Royce’s intense features softened slightly. “He told you about that?” With slow steps, he reached the painting and studied it. One of his hands raised as though to touch the lantern but he stopped a mere inch from the canvas. His brown eyes were dark, like burnt umber.
“He said you were talented, but this…you’ve painted our souls.” Royce finally turned his gaze toward her.
“Really?” The idea that she’d touched him that deeply, and that Wes would have such faith in her talent to tell one of his closest friends, made her light-headed and excited.
“Yes.”
A collection of emotions fluttered through her like a rush of doves from a tree.
Royce slid his hands back into his pockets and gazed at the painting. This hardened seducer, a dom, a professor, instantly transformed. The boy from the photographs Bradley had collected for her to study shone through. But it wasn’t the innocent child she glimpsed now. It was a boy ravaged with horror and tragedy. Even knowing Fenn was alive hadn’t erased the monstrous taint of twenty-five years of believing he’d been murdered. Only time could ease such a deep wound. It lingered, like shadows late in the fall.
“Do you think Wes will like it?” Callie asked. Her hands clenched in her lap as she waited with bated breath for Royce’s reply.
The man stepped back and shook his head, as though waking from a dark dream.
“I think he won’t like it, but he will see it for what it is, a beautiful tragedy. A work of genius done by the woman he loves.”
“Loves?” Callie barely got the one word out.
The sadness in Royce’s eyes faded.
“He beat the shit out of Fenn over you. Wes doesn’t lose control, not like that, not unless his heart is involved. He always keeps his cool, stays distant. But with you, he’s broken every one of his rules. Trust me, I know him better than he knows himself. He loves you.”
He loves you. The words settled so deep into her heart that she knew that hope would grow from those words. If only it were true that Wes loved her, because in that moment, sitting on her stool, having painted one of Wes’s tragic secrets, she realized she loved him.
No. I can’t love him. I swore never to fall for another man again. But she had fallen, so slowly, so softly, she’d never seen it coming. Like rolling down a gentle sloping hill covered in wild flowers. She’d been distracted by the beauty, the scent, the colors, the wonder of the rolling sensation and never realized that she had been falling.
She loved Wes. Not in the way she loved Fenn. The two emotions were worlds apart. How had she ever thought she’d been in love with Fenn? Sure, she loved him, but she hadn’t been in love. The vast difference was startling. Wes had been so right about love, even though he’d never been in love himself. He said she’d learn the difference someday. It had just come sooner than she’d expected.
Royce chuckled. “You think he isn’t in love with you? Fine. How about a little wager, cowgirl?”
She couldn’t help but laugh. What was it with these billionaires and their wagers? First Wes, now Royce? “Only if you stop calling me that. What kind of wager?”
“Whether Wes loves you or not.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall close to her.
“You want to bet on something like that?” She hopped off the stool and turned away from Royce to quickly clean her brushes in a water-filled jar.
“Honey, I’m the king of bets. So, are you in?”
When she turned back around, she noticed he was eyeing her ass.
“Ahem,” she said, coughing pointedly. “Do you want Wes to punch you, too?”
He continued to appraise her body with open appreciation for a moment longer than he should have before his eyes met hers.
“So, honey, what will it be?”
Callie raised a brow, a habit she was inheriting from Wes, but she grinned, too.
“What sort of wager? Because I think I’ll win.” There was no way Wes was in love with her, and while that made her smile a little bitter, she would enjoy putting this playboy professor in his place.
“Your painting.” He inclined his head toward The Lantern’s Glow. “If Wes isn’t in love with you, I get the painting. If he is, you give the painting to Wes.”
“But I thought you thought he loved me. Wouldn’t you want a bet that favors your opinion if you want the painting?”
Royce, the devil, only laughed. “That’s the point of bets. They’re more fun when you have something to lose.”
“Okay. Deal then.” She held out a hand and Royce, rather than shake it, raised it to his lips. He winked at her, and then headed for the door. He paused and turned back, tossing something at her.
She caught the small metallic object in her hand. It was a silver key.
“What’s this?”
“Belongs to Wes’s black room. The door is behind the Seine River painting in the hall by the kitchen. You should check it out, when he’s not around, of course.” Royce grinned and waved before he left.
Callie stared at the key, then curled her fingers around it. A black room? What the heck was that? Knowing that Royce had suggested she check the room out gave her pause. He was trouble, and from what she’d learned of him from Wes’s conversations, Royce was a prankster. It wouldn’t be too far of a stretch for her to believe he’d set her up to get caught by Wes, and she’d likely end up with a sore, well-spanked ass.
Still…her curiosity was piqued and she slipped the key into her jeans pocket. Then she covered the canvas of The Lantern’s Glow and lifted it off the easel. She wanted this to be a surprise, so she slid it under the bed. After she’d carefully secured the painting, she cleaned up her supplies and was in the process of pocketing her phone when Wes came in through the door of the studio.
“There you are.” He strode over to her and caught her by the waist, dragging her into his embrace. After a ruthless, almost bruising kiss that left her lips swollen and her head foggy from weak-kneed desire she realized he was speaking to her.
“We have to attend a gala tonight. Emery is hosting, so we’ll be among friends.”
“A gala?” That was a fancy party…Damn, she wasn’t ready for something like that. She barely had made it through the small dinner party a few weeks ago.
“Yes, a fund-raiser for the local university, the one you are applying to for art school. Royce invited the head of their art school to meet you.” Wes’s smug grin vanished after a moment. “What’s the matter?”
Callie sucked in a pained breath. Her stomach pitched straight south to her feet.
“Head of the art school? Oh my God, I’m not ready, Wes. I can’t—”
He gripped her face in his palms, his eyes mesmerizing her until she calmed down.
“You’re going to be fine, darling.” His hypnotic, silky tone did actually soothe her, but a permanent fleet of butterflies seemed to be living in her stomach.
“Wes, I have no clue what to do or say if he talks to me.” She tried to take a deep breath but her chest was tight.
He rubbed his thumbs across her cheek bones and she leaned into him. In that single week she’d been with him in Paris, they’d gone from practically strangers to the most intimate of lovers. Not in all of her wildest dreams would she have thought she’d be craving his touch and needing to hear his opinions on things that mattered to her. She was so used to carrying her burdens alone and taking care of herself, her father, and Fenn. Between them and the ranch, it was exhausting and draining. But with Wes, it was so different. She learned to lean on him for support, for advice, for emotional and physical comfort…and that wasn’t including the sex.
There weren’t enough words in the world to describe Wes’s lovemaking. He rocked her to the core each time he kissed her. Each time he even looked at her she could feel that build up of passion in her lower body. She didn’t want to think about what would happen when this thing between them ended. Her heart couldn’t take it.