The likeness of Evangeline Castle seems to follow me down the hall on the first floor as I walk behind Mr. Bordeaux, my hands clasped at the small of my back. Her portrait is reminiscent of a living entity, the shape of her full lips conveying a secret, the tilt of her stubborn chin urging me to stand my ground, the slits of her knowing eyes taunting me with her own downfall.
Don’t fall for the lion, a phantom voice whispers through my mind.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, because Mr. Bordeaux leads me down another hallway, and I suspect he’s headed toward Sebastian’s studio. Another turn, and we enter through a door, confirming my suspicion.
I’m in the lion’s den, and not even the warning from Evangeline’s ghost can keep me away.
Mr. Bordeaux comes to a stop, and I sink to my knees as he shoots a glance over his shoulder. Tentatively, I raise my hand.
“Yes, my queen?”
“May I have permission to speak, Mr. Bordeaux?”
“You may.”
“Why are we in Sebastian’s studio?”
“You’ve been here before?”
“Yes. Once.”
“I have him on retainer. He’s going to paint your portrait.”
Muffling a gasp, I swallow the burning questions threatening to sprout from my mouth.
Is Sebastian going to paint one of his infamous portraits?
The kind that involve jewels and little else?
Will he be allowed to touch me?
My teeth clamp down on my tongue, slaying the temptation. But God, this rule of not speaking is killing me.
We’re alone in Sebastian’s studio until the door opens several minutes later, hinges almost silent except for the hyper-tuned state of my ears, and a thrill ignites in my veins. There’s no denying I’m excited to see him.
“You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago,” Mr. Bordeaux says. From my peripheral, I spy him glancing at the expensive watch on his wrist. “And now I’m late for a conference call.”
Footsteps cease moving behind me. Fighting the urge to turn and steal a glance, I focus on the rustic hardwood floor.
“I got held up.”
“You get held up a lot, Sebastian.”
“Find another artist if it bothers you.”
Silence, and then Mr. Bordeaux huffs. “I would if you weren’t the best for the job.”
“The best will cost you.”
“Your fee is already extortion.”
“I don’t want your money this time.”
Mr. Bordeaux gives him an impatient sigh. “What do you want, Sebastian?” My keeper sounds bored as he moves out of sight, and another set of shoes—these the opposite of expensive Italian leather—come into view. I sense the lion’s gaze on me as I study his black and white sneakers.
“I want permission to touch her.”
Mr. Bordeaux’s humorless laugh fills the studio. “Always thinking with your dick.”
“It’s the best part of me.”
“The answer is no.”
“Then you’ll have to find yourself another artist.”
“I don’t want another goddamn artist.”
I hold my breath, shocked by the slip of Mr. Bordeaux’s tongue in front of Sebastian.
“That’s my price. Take it or leave it.”
Tension steals the next few seconds, and I envision the scowl on Mr. Bordeaux’s face because he’s not the type to concede. “Fine, you can take your payment from her flesh, but she’s not allowed to orgasm.”
“You spoil all the fun, Heath.”
“Your cock isn’t on lockdown, so I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself plenty.”
Sebastian laughs. “I’m sure I will.”
My heartbeat ratchets with a mixture of fear and lustful excitement.
“You’ve got three hours. If she’s not back in her quarters by then, she loses a diamond. Same if she comes.” More footsteps, and then the finality of a door closing signals Mr. Bordeaux’s exit, followed by an inescapable silence that’s only amplified by his absence.
Sebastian finally breaks from his statuesque pose, and those black and white sneakers come closer. “I see Heath has worked his usual charm on you.”
“How so?”
He bends, lifting my chin with two warm fingers, and the instant our eyes meet, my lips part on a soundless gasp. “The girl I met six years ago wasn’t so lifeless, even on her knees.”
“Maybe the girl you met six years ago is gone.” I tuck my lip between my teeth as memories of the last few weeks flicker through my mind, beginning with the dungeon.
The cold, isolating space, and the endless burn in my knees as I waited for Pax and Mr. Bordeaux to release me from purgatory. The endless loop of insanity as I prayed for hell to spit me back into a semblance of normalcy. But hell only returned me to the stoic, watchful eye of Heath Bordeaux, and that hasn’t been much of an improvement.
Sebastian studies me, the brilliance of his azure gaze touching on every inch of my face until I’m flushed with heat.
“I’m not buying it.” A slow, cruel smile curves his lips. “Just last month you showed me a taste of that fire on the examination table. That spitfire of a princess is still in there somewhere.”
“Queen,” I say through gritted teeth.
Letting go of me, he raises an amused brow. “I rest my case.” He turns and tugs at the back of his T-shirt, yanking it over his tousled blond hair, and I can’t help but admire his backside. All of that smooth skin stretched over hard muscle shoots a bolt of desire between my legs. I don’t know what it is about Sebastian, but I lose my head whenever he’s near.
“You need to take your clothes off for this.” He stalks out of sight then returns with a black jewelry case.
“What’s that?” I ask, rising to my feet and nodding at the sleek box in his hands.
“It’s the Heart of the Queen. Heath finally got his greedy hands on it. I don’t know how, but he did.” He cracks open the lid. “And he wants me to paint you wearing it.” His eyes flick up to meet mine. “Time’s ticking. Lose the clothes.”
I cross my arms, suddenly unhindered by the training Mr. Bordeaux instilled in me over the last three weeks. “Do you need me naked for the portrait, or for your payment?” The word bleeds from my lips, drenched in feigned disgust.
“Both.” His grin is rakish, unguarded, and downright sexy. “And since I’ve only got three hours with you, how about we speed things up?”
He removes the necklace from the box then drapes it around my neck. The teardrop-shaped diamond is a deep scarlet, and the weight of it hangs between my cleavage. I’m gaping at the stone in a state of awe, all too aware that Liam sold this priceless family heirloom because of me, when Sebastian slips a spaghetti strap over my shoulder. He does the same to the other side, followed by a determined tug to the bodice, and the dress falls to the floor.
“No undergarments,” he says, voice deepening to an appreciative rasp as his gaze roams my bare skin. “You came prepared.”
“Mr. Bordeaux instructed me not to wear any.” The words come out shaky, and I can’t bring myself to meet his blue eyes when he looks at me like that.
As if he’s starved for the taste of me.
“Let’s get something straight,” he says, tilting my chin up, “Mr. Bordeaux doesn’t exist for the next three hours.”
“He doesn’t?” I breathe, my lips parting because there’s that look again.
The one that tells me he feels this weird pull between us as much as I do. It’s strong and a bit terrifying.
Electrifying.
Liam Castle made me experience things I didn’t know I could feel—the highs and lows, the delirious adrenaline rush of several of my firsts.
First kiss.
First taste of a man.
First orgasm.
But Sebastian makes me afraid to feel anything at all, because the gamut of emotions he inspires are dangerously intense. This unexplainable connection is nothing but mayhem to my sanity.
“No, Heath Bordeaux doesn’t exist in this room. It’s just you and me, princess…and the license he gave me to touch you.” His smirk should cool the fire heating my veins, but all his cocky confidence seems to do is deliver a direct hit straight to my core.
I shouldn’t crave his touch after the way he’s treated me, but God help me…
I do.
“I thought you didn’t like me.” The vulnerability in that admission leaves me exposed before him, my state of undress notwithstanding.
“I don’t like you.”
His confirmation hurts more than it should. More than I’m comfortable with. I search his sea-blue eyes, hoping to uncover a reason—something logical and tangible to explain his dislike—but all I find is reluctant lust.
My brows furrow. “You don’t like me…but you want me?”
“God, yes.” He steps forward, his impressive bare chest sending me back a few inches, out of the puddle of my dress. “I absolutely want you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t fucking know. Call it a curse.” Another step forward, and his head tilts, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “Maybe it’s the golden silk of your hair and how it makes you seem so young and innocent, or the way you always smell like fruit and flowers.” Dipping his head, he runs his nose along my cheekbone. “Some exotic scent that stays with me long after you’re gone.”
I’m dizzy, my brain spiraling toward the ground, and I’ve never been more grateful for the perfume I had bottled and sent from home. “It’s plumeria.”
“It’s sexy as hell.” He aims his attention on my lips. “But if the smell of you doesn’t kill me, the shape of your mouth will, especially all the things it was designed to do.”
“What kinds of things?” I dart my tongue along my lower lip, and his pupils dilate.
“Feasting on quivering skin, uttering dirty nothings.” He drags his thumb over my trembling lips. “Sucking, Novalee. I bet you do it so well you bring a man to his knees.”
“But you don’t like me,” I remind him in a choked whisper.
“Not even a little.”
I’d ask why, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
“I don’t like you, either,” I say instead, willing a smidgeon of truth into the harsh line of my jaw. Willing him to believe the lie…willing the lie to morph into irrefutable truth.
“Glad to hear it, because that makes what I’m about to do much easier.” He presses forward until the backs of my legs hit the velvet cushion of a lounge chair. “Sit.”
“Wait,” I protest. Just because I’m unequivocally attracted to him doesn’t mean I’m ready to spread out before him, exposed and vulnerable. It was hard enough doing it the first time, when I was only naked from the waist down, and we had the rest of the Brotherhood surrounding us, not to mention the cold and sterile setting of an examination room as a backdrop. That day, the scorn on his face left no doubt of his feelings toward me.
Now there’s something else in his expression. A hunger, a need, a softness that wasn’t there before. Maybe even an openness.
And the setting is too cozy and inviting with an undertone of sexual awareness…and we’re alone with no distractions on the horizon for the next three hours.
“Novalee, sit your ass down.” His voice comes out thick as if he wants to say more but doesn’t. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
I hesitate—a deceptive protest—but his irritable patience wins out. I lower into the chair, limbs tight and awkward as I palm my breasts and press my thighs together, rendered more defenseless than I can stand.
Propping himself up with one hand on the back of the lounge, he leans over and adjusts the necklace until it nestles in the valley of my cleavage. Then, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, he arranges my arms over my head before inching my legs apart to expose my most intimate place.
The one that’s inflamed with liquid heat from the press of his fingers on my thighs.
“I saw the portraits you did for him. This isn’t how the women posed.”
“You’re different.”
I’m holding my breath, heart diving into a free fall as he sifts my hair between his fingers. The strands slip through his loose grip like fine silk, and he seems mesmerized, further wrecking my shield against this man.
“Why am I different?”
“I never wanted the other models.” He arranges the locks over my breasts, and a devious part of me rejoices at the hard-on he’s got from fondling my hair.
I’m tempted to grow it to my feet now.
Pushing off the lounge, he strides across the room to where his canvas awaits. As he sets up his supplies and moves a stool in front the easel, I will my cheeks to cool. But I don’t harbor such power. It’s all I can do to keep my thighs open, because if I close them, and he touches me again, I might beg him for more.
“Stop squirming. I know your pussy’s hot and wet, but I need you to stay still for this.”
God, I must be a thousand shades of embarrassed. His cruel smirk tells me it’s true. Forcing my muscles to relax, I settle in for the next hour as his brush strokes the canvas.
“I’ve never painted a woman so aroused before.” He shoots me a sexy, amused smile.
“Were your previous subjects zombies?” The retort escapes before I can stop it.
His grin widens. “They were as hot-blooded as you, princess. Just not as innocent.”
I despise how the nickname has grown on me. He’s the only one who calls me that. And he’s the only one, besides Liam, who makes me want to shed my innocence. A sharp pang radiates through my chest, because my intense attraction to Sebastian feels like a betrayal to Liam.
At the end of the first hour, he shifts in front of his work. “You’re fucking gorgeous. I can’t wait for you to see it.”
I sit forward, but he gives a stern shake of his head. “I didn’t say you could move.”
“I want to see it.”
“You will, after.” Abandoning the paintbrush, he saunters in my direction.
“It’s time for your payment, then?” I arch a challenging brow, but I’m shaking on the inside. The closer his purposeful steps bring him, the quicker my composure crumbles.
“Something like that.” He halts between my legs, rough denim grazing my inner thighs, and my toes curl as his gaze travels the length of my body. “You heard the man. No orgasms.”
I bite back a whimper, fighting to keep my thighs from pressing against his legs. “He’s evil.”
Sebastian laughs. “To you, maybe.” Putting one hand on the back of the lounge, he leans over until we’re face to face. “But I’m going to enjoy this.” Slowly, he dips his fingers between my legs, and I swallow a moan.
I’m putty in his hands.
“It’s a shame I’ll have to deprive this wet pussy.” He adds a teasing caress to my clit.
My hips jerk, seeking a firmer touch. “I-I need—”
“You need to sit still and take it,” he interrupts. “I have two hours left to play with you, and you’re not allowed to come.” To add insult to injury, he plunges a finger into my tight opening, and there’s no hiding a moan this time.
“You don’t have to tell him.”
His smile is downright smug. “Oh, I’ll tell him.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because leaving you on the edge gets me hot.”
I impale myself on his finger, only easing up when it starts to pinch, and he picks up the rhythm, that digit sliding in and out of me until I’m moaning for more. “Sebastian, please.”
“My name, your lips…pure fucking heaven, princess.”
I say his name again, and he growls at me.
Like an animal.
An alpha of the pack catching a whiff of his mate.
“If you don’t tell me to stop, I’ll let him know how drenched and needy you are right before you come. I’ll describe the flush of your cheeks, and how tight your cunt feels around my fingers, clenching with each…forbidden…wave.” He leans forward, his bright blue eyes locking onto mine, lips parted, breath shuddering against my mouth. “He’ll take away one of your precious diamonds.”
“Stop,” I gasp, exerting pure willpower to stall my hips.
“Are you sure?” His touch slows, fingers teasing my wet slit, and I groan my frustration.
The only thing I’m sure of is that I want him to keep going.
“No,” I say instead, suffering from a case of indecision.
“Beg me to stop playing with your pussy, and I will.”
“I don’t want you to stop!” I squeeze my eyes shut, caught in a mental trap. “Please…I need you.”
“You can have me, princess, but not without consequences.”
He’s too smug, over-the-top cocky, and ridiculously sexy.
And I’m too powerless in this fight, the battle lost before he even touched me. But I’m not a quitter, so I do the only thing I can.
I go on the offense.
“Let me see you,” I say, reaching for the button of his ripped jeans. His eyes darken, and my heart dances in triumph. Glory is on the horizon, and it’s mine. I lick my lips, drunk off the sudden advantage I taste on my tongue.
Power is the lust in his eyes.
And the throbbing member in his pants is my weapon.
This is war.
He swats my hands away, pulls down his zipper, and then he’s straddling my thighs as his massive erection stands between us.
“So what’ll it be? Am I fucking that tempting mouth, or do I have to settle for your fists?” He dips his head, lips brushing my ear. “Or I could take your virgin ass.”
“How do you know I haven’t already…done that?”
“Liam doesn’t have the balls to take you like that.” His teeth clamp onto my earlobe, and he gives a playful tug. “And we both know Heath hasn’t laid a finger on you. So, that leaves a blow job, or a hand job…unless you want the third option? Either way, you’re getting the job done.”
“H-hand job,” I say, tripping over the words.
He pushes upright again and yanks my hands between us, and my fingers wrap around hard, smooth flesh. Our gazes lock as his hands guide mine on his shaft, up and down in tight, long strokes.
“Fuck, that feels good.”
He’s huge, spanning the stack of my fists and then some, and I’m glued to the sight of his tip popping through the top of our joined hands. A drop of moisture leaks from the crown. He increases the tempo, pumping in quick, jerky motions, then frantically shoves my hair out of the way, ordering me to keep up the pace.
“I’m gonna come so fucking hard all over those tits.”
My body responds to the gravelly sound of his voice, the rapid soughing of his breaths, and I feel my nipples tighten, begging for him to follow through on his promise. He throws his head back with a groan, and seconds later, his warm, thick release spurts onto my chest.
Silence descends in the moments that follow. Sebastian grips the back of the lounge, eyes shuttered as he catches his breath.
He’s beautiful in the aftermath.
As if he heard the unspoken thought, he lifts his lids, and our gazes collide. I’ve never wanted him as much as I do now, trapped beneath his body, and drenched between the thighs as his cum bathes my chest.
Almost reverently, he kneads my breasts, smearing his release all over the jewel nestled between them. “We tainted his precious diamond.” He gives my nipples a hard pinch. “My cum is all over his property.”
The double meaning isn’t lost on me.
Because that’s all I am to someone like Heath Bordeaux. A possession, a thing to stow away with the rest of his treasures.
And to Sebastian, I’m just a plaything, easily taunted by his cruelty.
Masking the hurt rising inside me, I push against his chest. “You got your payment. Now I want to see my painting.”
He stands, zips up his pants, then helps me to my feet. “Turned out uncannily accurate, if you ask me.”
I’m not sure what he means until I’m standing in front of his masterpiece, blinking in astonishment at the familiar face staring back.
Her skin flushed and lips dewy.
Textured shadows obscuring her more intimate areas, offering a sense of modest seduction.
But those expressive brown eyes impart every thought and emotion she doesn’t want the world to see.
That’s me on that canvas…and I can’t believe it.
“She’s beautiful,” I whisper, awestruck at how he captured me. At how he sees me.
He lingers behind me, heat penetrating my backside, and curls his fingers around my shoulders. “Because you are, Novalee.”
The girl in the painting is tastefully positioned, sexily aroused, and she gazes at her audience with aching want in her bedroom eyes.
It’s a picture that spells desire.
Testifies to her desperation.
And she’s directing every bit of her longing at the artist.
If Liam ever sets eyes on this painting, he’ll see it too.