammy-Terry said.

“Oh, for crying out loud. It must be that gossip, Mrs. Thorn-Steuben. She arrived at my studio right after you left our last sitting. Did you see her? When she saw the painting I was working on, she must’ve put two and two together. It really is not noticeable that it’s you … only someone who knows your lovely back would recognize it. Go see for yourself. It’s right over there.” He nodded his head to the right. “Are you here alone?”

“Yes, my roommate dogged me at the last minute. Her new boyfriend called and—Well, you know how that is. So it’s just me tonight.”

“Well, then you must join us at our table. We have a few extra seats. Jerry and Craig weren’t able to make it, either. Table Three. Right up front.”

Mackenzie meandered through the silent auction tables, and although she hadn’t planned on bidding, she wrote her auction number on a couple of items. If she was fortunate enough to get something, she’d be excited. If not, then at least she’d have succeeded in bumping up the price and making more money for the Foundation. She saw that her two paintings and the art lessons she’d donated had several bidders already.

The live auction items were set up in the front of the room. A trip for two to Tuscany, a walk-on part in a popular sitcom, a winemaker’s dinner for twelve at a winery. Next to the display for a culinary trip to Paris was the painting of the nude.

Almost life-sized, it had been done on a large canvas using warm-hued oils applied with a palette knife. Martin was right—none of the details were very clear, and for that she was relieved. A group of people had just moved away from it and she stood there alone.

The naked figure on the canvas posed with her back to the viewer, one arm resting on the floor behind her, the other hand entwined in her hair. A gossamer cloth draped over one shoulder, pooling on the foreground in front of her backside. Just a hint of the right breast was visible and the face, turned down, was masked by a cascade of long brown hair.

Although she wasn’t recognizable in the painting, she still felt her temperature rise. Why had she worn this bare-backed dress tonight and pinned her hair to the side over one shoulder? Was everyone noticing the similarities between her back and the one in the painting?

Feeling the heat of someone’s stare, she wished she could loosen her hair and hide behind it. She was about to step away when she felt a tingling, almost a purring, flutter against her temples and the little hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She rubbed her shoulders but realized the sensation was sort of relaxing.

“It’s quite lovely.” The accented voice was deep and rich, and brought to mind dark chocolate melting on the back of her tongue. Goose bumps formed on her arms and she turned to see a man standing a few feet away.

He stood at least a head taller than her, and had dark, shoulder-length hair pulled back by a leather tie. A thick strand in the front had slipped free, as if it had been tied with the nonchalance of someone who knew perfection wasn’t important. She found herself wanting to twist it around her finger and see the tips of her nails peek out from under that thick mane. The crystalline blue of his eyes was a stark contrast to a dark fringe of lashes as he looked down at her with an air of familiarity.

God, did she know him from somewhere? Surely she’d remember meeting a man like him if she had.

Those eyes, those beautiful eyes, flanked by a few lines that suggested living rather than time, raked the inner recesses of her mind. They were gentle now, but somehow she knew they could be cruel. She took a step backward on her teetering heels, her heart hammering two staccatos—one in her head and the other in her chest.

Although his attire was more casual than the stiff tuxedos sported by most of the men in attendance, he carried himself with a grace and ease that exuded confidence. He wore a brushed silk T-shirt that draped luxuriously over tailored charcoal slacks. With a black leather coat tossed easily over one arm and a hint of stubble peppering his jaw, he looked more like he belonged on a movie screen than at a charity event. Her mouth went suddenly dry and she licked her lips.

With one brow lifted, he looked at her quizzically. God, had he asked her something?

“The painting?”

“Oh, yes.” What about the painting?

“I find it very lovely.” As he stepped closer, the heat from his body warmed her bare shoulders and the two internal drumbeats evolved into one sound. She reached a hand up and rubbed her neck. Wasn’t this the same—

“Are you familiar with the piece?” He nodded toward the canvas but didn’t take his eyes off of her.

If she stretched out her hand, she could touch his chest, he was that close. Stroke his jaw, brush a thumb over his lips. Oh God, what was she thinking? She dug her nails into the palms of her hands to keep her thoughts from wandering where they shouldn’t.

His warm breath lifted a stray wisp of her hair on the back of her neck as she turned toward the painting. When his fingertips grazed down the back of her arm to guide her forward, a jolt of electricity left a trail of heat on her skin. She found herself inching closer to him, almost instinctively, as if her body knew this man though her mind did not.

“Um, yes. My friend Martin painted it.”

“I find it absolutely captivating. It’s gorgeous. I’m Dominic Serrano, but please call me Dom.” He extended his hand and she noted he wore a thick, filigree ring on each thumb.

“Mackenzie Foster-Shaw. It’s nice to meet you. Yes, Martin is an amazingly gifted artist.” The bracelets on her wrist jingled together as she took his hand in hers.

With the touch, she felt instantly alive. Every nerve ending danced as her palm pressed to his. The background piano music, which she’d hardly noticed before, seemed to morph into a tender melody. The room sparkled with prisms of candlelight reflected off the chandeliers above. Everything looked so different. How could she not have seen the room like this before?

He released her abruptly and turned back toward the painting, his expression composed, measured.

Normally, she’d have filled the void with some sort of mindless chatter, but now she felt no need. Calm and relaxed, she waited.

“Such rich colors he used. The ethereal light.” She could get lost in the sound of his voice. “The echoing lines of the composition. From the arc of her neck, along her back to the draping fabric over her shoulder.” As he spoke, he reached his hand out and traced the lines in the air, his long fingers caressing the space in front of them. Her breath rasped unevenly in her chest. It was as if he were running his hands over her bare skin. “From her breast to the curve of her legs and buttocks. I find it very enchanting. Almost seductive. Yes, your friend Martin is very talented, but he had an equally exquisite subject.”