Another Brush of Love (The Carnal Exhibitions Book 3)

by LW Barefoot

  “Is Harper still in her studio?” I ask.

  Mae answers me with a solemn nod and follows behind me.

  I close the door when she shuffles in, making sure it locks. No password will open the door from the outside once I punch in the right code.

  The comforting smell of motor oil and grease mingle with the scent of leather conditioner and tire cleaner.

  The sound of swift fists meeting flesh come from where the excitement takes place. Grunts echo while I rifle through a tool chest, searching for the right wrench. I pick up the cool metal and twirl it around, testing its weight. Once I have selected the one I want, I continue to cover the distance to where the action is.

  A mouthful of blood splatters across the cream soft top of a rare convertible. Martin curses and moves to wipe away the stain before it permanently sinks in.

  “Mae, I see you’ve been keeping him well fed while we were away,” I say with disdain.

  “It wouldn’t have been the same if you came home to a corpse. I wouldn’t have cheated you out of that right. Y’all make sure you wash the evidence away before you come back to the main house,” Mae spits as she spins around and leaves.

  For a second there, I thought she would take the wrench away from me and participate.

  Seth has his shirt off. The bullet hole in his chest is still red and angry. I look over to Brad, who watches Seth release his fury and retribution.

  “You next, boss?” he asks me.

  “I think I should go last,” I say and he nods his head in approval.

  The man spins with outstretched arms tied above his head to a hook with a drain directly underneath it. A dirty scab stands out across the side of his neck. The brunt of Harper’s cut went through muscle and not enough windpipe. His eyes are only slightly swollen as he spins with his feet unable to touch the ground.

  “We could always stretch this out. It’s not like he hasn’t been here for months,” Grayson mutters while checking the oil on his latest purchase.

  “I can’t have Harper stumbling across what we have hidden out here now that we’re back,” I admit.

  “Her name is Casey,” our tethered guest spits as Seth delivers a harsh punch to one of his kidneys.

  “I thought one of you would have cut his tongue out already,” I prompt the masses.

  “I still have a few questions for him,” Ryan leans off the stool he’s been resting on since I walked in. He was so quiet I didn’t hear him at first.

  “I don’t want anyone noticing our absence, so let’s get this show on the road.”

  “Sarah was right about you,” our victim insinuates.

  The mention of her has images of the last time I saw her with the necklace I gave Harper and foam on her lips.

  “Oh yeah,” I say stepping up to him. Seth stops him from spinning over the cement floor. “And what did she say about me?”

  “That you’re the most ruthless of us all,” he says through broken lips and eyes that see too much.

  I laugh because I can’t help it. I am a ruthless fucking bastard, but I’m in no league with this piece of work. Everyone here knew the truth. I’m the result of aggression and entitlement, but I’ve found refuge in the person this sick piece of shit tried to take from me.

  “That’s no secret at all,” I admit to a warehouse full of men I trust with my life and who won’t utter a word of this to a soul outside this room.

  “In fact, I have your obsession tied down in the main house and I plan on doing much worse than you can possibly imagine to her. She doesn’t scream when I touch her or flinch away from me. She might be Casey to you but she’s Harper to me and she’s absolutely mine.”

  His eyes glaze over and his jaw clenches tight. I tap the heavy wrench in my hands to the top of my shoulder. Harper’s presence in my life is enough. I don’t need to rage and destroy this man.

  “Lower him in the pit when you’ve had your fun,” I say as I step away from him.

  “I expected more from you, Evan,” he taunts.

  With my back turned to him, I catch sight of the chef’s knife in Jamie’s grip and I realize there are more than enough people here who want revenge. Jamie’s eyes never leave the man hanging down from the ceiling.

  “I have everything I ever wanted.”

  “You’ll never have the best part of her,” the Sculptor taunts.

  Without thought, the wrench in my grasp meets one of his knees with a harsh crush. The sound of shattering bone against metal makes some of us cringe, but not me.

  “That’s for my dog. If you ever get down from there you, you should have a nice limp just like Ru’.”

  Brad lets out a bark of laughter.

  “I should have brought him out here to have a go at him,” Brad teases.

  Ryan shifts uncomfortably while Tom savors a drink from his flask. He passes it to his partner and Ryan damn near drains it.

  “Even when I’m long gone, she’ll never forget me. I’ll still be able to touch her in her dreams. My memory alone will make her scream,” the Sculptor swears.

  “You’ll never be able to touch her again,” I promise. “Where are my manners? I should thank you for the sketches.”

  He stays quiet and shakes his head to the side. He should be wailing in pain, but the portrait across his back spells out how much he can endure.

  “You captured her with perfection,” I add.

  “And that was just before I fu…” he tries to speak before Grayson lands a swift right hook across his jaw, shutting him up. Jamie almost beat him to it.

  I offer the heavy wrench to Ryan and see the struggle cross over his features.

  “Take it. I would hurry up with whatever you want to ask him. I don’t think the boys will lower him in the pit still breathing,” I say as I look back over the scene, thinking that I should have let Harper take his life.

  “I think even Mae’s ready to feed him to her gator,” Brad laughs with dark humor.

  Tom salutes me with the metal flask that still holds enough liquor for him to take a long swig from.

  The sound of the Sculptor taking another hit to the face is the last thing I hear as I lock the garage up with passwords and secrets that will never leave its walls.

  Harper

  The truth of the Sculptor being a revered artist and the famous serial killer remains a secret. The frenzy it would cause among collectors isn’t something that needs to be public knowledge. The population’s fascination of him has gone on long enough.

  Long hours of therapy and hypnosis produced relieving results of digging up the Sculptor before what I remember in my apartment close to six years ago. I bury the child that I once knew and do my best to forget about the adult he became.

  Evan spent an unbelievable amount of money reclaiming the paintings of my past. The originals from my time with the Sculptor.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask Evan as he opens a container of lighter fluid and hands it to me.

  “I thought this was something you would want to do alone,” he admits.

  I smile at him and wrap my arms around his neck. When I pull away, I study the remnants of my past. Evan squirts the canvases with a spray of his own lighter fluid, granting me silent permission to set his money on fire.

  Evan lights the match and offers the seemingly innocent flame to me. His shimmering gaze urges me to continue. I toss the stick and watch in wonder when it catches those damned paintings on fire.

  He allows me to burn my past with tainted and tortured canvas shrinking and succumbing to raging flames.

  The paintings might have been perfection, but they had no right to exist in the first place. Evan empowers me to literally set a pile of cash on fire.

  The flames flicker and burn away the terrible reminders that I was once not my own. The very thing that created beauty destroyed it in the process.

  Evan uncorks a bottle of wine and we sip the vintage through dancing embers. Those pieces of my past turn to ash when the sun creeps up on the horizon.


  Evan wraps the blanket and his arms tight around me as I lean back against his chest in the bed of the beat up truck. My snoring bulldog hogs the space on the blanket at my feet.

  “I can’t believe we stayed up all night,” I mumble past a yawn.

  “It’s not the first time,” he reminds me and I grin even though he can’t see it.

  “I’ve never seen a sunrise with you,” I point out.

  “And I pray this won’t be our last,” he says before placing a kiss just below my ear.

  I feel Evan shift behind me and I feel bad because I just realized I’ve been leaning against him while watching the fire burn away. Ru’ grunts and falls back to sleep almost immediately when his soft eyes check to make sure I’m still here.

  “Harper,” Evan says and the tone of his voice licks up my spine and pushes all the tiredness out of my system. “Spend every sunrise and sunset with me for the rest of your life.”

  “You never have to ask, Evan.”

  “Let’s finally go to bed, gorgeous,” he whispers against my lips that won’t leave his skin.

  Evan

  The late summer has been stifling as the atmosphere churns with threatening winds. The warm water off the coast has been mixing with colder deeper waters farther away. The perfect concoction for a hurricane brews. The warnings issued for a week now.

  With everyone headed inland, it’s only Harper and me left at the plantation. Martin and Seth have already loaded up the boats and put them in storage. A busload of Mae and Brad’s family are on their way to extended family in Tennessee. They will both meet us at the airport. Harper, Rufus, and I will board the private plane tomorrow morning, meeting back up with everyone for a long stay on a vineyard in California. Until then, I weigh the ideas of what to do with what’s left of our night.

  The power flickers as shadows dance with lightning strikes casting harsh blasts of light through the windows. I turn off the backup generators.

  Of all the hours of therapy and treatment Harper and I have both endured, this is the only one I’ve second guessed. The only suggestion that’s given me pause.

  I walk up the stairs to find Harper. She’s in her studio with a paintbrush in hand as her arm strikes much like the lightning outside. The painting is almost complete as I watch her work. Music pounds throughout the room along with the sounds of what takes place outside.

  I lean against the door as I take her in. The painting is better than any she has created in the past. The whipping branches on the ancient oaks dance violently with the wind, both on canvas and right outside the windows. However she managed to capture the stark contrast between light and dark and everything between blows my mind.

  “I know you’re watching me,” she says as she steps away from the easel and walks to the sink.

  Rufus growls from under the painting and swiftly goes back to sleep when he recognizes me.

  “Are you finished?” I ask.

  “Yes. I happen to be proud of this one, so please don’t destroy it,” she smirks as she attends to her supplies.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I promise.

  “Thanks for not locking the shutters up. I’ll help you secure them in the morning,” she murmurs.

  When she turns her back on me again, I leave to retrieve the mask my therapist suggested I put on.

  As I make my way downstairs, the power flickers off and stays that way.

  Harper

  The plantation takes on a whole new feeling when it’s completely empty. My first attempt to paint since we’ve been back from our extended holiday of healing and moving forward is a success. I want to get a piece finished before we lock up the estate in the morning.

  When Evan suggested we spend another night out here alone, I tried my hardest to contain my excitement. Maybe all the extensive therapy has made me a little too brave. Instead of being scared of the approaching storm, I watch in fascination as I secure its presence on the property in still life magic. As the wind howls, it fuels my need to capture and create.

  I hear Ru’ grumble from under the easel long before I acknowledge Evan leaning against the doorframe.

  “I know you’re watching me,” I say with my attention still on the painting.

  I’m almost done. The feeling of accomplishment washes over me as I sign in bright white my signature sweeping ‘H.’ I instantly envision the one caressing Evan’s massive shoulder and I suddenly have an entirely different need to conquer and sate.

  I murmur something about dinner and wine when I turn my attention back to the door. Evan’s no longer there. I walk out to the hall and look both directions, he’s nowhere in sight. I feel the smile creep up on my face.

  I lock Rufus in the studio snuggled up on one of the many ‘Roux’ embroidered beds Mae and Martin have scattered all over the home.

  The power shuts off completely when I move to our bedroom. Several of the windows on the balcony are open and the warm breeze whips the lighter materials of the curtains around. Billowing fabric flutters in the massive room when I make up my mind and my decision to claim this certain part of myself.

  In the closet, I move the flashlight on my phone over the collection of lingerie and take all the time in the world to pick the perfect ensemble.

  If I can pour my heart out through painting, I damn sure can reveal my desires to the one whom my soul loves.

  The feel of French lace moves like a second skin when I secure the black corset. The sheer black fabric covering my tits doesn’t cover them at all and matches the barely-there thong that leaves nothing to the imagination. The thigh highs clip on the stays attached to the garter belt.

  I forego shoes altogether and let my long hair down out of the topknot I secured to keep paint splatter off my strands.

  The hall has an eery sort of heaviness that weighs in the silence. I smile when I hear Ru’s snores from the other side of the door to my studio.

  My heart pounds fiercely when I walk every single step down the massive staircase.

  Stop looking over your shoulder, I tell myself. There’s nothing left to get you, I continue the mental affirmations that help push bubbling fear aside.

  I’m in the dark kitchen with a bottle of champagne. The pop of the cork pulled from the bottle makes me jump and I curse myself and my nerves. Effervescent bubbles tickle across my tongue and quench my thirst. I fill my glass and take another sip before I start back in search of what I really crave with cup in hand.

  The hardwood is cool under my stocking covered feet. Imposing antiques and massive paintings become something other than what they are during daylight hours. The lack of light on the bottom floor make the shadows more foreboding, more promising.

  There’s nothing that lurks, I tell myself as I move through the dark. Curtains pulled back from windows interweave bolts of lightning and depth. They sweep over the floors and walls in the same manner my brush sweeps over canvas.

  I take another sip of bubbly as I run my fingers over the wall and trail my steps quietly toward the main ballroom. My imagination swirls with possibilities and outcomes.

  “Harper,” a heated whisper sounds off from behind me.

  I almost moan from the deep timber that echoes down the hall and licks up my spine like a sinful awakening.

  “Run.”

  I stay frozen in place and lift the fluted glass to my lips. My moan that escapes is drowned out by the howling wind whipping around the manor like an obstruction.

  The click of deliberate footsteps sound from behind me and fuels the tempo of my pulse. I take a deep breath as he approaches and set my glass down on a nearby console table. When fingers reach and lift strands of hair that trail down my back, I take off.

  My feet whisper over rugs and shadows and trample over fear.

  A deep laugh reverberates down the hall as I quicken my steps. I weave through hallways and dodge into rooms when his footsteps sound too close. Heavy minutes pass as I catch my breath and listen close.

  A hand moves over my mo
uth and I scream.

  “That’s right, scream gorgeous,” Evan says against my hair.

  I wiggle against his chest as he captures me and holds me tight. His erection is hard at my back. My thighs have been slick since the first whisper of my haunted name.

  “Do you want to play, little one?”

  “I thought that’s what we were doing,” I say breathlessly.

  “Do you remember your safe word?”

  “How could I forget it?” I ask coyly.

  I shriek when he hauls me up over his shoulder. His warm palm hooks around the back of my thigh just below the seam of my thong. I start to reach for his shirt to untuck it from his pants when I notice the object hanging out of his back pocket. A paddle made of wood with a handle as stiff as Evan’s body moves with his fast pace.

  When Evan unlocks the front door, a shiver rakes down my spine. The wind is a force to be reckoned with. It rushes over my soaked entrance and Evan notices. His fingertip moves over the damp material. His growl of approval mixes with the raging atmosphere.

  He sets me down on my feet. When I look up to his face, I take a step back. He wears the mask that haunts my dreams. His emerald eyes shine bright from behind the obstruction. It’s the only dream I haven’t gotten past.

  I rip it off his face in a frenzied yank and declaration that it no longer matters. I love the man behind whatever mask he wears. The offensive symbol of hidden lies skates away from us with the flick of my wrist and a harsh gust of wind.

  I reach for him. His shirt comes away as I destroy. His trousers don’t have a chance against my onslaught.

  My heart batters my ribcage and takes off with a roar of thunder and Evan’s heated gaze. I feed off the energy in the atmosphere. I touch Evan openly. He holds his arms out in a gesture for me to do whatever I want. He’s opening up to me and I don’t know where to start.

  I gasp when I don’t recognize my own actions or the hand that cradles my head against his chest. Gentle fingers urge me on as I lick and bite and savor the taste of Evan’s skin and the scent that never leaves him. I raise up on my tiptoes and relish the feel of his rippling muscles under my tongue. I keep going, needing, searching, wanting more.