Page 57 of Beg for You

My stomach tightened. I thought he might even be worth the risk of throwing my world into chaos over. In fact, I knew he was worth it. I just didn’t know if he felt the same way about me.

His eyes burned into mine. “I shouldn’t. Jesus, Cassy, I should let you walk out of here and stay the hell away from you, but I’m not sure I can do that.”

I blinked up at him. “Why? What’s…what’s going on?”

He stood abruptly and paced to the other side of the room and back, and when he turned to me his gaze moved over me, slow, intense.

I lifted to my elbows.

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he rasped. “Perfect.”

He said that a lot, and the tone of his voice was strange. “I’m not perfect.”

“Where you come from”—he shook his head—“we couldn’t be more different. You know that as well as I do…and you don’t know me, not really. I need to tell you—”

Someone banged on the door. “Cal, you in there?” Dane called through the door.

Cal cursed. “What?”

“Your nine o’clock’s here,” Dane said.

Cal’s hands went to his hips, his eyes aimed at the floor, and I could see his chest was rising and falling rapidly. He didn’t just look troubled anymore, he looked frustrated, worried…angry. Guilty.

“Cal?” Dane called again.

“Yeah,” Cal barked. “I’m coming.” His head lifted, stare locking on me. “I need to go.”

I nodded, not sure what had gotten into him or what to say.

His eyes stayed on me for several long seconds then he strode out, quietly shutting the door behind him.

What on earth was going on?

There was no way I could just sit around his apartment or in his bed all morning, not with the way my belly was churning. So I shoved the covers back and climbed to my feet, wincing a little when muscles I’d never used before ached. I pulled my clothes on, ignoring my torn bra, and was about to leave when my gaze moved to the paintings against the wall again. The beauty and emotion, the anger in every brushstroke blew me away. Drew me.

I walked over, unable to help myself, and started looking through them, drawn in by Cal’s incredible talent and the way his work made me feel. I glanced at his easel covered with a cloth. I couldn’t resist it.

Lifting the cover carefully, I peeked underneath and my breath stuck in my throat.

It was me on his bed.

The painting I’d posed for. It looked like it was almost done.

And it was…

Stunning.

It somehow captured me, not just physically but where I was in my life. God, how I was feeling. My emotions radiated from the canvas. I traced the lines of my body, the way I was draped across Cal’s bed. The light streaming through the window of his apartment surrounded me, and my skin had a soft glow to it. The bed sheets were rumpled, dark. The background was also in darker, moodier tones.

Light surrounded by dark.

He’d told me I was beautiful…perfect, many times. He’d also called me untouchable.

The way Cal saw me was all here, and it made my heart ache.

My gaze moved over the half-finished tattoo on my back. To me, that ink represented wings. I was half out of my cocoon, nearly free, about to fly, but there was something holding me back, trying to take it all away from me.

My hand started to shake, and I quickly covered the painting again.