Chapter 62 #2
So I push down the residual embarrassment I always feel around my father.
His cruelty has always been part and parcel of my relationship with him, but something stops the feeling from multiplying inside my chest. Maybe it’s the feeble stoop of his back.
A beanie covers his head, hiding the sparse hair still left on his head.
He doesn’t look well today, and as much as it would be easier for me to let him continue berating me, I don’t hold back my immediate response.
The old Camryn feels far away. The new me feels free, unleashed.
“This neighborhood is fine. And my education wasn’t wasted. I’ve learned all the skills to run a business. Which is what I am. I’m a business woman.”
His grunt makes me roll my eyes behind his back. He looks around in distaste. “Just how much of a return do you think you will bring in?”
“I have two shows lined up and from my thirty percent commission. I’m going to bring in a decent amount.”
“You will charge fifty percent.”
“No.” That will mean Jacinda and other artists who use my gallery won’t get much of a return on their art. He narrows his eyes, and I narrow mine right back. Standing up to him has never been easy, but I’m done bowing and scraping my knees on the floor to keep the peace.
“You have no clue how to run a business.”
“Maybe not, but this is my gallery, Father, and I’m doing it my way.”
I lift my chin, and he doesn’t say a word.
“I expect you at the gala in two weeks, Camryn. Make sure you are dressed appropriately.” He looks down at my clothing, and I hate that I see disappointment in his eyes.
I no longer dress the way he deems appropriate.
The obsession he had with me looking neutral.
Non-threatening. So, my overly bright clothing.
The artistic Korean streetwear style I’ve been leaning more into would probably not sit well with my father, who, due to his experiences, has shunned much of his Korean heritage in favor of adopting more Western ideals.
With that announcement, he simply walks away from me to the exit. Randy slowly follows. My shoulders slump, and I feel the sting of his actions, tainted by everything my father said. Stone heard every word, and so did Julian.
“You okay?” Julian whispers next to me. I turn and stare at him, almost forgetting that he was there. He touches my arm.
“Yeah.” I swallow down my anger and disappointment.
“Who’s the guy?” He whispers to me, suddenly. “He’s a scary fucker.”
Stone is still in the same spot. His eyes were trained on us.
How do I explain Stone? He’s not my boyfriend.
He’s not really even my lover. Lover connotes that we have some sort of continuation.
He’s not a one-night stand, technically, either.
We spent 48 hours together. Is he my friend?
I don’t know. I thought we were developing something the weekend I spent with him, but he told me there were no tomorrows with us.
So I tell Julian the truth. “He’s an artist. He did the mural. ”
Julian lifts a brow, and for some reason, it feels like he doesn’t believe me. “He did that mural? The goddess one? Of you?”
“Yup.”
“Then he’s not just an artist.” Julian air quotes and smirks.
I sneak a glance at Stone, my focus going to him involuntarily.
“It’s him, right?” Before I can respond, Julian looks over my shoulder.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s the reason you didn’t go out to dinner with me.”
Stone leans against the wall. Not saying a word, just watching me. I can feel that stare. It does what it always does. It makes me feel hot and itchy. The need to hold his gaze. I don’t shy away from it now. I want to look at him, let him see my annoyance, my desire.
“Yeah, I better get out of here, he looks like he wants to snap my bones in half.” He hugs me one last time. I hear Stone’s heavy boots getting closer. Julian moves quickly and heads out the door, leaving me with Stone.
“What are you doing?” I cross my arms, not in the mood for him right now.
I really want to ask him where he was for the last few days, but it’s not my business.
I have no right to ask him a damn thing.
I head to my back room, still keyed up and pissed from my father’s visit and what Stone probably heard.
I pace and put my hands on my hips while I blow out a breath before I calm myself down.
Tears threaten, but the last person I want to see them is Stone.
I need to focus on Jacinda’s art show. I have so much riding on it, she does as well.
I have a million things to do, and I don’t have the energy to sit down and cry about my stupid father.
I feel the moment Stone comes into the storage room to join me.
“You okay?”
Nope. Not okay, I mentally answer him. Stone waits me out, patient bastard.
He was like that when he was making me come, not rushing or looking aggravated when he was fucking me.
Not the way Reed looked sometimes when I didn’t come fast enough for him.
Stone didn’t seem to mind that it took me a while.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” I dig my thumbs into the corner of my eyes.
“Because of the shit your asshole father said.”
“You’re very nosy,” I repeat. It’s the exact words he said to me in his cabin.
He saunters closer, and his smell encapsulates me.
He crouches near Jacinda’s installation, turning one of the moving parts.
It spins and resettles. Her work is very interactive.
Stone’s ringed, tattooed finger trails along the shiny metal and swallows.
He did the same thing with my nipple. The flashback is damned inconvenient.
“How many pieces will she install?”
The gruff question forces me out of the memory of him flicking my clit while I lay on his kitchen table. Thankfully, it’s not about my father, and I release the last of the tension in my shoulder.
“Ten.”
He nods and stands, leaning on the wall. “That’s a good number.”
I lift a brow, chuckling. “Do I hear approval there?”
His lips tilt up. “You shouldn’t let him dictate what you do with your life.”
The good feelings from his smile deflate. I don’t answer, but open my notebook. “Yeah. Why is that?”
“Because what people think shouldn’t stop you.”
“Yeah? Is that why you won’t touch me around my brother? Because you don’t care what people think?”
“That’s different,” he growls, angry again.
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. “How is it different?”
He walks toward me, evading my question.
He crowds me against the wall, and I can’t stop the fluttering in my pussy.
The heat from his body surrounds me, and I want to lean forward, rest my achy breasts on his hard chest, but I don’t.
He walked away from me, not the other way around.
He was the one who erected the barrier, halting anything more between us.
I spin around and cross my arms over my chest, staring at him.
I may not be touching him, but his scent doesn’t care.
He smells delicious, and my traitorous mind remembers smelling on my body, breathing it in while he was on top of me.
“It’s different because—” He pauses, and I see something in his expression. A conflict of mind that I’m not privy to. More secrets. Always secrets.
“Just don’t let him get inside your head. He doesn’t deserve it.”
“How do you know what he deserves?”
“Your brother.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That he’s a self asshole who has treated you like shit all your life.”
“It’s not just me. It’s all of us.”
“Hmm.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re lying.”
“I know where I stand with my father.” At the bottom. “And I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”
He shrugs and then moves my chin. “Let’s talk about what else you’ve been doing.”
I pause at his harsh tone, unsure if he’s upset, acting like his usual grumpy self, or something else.
“Did you see my mother?”
He had that look on his face. The same look he gave me that night, long ago, when he was leaning over Keith’s body.
The same look he gave me in the club when the Lobster guy approached me.
The look he gave me when he held me against the wall after giving me a taste of the ruthless man inside. He’s enraged at me.
I lie because I don’t want to admit the truth. I knew it was a risk to visit Stone's mother, but something drove me to see her. That I did it because I was desperate to find out more about him. To better understand the man I was falling for.
“What the fuck were you doing visiting my mother?”
The question is deadly. I back up and try to stop the tremors in my body. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I resolutely deny it. He wasn’t supposed to know about my visit to his mother.
When he pulls me up into his arms, I wince at the way his fingers compress into my skin.
“Lying again?” He rubs his stubble along my chin and neck, moving to my ear. “I don’t like it when you lie.”
I slump my shoulders. “How did you find out?” I whisper, trying to stay strong against him, but he’s making it damned difficult not to cave, and turn my face into his.
“You think I wouldn’t notice the art with the same paint strokes as yours hanging on her wall? That a local artist was volunteering her time to paint with the residents?” He brings me closer, pushing me against the wall until I’m flush against his chest.
“I—”
“When?”
I lick my suddenly dry lips, looking anywhere but at him. “A few weeks ago.”
“How did you know, Countess?”
“Because—because I followed you.” My confession makes him pause, and he removes one manacle around my arm, tilting my chin up until my eyes meet his.
“Seems like you have a habit of following me. You saw what happened the last time.”
The reminder in that deep baritone is enough to transport me back to the most intense sex I’ve ever had. Yes, I remember exactly what happened the last time. My pussy remembers too because I can feel the dampness in my underwear.
“Why?”