Chapter 6
A loud thud pulled Evie abruptly from a decidedly delicious dream. The groan and unexpected swearing gave her a clue to its origin. She indulged in a satisfied smile as she wiggled out from the warm cocoon of her covers.
She poked her head around the corner, and sure enough, her suspicions were confirmed. Brennan was on the floor, tangled in the blankets, struggling to get up. She moved to the end of the couch and did her best to keep her grin at bay.
“Would you like a hand?” she asked.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
She was indeed. There was a certain satisfaction in being proven right. “Why would you say that?”
He looked up, his gaze zeroing in on hers. “You’re smiling.”
Oops. “Of course. It’s not every day I win a bet.
” That was not something she should have reminded him about.
But ‘just woken up’ Evie didn’t have a filter, which she obviously needed around this man to avoid getting herself into trouble.
No matter how gorgeous that trouble might be.
She ignored the itch in her fingers to draw… or touch.
“Bet?”
Evie waited for the implications to register.
His eyes widened, and the groan and small thud as he fell back on the floor in defeat confirmed the moment.
“We never made it official.” Hope brightened his words.
She should take him up on it. Let it go. Give him an out. Give herself an out. But…
“If there’s one thing I know about the O’Reilly men, it’s that they are men of their word.”
And just like that, she tossed herself right back in the fire when she had both feet already out.
Why she had this insane need to hold him to it, she wasn’t sure.
It would be in her best interests to let it go and find another model.
Which she would’ve already done if she’d felt comfortable asking anyone else.
But had she been comfortable asking him?
She wasn’t entirely sure, though it had seemed a good idea at the time.
A part of her had tossed out the idea with the hope he’d decline, and she wouldn’t need to risk having him put his mark on her home, even if it was purely safety oriented.
But it was already too late. Brennan O’Reilly’s imprint was here to stay.
The other part of her, though? She wasn’t on speaking terms with that little devil.
“We are,” he admitted. “Unfortunately.”
Was it bad to hold him to it? He had teased her about being naked for it, so maybe he didn’t find the idea that objectionable.
She’d never know unless she called it in.
Perhaps she should find someone else. Tell Brennan time ran out.
But oh, it would be such a shame if she didn’t get to draw this man.
“You really should’ve taken the bed,” she said when he was free of the blankets.
She turned her head away as he rose, not wanting to get caught outright ogling his practically naked body.
Even if she could’ve gotten away with it, saying it was preparation for the modeling session.
“You’re obviously too… big for the couch. ”
“Evie,” he growled. “Go back to your bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Her cheeks flamed as the potential double meaning of her words sunk in.
“That’s not—” She snapped her mouth closed.
If she tried to explain, she’d just get herself into more trouble.
And fighting him to take the bed wasn’t likely to work.
He’d probably pick her up and deliver her there himself.
Which would lead to the temptation to see what it took for him to stay there. “Night.”
She fled before she lost control of her mouth yet again. The soft glow of the alarm clock read 1:13 a.m. She wasn’t sure when she’d headed to bed—early definitely, given her need to escape his presence—but she was more awake than she should be for the middle of the night.
And the itch she’d fought before? The one to draw? It was back and stronger than ever.
She needed to draw.
Not wanted to. Needed to, like she needed to breathe.
Retrieving the sketchbook and pencil set she kept beside her bed, she took a deep breath and started to draw.
The nightlight was dim, but she didn’t want to turn on anything brighter because she hoped the man who was disturbing her sleep would go back to sleep himself, so she could have some semblance of solitude to figure out exactly what she was feeling.
Drawing had always been her way of journaling.
A pencil dancing across paper helped her express what she couldn’t find the words for.
She let her hand move and got lost in the motion as the picture slowly grew in varying shades of black, gray, and white.
The quiet sound of lead scratching against the parchment, the flowing movement of the pencil, and the touch of the paper under the side of her hand quieted her mind as she slipped deeper into the tranquility that came with letting herself go and drawing whatever she needed to.
It was one of the many reasons she loved art.
In moments like this, there was no right or wrong. There just was.
When she finally stopped and saw what she’d created, it took her breath away. There was no doubt she’d drawn Brennan. How had she captured him so well from only her memory? Clearly, her life drawing class was paying off.
But it wasn’t just Brennan on the page. She was there too. Standing wrapped in his arms, head against his shoulder, with her hand resting on his chest, right over his heart. A pose very familiar to her. She saw her father and mother frequently like this.
Evie snapped the book closed and tossed it on the floor, burying her head in the pillow and narrowly stifling the scream of frustration she wanted to let loose. He was infiltrating every part of her life. She couldn’t even get away from him in that peaceful space that was purely for her.
And the real kicker? There was a part of her that liked it. A very large part, in fact.