Chapter Sixteen
Gemma
E vander reached out and flipped off the lever for the shower, stopping the hot spray. I blinked up at him, resisting touching the water droplets that looked like tiny gems in his long black lashes.
He searched my eyes, then nodded. “I should probably go now.”
I nodded. “Yes, you probably should.”
Less because I needed feminine items and more because my heart was about to shatter all over again. And he didn’t need to see that, or be witness to me trying to put the pieces back together again.
His stare narrowed, his voice husky. “I won’t be long.” He stepped close again, then drew my wet, too yielding body against his own, his mouth covering mine before he kissed me with passionate and unyielding intensity.
I shivered even before he released me and stepped back. His kiss told me exactly who was in charge of our relationship, if it could be called that. I would be severely punished if I went back on my word and betrayed his trust.
Though I’d been kidnapped and held hostage, he’d treated me well.
What the fuck do you mean? He took away your freedom. He’s not the good guy here!
I stared after him with steadily building, seething rage as he stepped out of the shower. He quickly dried himself, then dressed back into his pants and polo shirt.
Then he walked out of the bathroom door without a backward glance. As though we hadn’t just had earth shattering sex. As though I hadn’t just handed him my heart on a silver platter yet again. As though I wasn’t about to relive everything from my past all over again.
I heard him stalk through the cabin, his tread then echoing on the porch outside. A handful of seconds later the car door clunked open and then shut, the engine started and whined slightly as he reversed. The tires swished as he turned around and drove along the driveway that would eventually take him to a main road and the nearest grocery store.
I waited until the car receded from my hearing before I wrapped a towel around me and raced outside, down the porch steps and around the house, my bare feet pounded the grass as I headed toward his Harley.
I bit back disappointment. The key wasn’t in it. But of course it wasn’t! He wasn’t stupid. He’d likely taken them with him.
I wanted to kick the shining silver chrome along with its blood-red fuel tank and fenders. Except it really was a beautiful beast and I wasn’t crude enough to wreck such superb craftsmanship.
Who had I been kidding anyway? It wasn’t like I knew how to ride the thing, I’d probably break my neck trying.
I trudged back inside, my bare feet barely making a sound on the grass. I squirmed a little at the growing wetness between my thighs. I’d need to take another shower at this rate. I took the steps to the porch and stalked across its deck. It was only when I stepped inside that my eyes were drawn to the closed door of the room Evander locked himself in every night.
What was in there that kept Evander away from me for so long? How many nights had he disappeared within its four walls without a sound? The fact he’d forbidden me to enter only heightened my curiosity. I stepped closer then turned the door handle. Of course it’d be locked but it would be silly not to test it anyway.
My pulse jerked rapidly when the handle gave way and the door swung open. In Evander’s rush to get to the shops he must have forgotten to lock up!
Caution pulsing through me, I paused before I stepped inside. My mouth dropped open as I stared around the room.
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
Portraits were stacked on the floor around the room in various stages of completion, with many finished ones hanging on the wall. Some portraits were done in oils, some in acrylics or pastels, there were even some watercolors along with charcoal sketches.
The one and only dominant feature about each of the canvases was who the portraits showcased.
Me.
I stepped further inside, my mouth drying as my breathing became choppy and uneven. Most of the portraits had been done almost three years ago, from a time in my life when I’d still been with Evander.
I walked toward one that showcased me at the beach in a yellow bikini. The turquoise sea was behind me, the sun glinting on foamy waves even as it lightened the top of my caramel hair into burnished gold.
My breath caught in my throat when I read the artist’s signature, then spun around and read more of the same.
Chase Holland.
Everything fell sharply into place.
Evander was Chase.
I brought a shaky hand up to my brow even as a wave of hot and then cold went through me. He loved watching my artistic side because he was an artist himself, one with far more talent than I’d ever have.
That he was clearly a famous artist who hid behind a pseudonym because of his infamous mafia background made all too much sense now.
What made even more sense was the portrait that had hung in the gallery where I’d worked. I’d assumed Evander had known Chase and had paid big money to have the painting done by him. I shook my head. Little wonder Evander had snorted at my assumption and asked how I’d hadn’t put two and two together.
I couldn’t have got everything more wrong if I’d tried!
I stumbled back even as I glanced around at more of the portraits. He really was a man of many talents. Hew as gifted, a master of his work! Each creation was brilliant and detailed, his creative side flawless, faultless.
My eyes were drawn to three pictures hanging side-by-side, all of them done in thick, rich sepia oil colors that made them look like old photos. My heart stuttered as I recalled the time and place these memories had been created, probably long before any paint had been applied to the canvases.
The first portrait showed me looking down, my dark lashes sweeping low and my lips curled into a fledgling smile. My whole face glowed, radiant with joy after Evander had told me he loved me.
I swallowed heavily. That might have been the best day of my life, with his love and devotion shining in his eyes, his voice thick with emotion.
The next portrait showed me looking straight back at the man who’d spoken those three little words. The sepia painting popped with the glaring-yellow of a wildflower he’d picked from the side of the road. I’d stuck the flower behind one ear, my smile wider now and my teeth white, my glistening stare full of returned love.
In the third portrait, a tear was rolling down my cheek, my effervescent joy captured after he’d whispered how much he wanted to make me his woman in every way, including in name.
I took a step back, my emotions in turmoil, my heart in shambles. I’d loved him so deeply, so unrestrainedly that I’d never really gotten over having to leave him. I’d become a shell of my former self, a living and breathing husk.
Perhaps that was also why I now felt like a trespasser, a voyeur of my own once joyous facade staring back at me. The portraits might show my deepest feelings, but they also showcased Evander’s from his perspective behind the brush.
I shook my head. How did someone so deadly and dangerous paint with such loving and passionate intensity? It was as if he lived a double life. He did live a double life! Or perhaps painting was a way for him to let go of the darker side of his nature and fill his soul with light.
So why was every painting in this room of me?
It should have been disturbing, yet a deep, visceral part of me basked in delight knowing he was still so obsessed with me.
That I returned those feelings turned my love into an even deeper despair. He’d ruined my life from the moment he’d told me the truth about his mobster life. Mafia. It was akin to saying he was the devil.
I pressed a hand to my cramping stomach. If he’d been normal, an everyday person with everyday aspirations, I had no doubt we‘d still be together. Gotten married.
Had a family.
My hand fisted and pressed tighter against my stomach.
Instead I’d lost everything.
That Evander would never be normal wasn’t lost on me. If he had been I wouldn’t have developed such overwhelming feelings for him.
I took another step back.
Squick.
I lifted my foot off the floor and checked underneath. I gasped at the sticky puddle of red beneath my foot. I’d been so captivated by the paintings I hadn’t noticed just how strong my menstrual flow had become.
I needed another shower, then I’d clean up any and all evidence of me being inside his studio.