Chapter 12 #2
As she lowers herself into position, raising the violin to the same pose from only days earlier, Phillipe decides to leave her in her silence. If she wants to work that way, so be it, but he has to wonder if she knows just how loud that silence can actually be.
I didn’t come to the studio today with the intention of not talking to him. It just happened. When I arrived, I noticed he wasn’t up here yet. So I got a towel and stripped off my clothes, determined to have the upper hand this time.
Too many times this man has caught me off guard, and I have to believe that is why I am allowing him to mess with my mind.
Maybe if I am the one to call the shots, if I am the one who holds control, I won’t feel like I am constantly treading water around him.
As it stands now, though, I always feel like I am trying to keep my head above the inevitable force of the crashing waves, and it feels hopeless.
He is dragging me under, just as he said he would, and I am letting him.
Not today, though. Today, I want to watch and study him for a change.
There’s more to this story, and I will not let him drive me away until I get what I came for.
“So, you aren’t talking to me? Maybe I should just talk then, hmm?” he asks across the empty space.
I close my eyes as his low chuckle fills the tense silence, and I hate that my nipples peak and harden at his voice.
“Your nipples just got hard, Gemma. What are you thinking about?”
Refusing to rise to the bait, I grip the violin, sitting as still as humanly possible.
“Well, maybe I should guess,” he continues.
I find vindication when I discover that he can’t seem to stand the silence. I feel as though I’m making him slightly uncomfortable, and I find that I like it.
“Maybe you’re thinking about the other night?” he asks.
I open my eyes, turning to lock them with his. I refuse to look away first.
At this moment, all I can see of him are his hair and his green eyes peering at me over the canvas. Although it’s somewhat intimidating to be looked at like an object, I realize that I don’t mind being the object of his intense perusal.
“Is that it?” he asks in the absence of an answer. He raises a questioning brow. “So I’m right? I’d love to know what you think happened up here that night. You want to know what I think happened?”
Closing my eyes and turning back to face the wall, I block out his all-knowing stare and let his voice drift over me.
“I think you woke up.”
My eyes snap open at that. Damn him.
“I think you finally saw me. Didn’t you? What did you do? Run upstairs afterward and look up every article ever written on me? If that’s the case, I wouldn’t talk to me either.” He stands and places his paintbrush down. “Well, you’ve seen me, Gemma. Maybe it’s time you saw her.”
I wonder what he means. I’m curious, so I finally speak. “How?”
“Ah, so now you speak?”
Heedless of my nudity, I stand and move to place the violin back in its case. It’s obvious he’s finished for the moment. Turning to him, I cross my arms over my chest. “How?” I repeat, refusing to rise to his bait.
Realizing I am not going to answer his last question, he tilts his head to the side and steps out from behind the easel. Today, he’s wearing jeans with a rip at the knee and a long-sleeved black sweater. He looks dark and sinful, and I can’t help but find him sexy.
He walks over to me slowly. “Do you want to see Armor?”
I blink and lick my lips, giving myself time to think. I’ve seen Armor many times, but I have a feeling he means something more. Maybe the original? I can’t help it. I’m just as curious as he expects me to be.
Somehow, he knows how I feel about her. He’s worked it out. He knows I’m just as intrigued by Chantel as he was. So I give him the only possible answer there could be.
“Yes.”
Wrapping the towel around myself, I follow him out of the studio and down the stairs. I steal a quick peek at the hanging picture and keep walking, because he is moving fast.
In fact, he is walking so quickly that I almost miss that he makes a sharp right at the end of the hall to the left of the stairs.
Making my way down in the direction he headed, I look at the walls and catch sight of several paintings I have not yet seen.
I want to stop and look at them but find that I am more intrigued about what is at the end of the hall.
I haven’t been down to this end of the chateau. Usually, the large wooden door is closed, locking it off from the rest of the occupants. My mind suddenly catches up. This is where his bedroom is. I was standing outside of this part of the house that morning I saw him through his open window.
Just as I get to the end of the hall, he appears from around the corner. I stop immediately, slightly shocked because I didn’t expect him to come back.
“It’s down here,” he tells me.
All of a sudden, every single fear I have determinedly pushed aside into the little you-are-crazy box comes flooding back.
“Down where?” I ask hesitantly.
Smiling slowly, he lifts a hand, crooking a finger at me. “Come with me, Gemma.”
His tone is so seductive that he’s managed to make me forget I’m apprehensive—and the fact that I’m wearing just a towel. I feel as though he’s hypnotizing me.
“What’s down there?” I ask, cursing the fact that my voice is trembling.
Nothing prepares me for the answer he gives.
“Chantel.”
Phillipe can tell by the look on her face that she’s about to flee. Gemma’s eyes have widened, and her breathing has picked up to rapid pants.
“I don’t understand,” she tells him, clutching the towel to her breasts.
He takes a step toward her and holds out his hand. “You don’t have to. Come with me.”
Her eyes move from his hand to his face. Considering all the tumultuous emotions that are currently running through him, Phillipe makes sure that his expression gives nothing away. When she reaches out and places her shaking palm into his, he’s shocked by the trust she is extending to him.
He wraps his fingers around hers and squeezes them. When he tugs her toward him, she is hesitant, but she moves forward.
He lowers his mouth to her ear, teasing her softly. “You want to see this, Gemma. I know you do.”
She turns her head so their eyes meet, and he can see the curiosity burning there.
“How do you know?” she asks.
“Because, like me, you find her fascinating. You’re consumed by her, aren’t you? I can see it every time I talk about her.” He pauses, moving his head so their lips are touching. “It’s okay. I did whatever I had to just to be near her. I wanted her with every breath I took.”
I can’t breathe. My heart is pumping and my head is roaring from the rapid blood flow. As he stands there whispering dark, seductive words against my lips, I feel like I will pass out from the lack of oxygen.
That’s when I am offered a reprieve.
Phillipe removes his lips from mine and takes a small step back, still holding my hand. He pulls me forward with each backward step he takes. He stops at the large wooden door, much like the one blocking this part of the house, and reaches back to twist the knob.
I wait as it slowly swings open, and he is moving again. He turns, keeping my hand in his own, as he walks through the entryway.
Where the hell is he taking me? my mind screams.
As I cross the threshold, I watch as he descends down a dark staircase, and immediately, I have visions of words from the articles—tragic, horrifying, deceptive. Instead of doing the smart thing and leaving, I follow him blindly down into the darkness.