Chapter Eleven
Gemma
I had no idea how long I stayed chained to Evander’s bed. It felt like days but I guessed it was no more than twelve to fifteen hours before I heard his car engine outside the cabin, followed by sudden silence, then the clunk of the driver’s door and his tread up onto the porch.
I was quivering by the time he unlocked the door and entered. I’d drank the plastic cup of water he’d left me not even a few hours after he’d gone and my mouth was as dry and sawdust even as my bladder was fuller than the Mississippi.
His presence seemed to suck the oxygen right out of the room and any scathing rebukes died on my tongue as I feasted my eyes on him. Even visibly exhausted he radiated power and charisma, his tall frame filling the doorway and his brilliant eyes seemingly pulling all my thoughts out of my head.
I tilted my chin, my voice cold. “Are you sure you couldn’t have taken any longer? I mean the cabin might have burned down with me in it while you were away, but I’m sure you thought of that in your contingency plans.”
He didn’t reply as he stalked toward me, then bent and unclicked my handcuff from the bedhead. “I presume you’d like to use the bathroom.”
“I was about to aim into the cup,” I said between gritted teeth. “If you’d taken any longer I wouldn’t have had any other option.” He straightened as I pushed onto my feet and shook out the all too familiar pins and needles in my arm. “I suppose you want to watch me pee again?”
“No. But I will leave the bathroom door open.”
“Thank goodness for small mercies,” I said even as I trotted to the bathroom and relieved myself a minute later.
I walked back out of the bathroom when I heard a distinct meow . I blinked at the charcoal fluff-butt as he stalked from the kitchen toward me. “Rembrandt!” I gasped, my vision blurring.
I’d been doing everything possible to not think about him being alone in my apartment with his food running dry. Knowing he’d had enough water for at least three or four days had kept me from having a total breakdown.
I dropped to my knees as he trotted up to me, dragging him close and cuddling him. “I was so worried about you,” I said, then looked into his unblinking stare and added, “I missed you!”
He meowed again, as though chastening me, before he pulled away and flicked his tail, going off to explore the cabin.
I looked up at the man who had a faint grin on his face. “You brought him back with you.”
It wasn’t a question, it was pretty obvious what he’d done. He nodded anyway. “I couldn’t have you hating me more than you already do.”
I looked away, my face heating. He didn’t need to know that my hate was intertwined too closely with lust and a scary amount of yearning for what we’d had.
“I also brought back some of your clothes and everything needed to continue your paintings.”
I jerked my head back around. “You did?” A scowl filled my face, hiding the glimmer of anticipation growing inside me. “You should have asked me first!”
He smirked. “That’s like asking me to shut to door after the horse has already bolted. I’ve kidnapped you, why should it matter that I brought back your art supplies, some clothes and your cat?”
I sniffed heavily. “It doesn’t matter,” I muttered. Though I would have been destroyed if my cat had been left to slowly die in my apartment. “Like you said, you’ve made no effort to get permission about anything else, so why start now?”
He pulled a jug out of a kitchen cupboard, then proceeded to fill it with ice then lemonade. “I’ve set up your easel and a canvas outside along with your paints and brushes.”
“You expect me to paint right now?” I asked, my voice a squeak.
He nodded. “Why not?” He grabbed two glasses and set them onto the counter next to the jug. “You’re still dressed in your paint clothes, and I’ve always enjoyed watching you paint.”
I gulped as a surge of anticipation bolted through me, an undeniable intoxicating thrill. I lifted my chin and managed to mutter one last protest. “Are you going to chain me to the easel?”
“That would limit your movements,” he said. He approached me then. “Lift your arm.”
When I did as he asked, he stuck the key into the handcuff on my wrist, then unlocked it and removed it completely. “You’re free to paint.”
I kept a lid on my emotions as I headed outside with him. But my feelings were exacerbated by the fact that not only was I going to paint, Evander would be there watching my every brushstroke.
He’d always been the biggest champion of my art.
Are you crazy? He kidnapped you, made you his prisoner! He doesn’t give a fuck about you or your art. He wants you to fall for his kindness before he really makes you suffer! It looks like you might already be suffering from Stockholm syndrome?
I pushed away all negative thought to focus on living in the moment. It was a beautiful morning, the sun gently warming my skin as the smallest breeze caressed my face and lifted wisps of hair off my face. The stream burbled gently just ahead, some mossy rocks sticking out of the water along with dark green reeds.
My easel faced the stream and some distant mountains, the dark green leaves of a nearby, solitary tree glowing burnished gold under the sunlight.
“How beautiful,” I said softly, finally giving into my senses and seeing the world outside through an artist’s imaginary lens.
I picked up a sable brush from a jar with a dozen other brushes, ranging from a wash brush, half-a-dozen fan and round brushes and the more intricate liner brushes.
I was only half-aware of Evander as he took a camping seat next to a small table, where he placed the jug and empty glasses. When he pushed a pair of sunglasses onto his face and settled back into his chair, I hesitated, my skin prickling at his interest.
Was it weird to be excited to paint outdoors again?
No, what was weird was that I wanted to paint while Evander watched. It took me back to those times he’d taken me and my art supplies to the beach, or to the mountains, out in nature where I’d spontaneously paint.
But that had been before I’d known who he really was. Before I’d been aware that just being with him put my mother’s and I entire existence into jeopardy.
I bit my bottom lip. Nothing had changed, so why did I feel different now? My mother might be overseas with another man, but it didn’t make her any safer. It didn’t make me any safer, either.
I couldn’t do anything to change any of that, not while I was here as Evander’s prisoner. Yet, all of that had been offset by being outside without a handcuff on my wrist and with my cat safe and sound here with me.
Despite Evander’s presence, or perhaps because of it, I wanted to enjoy this one artistic experience. I wanted to lose myself in painting the beauty of nature spread out in front of me.
I squeezed out a blob of cerulean blue and titanium white and mixed them together before brushing it across the top of my canvas. Once I’d filled in the basic sky color, I used cadmium yellow, ultramarine blue and some more of my white for the foreground of lush grass.
After painting the shapes of the far-off mountains, I added in the stream and its mossy rocks and reeds, then the lone tree with its now fading burnished gold leaves. I painted in more details, including ripples around the rocks and the glistening bits of light hitting the water, and some yellow wildflowers along the bank on the other side.
It wasn’t until I signed my name with a flourish on the bottom of my painting, then turned around to see what Evander thought, that I realized he was sleeping soundly.