The Painter's Passion

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  “I don’t care,” he replied gruffly. And he didn’t. It was just one more thing that should show his friends why he didn’t deserve their friendship.

  “I do,” she returned firmly. “More importantly, don’t think that you are leaving here without telling me what’s wrong with you.”

  He glared at her.

  “Nothing,” he replied grimly.

  “Is it Ana?” She didn’t even give him time to answer before continuing with, “Of course it is. What happened?”

  “I was an ass.”

  Tash rolled her eyes. “I hate to say it, hun, but you’re like that with everyone… since when has it bothered you?”

  “Since her.” It was a harsh whisper.

  Tash met his stare firmly, taking his words in stride.

  “So then apologize,” she said simply with a small shrug. “I know it’s not usually your style, but it seems like nothing about this situation is.”

  Pierce was grateful that she wasn’t making a big deal over how different… how important… he’d implied that Ana was to him. The problem was he didn’t know if an apology would be good enough. Or if it was enough this time, what about the next?

  The fact was, he would never be enough for her; there was too much of him that was missing.

  “Thanks,” he said gruffly with a nod and then continued on his path to the studio; there was nothing more Tash could say and there was nothing more that he was willing to admit to right now to anyone other than himself.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  More than usual, that was.

  He was angry at himself for how he had treated her, but opening up that door to see her standing there with Mr. Perfect Tony made him murderous. His jealousy was further exacerbated by the fact that he’d never been fucking jealous before.

  He shouldn’t be having these feelings.

  Christ, until now, he didn’t think he was capable of feeling anything.

  Pierce stripped down, putting on only his crap pair of sweats that he used to paint in and sat down at his easel, uncovering the canvas of Ana’s face that had been hidden last night so that she wouldn’t see just how preoccupied he’d been with her.

  Last night, for the first time, he’d actually gotten a relatively good night’s sleep on that damn couch and he knew it was because of her. All night he’d thought about those perfect lips of hers on him… around him… pulling him towards that fucking incredible release.

  He groaned, washing his brushes in the turpenoid before uncovering his paint palette.

  Immediately, his brush went into the red and pink oils, mixing them and dabbing the result onto the canvas – and onto Ana’s lips.

  Lips that he craved to taste again; lips that only seemed to frown at him, but found a smile for Tony.

  He scowled at the delicate strength of the face in front of him.

  The thing about oil paints is that they take a few days to completely dry, which was a good thing for him right now because every time he saw her, he saw more. Which meant that every night he slaved away trying to alter and add those nuances into the painting. For example, he’d made her eyes golden earlier, like they’d been last night after she’d sucked every last ounce of pleasure from him. Only right now, he felt like he needed to change them to the mossy green that had just been staring painfully at him.

  Fuck.

  It was his own damn fault really. He should have let her leave last night right after they ate. Actually, if he were any sort of gentleman, he would have just told her what she wanted to know down in the kitchen and left her alone. And then, this whole morning would have been avoided. His scar burned – more than this morning would have been avoided.

  What had he been thinking?

  Sharing what he had with her last night about the counseling and almost dying. Hell, if she’d asked him again, he would have told her about the knife that had almost fileted him while his mom watched; he would have told her something that he hadn’t told anyone in almost twenty-five years. And his story only got worse from there.

  The paintbrush snapped in his hand.

  “Fuck.” He tossed it on the ground and ripped off a paper towel from the roll next to him, wiping the paint off of his hands.

  That had been a mistake. And now he was paying for it with the memories that resurfaced, reminding him of every reason that she was far too good for him. Reality began to creep over the strength of his desire for her, dousing his delusion of a world where she would want to be with him.

  Pulling out a new brush, he began to mix some burnt umber and yellow ochre together for her hair.

  He was in so fucking deep.

  He wanted her with a strength of desire that he hadn’t known was possible – especially after last night.

  And he shouldn’t.

  And that’s why he’d planned on keeping his distance, letting whatever was between them just fizzle out until this whole stolen painting business was over. Until he saw her with Tony and a streak of possessiveness that he hadn’t known he possessed engulfed him and it had taken every ounce of strength for him to not rip the guy’s head off and then toss Ana over his shoulder and lock her up here until there was no question as to who she belonged to.

  His head dropped back and he laughed. As if she could belong to someone.

  The infuriating irony was that he felt like he belonged to her; his desire, his body, and all the emotions that he swore he didn’t have… they all came alive for her.

  And then he had to go and pull a classic ‘Pierce’ move; he had to go and be a complete ass, only this time it wasn’t on purpose to try and push someone away to keep their feelings for him at bay. This time, it was unintentional and he had pushed away the only person whom he’d ever wanted to let closer.

  Fuck.

  Wanting her… and wanting to protect her from himself… Those two sides were tearing him apart inside and he still wasn’t sure which one was going to win.

  The only thing that he was sure of was that Tash was right; he needed to apologize for being such an asshole and for the things that he said. But it was going to wait until tomorrow and it was going to happen in a completely neutral, safe, and communal space, like the kitchen; he wasn’t taking any chances.

  Pierce dropped his brush into the large cup of cleaner, hearing his phone buzzing on the small end table behind him.

  Loury.

  “Yes?” He wasn’t going to bother with pleasantries. His ‘friend’ no longer deserved them for what he’d done.

  “Is that how it’s going to be?” The other man perceived the edge in his tone.

  “What do you want?” The fact was that he no longer trusted Loury, not that he should have in the first place all those years ago, but he’d be damned if he made that mistake again. Especially when the painting was still missing.

  “Did you get your tickets?”

  “Yes, why?” There was no way that Loury had called just to babysit him.

  “I just wanted to make sure that our deal was still on.” Liar.

  “Bullshit,” he returned. “Why are you calling?”

  Silence. And then, “I have it on good authority that a representative of the man that the painting was stolen for is going to be there.”

  “Is that going to be a problem?”

  Loury laughed. “Yes, for you and me if he gets his hands on the little bitch first; you won’t get your painting and my opportunity to advance my business goes down the tubes.”

  Pierce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right. I’ll handle it.”

  “You better.” Pause. “And Pierce… the men that are here looking for the same things that we are, they aren’t like you. They are like me and they will do whatever is necessary to get what they want.”

  “What are you trying to say?” he ground out.

  “That if I were you, I would make sure your guests are armed just in case.” Click.

  Pierce gripped his phone painfully in his hand. Fuck. He’d told Ana and Tash th
at this wasn’t going to be dangerous, but now all of that went out the window.

  He took a deep breath. Tony and Gino would be carrying; they were going as security, but he would make sure.

  He knew that if Loury was calling him it wasn’t good – that’s not how these types of business arrangements worked. And as soon as Loury had said that members of this drug ring were going to be there, his body had gone cold.

  He didn’t need to be told that they would do anything to get their money back – or to make an example of someone. He knew that firsthand – and not from what happened with Tash.

  Again, ugly memories ripped through his mind.

  This was why he never got involved with drugs. He’d lived in that world for eleven years and it had almost cost him his life.

  Sanchez had almost cost him his life.

  Not Julian, but the father. Which is why he knew that Sloane was right when he had suggested that they should take Tash out of the country. In that world, if they were after you, it was hard to find a place that they wouldn’t look.

  Old man Sanchez had died years ago and Pierce had no idea that he had kids or that they were running the show now until he’d heard Tash’s story. But that was Sloane’s problem right now.

  Right now, he just needed to get this goddamn painting back.

  Ana paced back and forth in her room.

  This was becoming a habit – the slipping up to his room once the world was asleep.

  It seemed stupid to think about, but there was just something different when she saw him this way. When she left her room, it was like she was leaving her reality – the world where she felt like damaged goods. She left her room and went upstairs towards a world that seemed more like a dream – a passionate, forbidden dream. Until Pierce, she’d never been able to escape that damaged feeling, no matter who desired her – even Tony.

  Feeling beautiful had been forbidden.

  Until Pierce.

  She’d always been the good girl; she’d watched her friends and classmates in college sneaking around and partying at night – giving in to whatever they desired – and never understood the need because she’d been with Shane at the time; she’d been making every right decision. Now, she wanted to make the wrong ones, the ones that felt good, the ones that she might regret in the morning, but regret was a lot more palatable than what Shane and all those ‘right decisions’ had left her with.

  So, she waited just another minute before heading up to Pierce’s room; they needed to talk about earlier. In private. There was no way that she was discussing what happened between them last night just anywhere where anyone might overhear.

  More than that, she wanted to see him. She wanted him to know that there wasn’t going to be anything between her and Tony – at least at this point in her life. And a part of her wanted to apologize for her choices this morning and what they’d implied. Maybe it wasn’t wrong for her to go with Tony to lunch, but whatever was happening with Pierce was more important and made her feel better than stubbornly sticking to her pride.

  Quietly closing her door behind her, she tiptoed up the stairs, peering down the hallway to make sure Morgan’s door was shut.

  Stopping in front of Pierce’s door, she lightly tapped her knuckles on the wood, a thrill running up her spine.

  No one had ever told her that being naughty could feel so delicious.

  She enjoyed the warmth that spread over her, anticipating what was going to happen behind this door.

  No response.

  Ana bit her lip, putting her ear up to the door in a fruitless attempt to see if she could hear anything from inside of his room.

  Nothing.

  She hadn’t heard him or seen him leave earlier. In fact, she’d thought she’d heard him and Morgan talking in the hall when she’d gone up to her room to call it a night. He had to be in there.

  Could he be ignoring her?

  The warmth that had previously run rampant through her cells was now doused with embarrassment and disappointment. Her hand had been raised to knock again, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Her fingers came to rest on the door for a split second before her hand fell to her side and she turned and fled.

  Maybe he wasn’t there. Or maybe she hadn’t knocked loud enough.

  Either way, it had been a foolish idea to come up here; she told herself that she was glad that he hadn’t come to the door. She wasn’t acting rationally, and now she was forced to confront that.

  Being rational was what she needed – not to act impulsively on her desires.

  As she climbed into bed with her flannel pajamas, Ana repeated that over and over again in her mind, ignoring the tears that leaked down onto her pillow.

  Chapter 17

  This was a bad fucking idea.

  He stood outside Ana’s door, fighting with himself whether he should be there. He’d stood frozen in the doorway to his studio hearing her soft knock on his door, no doubt as to who it was that was on the other side. He’d gripped the doorframe, forcing himself to remain still.

  He couldn’t – shouldn’t – see her right now; he wanted her too badly.

  When he saw the shadow move away from the door, he’d let out the breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His entire body was vibrating with the need to yank open the door and pull her back inside. But he remained where he stood.

  And he’d been so close to sticking to his decision.

  Until he’d turned and saw her portrait and suddenly the only thing that he could see in the expression that he’d captured was her need to be desired.

  Her need to be desired by him.

  And that had broken him. He didn’t even bother with a shirt; slipping out of his room in sweats, he glanced guiltily over at Morgan’s door just as he took the stairs down to the floor below.

  Fuck it. Fuck Morgan. Fuck being a gentleman. Fuck all the warnings.

  He’d worry about the morning in the morning.

  Pierce didn’t even bother to test the doorknob to her room before he turned it and walked inside.

  The sweet smell of her space overwhelmed him. It was the same rosewater scent that he’d smelled on her earlier. Even though it was subtle, it managed to heighten the senses of every cell in his body.

  Her room was different that his. The sitting room wasn’t separate here; instead there were couches immediately off to the right when he walked inside. The bedroom was set back further through an open entryway.

  The room was dark, but the windows on either side of the bed let the moonlight filter in, partially illuminating that half of the room with a milky, pale white light.

  Ana was already in bed, but she sat up with a start, clutching the sheet to her chest. In spite of the shadows, he could see clearly as her eyes widened with fear and shock for a moment until she realized that it was him.

  He quietly shut the door behind him, his eyes never leaving her enigmatic hazel gaze.

  Fuck, she looked so beautiful. Her golden waves messy around her face, her delectable mouth parted with surprise, her face slightly flushed as her breath came in and out in short bursts. Even though she was holding the sheet in front of her, he could see that she was sleeping fully clothed in that fabulous flannel of hers.

  Tristan would have a field day to know just how fucking enticed he was by flannel and sweaters nowadays.

  “What are you doing here?” she half-whispered as he prowled closer to the bed, his desire only partially eclipsed by the fact that she was on the one piece of furniture where he couldn’t get to her.

  Just like earlier when he’d seen her with Tony, when he’d heard that they’d been out to lunch, he felt like she was trapped just beyond his reach. Again, jealousy reared its dark head, this time demanding answers.

  “What is going on between you and Tony?” he said softly, only a slight edge to his tone. He tried his best to not let the words come out with the angry possessiveness with which he’d felt them.

  “Pierce, I wanted to apolog
ize to you,” she began.

  Whatever was inside of his chest stopped hammering. She was going to tell him that she was sorry about what happened between them, that she and Tony were an item, that he was right – he wasn’t good enough for her.

  “I shouldn’t have gone with him to lunch.” What?

  He stared in disbelief, wondering if he were imagining her words.

  Ana shook her head. “I wasn’t thinking. He’d asked me the other day after our group meeting, but it was a mistake and not just because of what happened last night; it was a mistake because there is nothing between him and me and it’s unfair of me to do anything that would lead him to believe that there was.” She bit on that beautiful lower lip. “So, I’m sorry.”

  Thank God.

  His jaw clenched; he shouldn’t be as happy as he was to hear that.

  “I forgive you,” he said.

  Her eyes widened and she blinked up at him several times. “Wait… What… I don’t… I mean…” She stammered. “It can’t be that easy.”

  “Why not?” As interested as he was in her answer, he was more interested in watching those sweet lips of hers move as she spoke.

  “Because you are you; nothing with you is that easy.” Her eyes narrowed on his suspiciously.

  God, Morgan was going to kill him for this.

  “Some things with me are,” he drawled, smiling briefly at her. “But, you are right, of course, Princess.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “You are right, it’s not quite that easy. I will forgive you on one condition.” His tone deepened even farther. “I will forgive you in exchange for a kiss.”

  Even in the shadows, he could see the blush that stole over her face, knowing what one kiss always led to, and the desire that deepened the golden-green of her eyes.

  And then that fiery streak of hers reappeared. “Just because I apologized for my actions, doesn’t mean that I want to give you a kiss right now.” Her defiant gaze held his before dropping to her hands that rested in her lap.

  “I wasn’t talking about a kiss on those lips, sweetheart. Although they are delicious, I had something a little more honeyed in mind.” His dark eyes glinted with pleasurable promise. Even though she blushed so damn enticingly, she didn’t respond and he knew why; it was the reason he had come down here in the first place. “Ana, I’m sorry about earlier. For the things that I said,” he said gruffly, her eyes immediately returning to his. “Fuck.”