The raw beauty of her work takes my breath away. I take in the white squiggles that are supposed to be seagulls flying high over the abandoned castle, the pieces of rock that are falling from the castle rampart. I feel such a sense of loss I want to reach out and touch the wet paint, but I don’t. I’m careful to keep my expression neutral and totally veiled, as I drink in her creation. Seconds pass. The air is so quiet I can hear her heart hammering fast and loud in her chest.
I tear my gaze away from the painting and turn to her. “I want it.”
Her eyes widen with astonishment. “What?”
“I’d like to buy your painting.”
She shakes her head. “It’s… it’s not for sale.”
“I’ll give you one hundred thousand for it.”
This time her jaw drops with disbelief. “What?”
“Or… name your price.”
The shock is replaced by white hot temper. It makes her eyes turn a luminous green. The gold flecks become sparks of bright light. Entranced by her wild beauty, I wait for her passionate outburst eagerly, but she takes a shuddering breath and takes control of herself. I bought the most expensive item in the shop, after all.
“How do I explain this? The paintings for sale are all out on the floor. This piece is not even finished.”
I take my wallet out of my coat pocket, count out ten bills, and put it on the old wooden bench. “Here’s a thousand. The rest when you finish it.”
I can see she is hopelessly poor and cannot help being drawn to the money, but her throat moves as she swallows hard, and stops herself from saying something rude.
“The painting is not for sale,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Then take it as the deposit if you change your mind.”
Her eyes flash. “I won’t change my mind.”
I smile slowly. “Keep it, anyway.”
She folds her hands in front of her body defiantly. “Why would I want to keep your money?”
“Consider it a tip for fabulous service rendered,” I murmur.
She inhales sharply. Even in her great anger she cannot fail to pick up on the sexual tension.
“Tell Larry, Rocco Rossetti called. And don’t forget to lock the front door.” Then I turn and walk away from her. There is a small smile on my face. You will be mine, Autumn DeLaney. Nothing and no one, not even you, will stop me.
Chapter 3
Autumn
I watch his back disappear into the gloom of the shop, then I hear the sound of the rusty bells twinkle as he pulls the door open. Then the door shuts quietly. Only then, can I jerk out of the trancelike state I am in. I run to the door and lock it. Then I lean my back against it and take deep gasping breaths.
What on earth is the matter with me?
The attraction is not mental. I feel hot and bothered and there is a strange fluttering in my stomach. I place my hand on my belly as I feel the wetness seeping out of me. I cannot believe the visceral reaction my body is displaying. My whole body is craving him. I stand there in the darkness, leaning against the door, breathing in and out until my body calms down.
Then I pull away from the door and walk back to the small back room. I feel strangely restless. Frowning, I pace the floor like a caged animal. Back and forth. Back and forth. I am aware something has happened to me, but I don’t know what it is. All I know is I was a different person before the stranger walked into this shop.
I glance at the money lying on the ledge. Then I walk up to it. I pick up one bill and sniff it. The scent of new leather fills my nostrils. Then underneath it, another scent floats up… him. Instantly, my heart starts racing. Who is he? Why does my body react to him in this way? I jerk the money away from me and put it back on the pile. I move away from it as if it is tainted or dangerous.
I turn away, walk to my painting, and look at it with new eyes. Yes, it’s good. I know that, but it’s not worth one hundred thousand dollars. Only a fool would pay that much for an unfinished work by a totally unknown artist, and there is no way in hell he is a fool. I clasp my hands tightly together.
What does he want with me?
Who are you, Rocco Rosetti?
I am no longer able to paint so I clean up the mess and put everything back into its place. Then I switch off the lights, lock up, and go out through the back door. I get on the purple bargain bicycle that I found on Craig’s List for thirty five dollars, and ride through the silent town of Hunter’s Cross to the trailer park where I live. My caravan faces a field that backs up to the woods. Almost all the caravans are in darkness, except for Mirabella’s.