beautiful sunrise, full of pinks and purples and an uplifting, hopeful feeling. It was the feeling he had when he looked at her. “We’ll get it varnished,” he said. “Nothing will happen to it.”
She shook her head. “Something to remember me by? Something to remind you not to make mistakes like that again?” She blinked, and he saw angry tears welling in her eyes. He started toward her, but she put up a hand, a clear warning to stay back. “Fine. I guess let me know when it’s finished.” She turned and started walking away.
Go get her. Run after her. Do something!
But he just stood there, sagging, holding the beautiful evidence of her talent and goodness. “I’ll take care of this, Mara. I promise.”
She gave him a sad nod over her shoulder and then kept walking. He looked down at the painting he was holding. He could never make something so wonderful.
But he could protect it.
He made plans as he walked slowly back to his room.
9
M ara buried herself in her painting for the next few days while she waited for Scott to come to terms with everything that had happened.
When he’d called her out to talk, she’d hoped he’d resolved some of his feelings. But no, he was still hiding from her, still bent on revenge and protection and making it so she could leave.
She guessed he was probably going to solve this so he could let her go back to New York without having to worry about her. After all, if he didn’t love her, what was the point of keeping her around?
But it was weird because when she’d looked up into his eyes on the night he mated her, she could have sworn she saw love there.
She wiped her brush and sighed. She missed him.
But she’d given him ample time to say he’d cared, to correct her when she’d said he didn’t want her, and he’d said nothing. Done nothing. He just wanted her painting. He just wanted to solve her problems and absolve himself of guilt.
When he’d come to the balcony where she’d been talking to Leah, she’d seen it in his face, in his broken but stubborn posture. He was trying to be a good man. She knew she should just appreciate that.
She knew he could give more. But if he wasn’t willing to try, she couldn’t spend her life dragging him along with her, begging for crumbs of emotional intimacy and hoping he could deliver.
She looked around the room. Multiple paintings were propped up, drying.
She thought of the one she’d given him. It had been special to her because it made her think of their mating and the new start it had given her. But after he’d basically admitted to not caring for her, she didn’t want it. She didn’t want to look and remember how much hope and feeling had been in her as she painted it, even after the confusing prior day.
She hoped it tortured him, reminded him of what he lost, so even after he sent her back to New York with no stalker, he felt a loss in his life. Because she would always feel him. She would miss his workaholism and his stubborn insistence on taking control. And the way he was a whirlwind in the bedroom, the only man to seduce with just a look.
Damn, she wished she could have one last time with him. But she dreaded him showing up to tell her it was all finished. She trusted him implicitly to deal with the stalker. When he’d said she’d be safe, she hadn’t doubted him. He was her mate, and she trusted him to get things done in general. But would it be enough to spend a lifetime with a capable mate, even if they didn’t feel anything for you?
A knock on the door made her jump, and she listened, not going to open it. She never opened it without someone announcing themselves, just in case.
“It’s Scott. Can I come in?” he asked.
She sighed and walked to the door, heart hammering in her chest. What would he say? She opened the door to see him there in a suit. It was open, the tie loose and the collar open. She saw a scratch on his face and a splatter of what looked like blood on his chest.
“I
She shook her head. “Something to remember me by? Something to remind you not to make mistakes like that again?” She blinked, and he saw angry tears welling in her eyes. He started toward her, but she put up a hand, a clear warning to stay back. “Fine. I guess let me know when it’s finished.” She turned and started walking away.
Go get her. Run after her. Do something!
But he just stood there, sagging, holding the beautiful evidence of her talent and goodness. “I’ll take care of this, Mara. I promise.”
She gave him a sad nod over her shoulder and then kept walking. He looked down at the painting he was holding. He could never make something so wonderful.
But he could protect it.
He made plans as he walked slowly back to his room.
9
M ara buried herself in her painting for the next few days while she waited for Scott to come to terms with everything that had happened.
When he’d called her out to talk, she’d hoped he’d resolved some of his feelings. But no, he was still hiding from her, still bent on revenge and protection and making it so she could leave.
She guessed he was probably going to solve this so he could let her go back to New York without having to worry about her. After all, if he didn’t love her, what was the point of keeping her around?
But it was weird because when she’d looked up into his eyes on the night he mated her, she could have sworn she saw love there.
She wiped her brush and sighed. She missed him.
But she’d given him ample time to say he’d cared, to correct her when she’d said he didn’t want her, and he’d said nothing. Done nothing. He just wanted her painting. He just wanted to solve her problems and absolve himself of guilt.
When he’d come to the balcony where she’d been talking to Leah, she’d seen it in his face, in his broken but stubborn posture. He was trying to be a good man. She knew she should just appreciate that.
She knew he could give more. But if he wasn’t willing to try, she couldn’t spend her life dragging him along with her, begging for crumbs of emotional intimacy and hoping he could deliver.
She looked around the room. Multiple paintings were propped up, drying.
She thought of the one she’d given him. It had been special to her because it made her think of their mating and the new start it had given her. But after he’d basically admitted to not caring for her, she didn’t want it. She didn’t want to look and remember how much hope and feeling had been in her as she painted it, even after the confusing prior day.
She hoped it tortured him, reminded him of what he lost, so even after he sent her back to New York with no stalker, he felt a loss in his life. Because she would always feel him. She would miss his workaholism and his stubborn insistence on taking control. And the way he was a whirlwind in the bedroom, the only man to seduce with just a look.
Damn, she wished she could have one last time with him. But she dreaded him showing up to tell her it was all finished. She trusted him implicitly to deal with the stalker. When he’d said she’d be safe, she hadn’t doubted him. He was her mate, and she trusted him to get things done in general. But would it be enough to spend a lifetime with a capable mate, even if they didn’t feel anything for you?
A knock on the door made her jump, and she listened, not going to open it. She never opened it without someone announcing themselves, just in case.
“It’s Scott. Can I come in?” he asked.
She sighed and walked to the door, heart hammering in her chest. What would he say? She opened the door to see him there in a suit. It was open, the tie loose and the collar open. She saw a scratch on his face and a splatter of what looked like blood on his chest.
“I
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