Page 10 of Canvas of Lies (Spruce Hill #3)

Chapter Six

Nico

K at’s bright trill of laughter did nothing to quiet the emotions rollicking around in my chest—heady lust mixed with affection and a sharp undercurrent of regret—but it brought a goofy smile to my face anyway.

Even though I’d been missing her since the day I made the difficult decision to keep my distance, it hadn’t been quite so clear until this moment just how badly I’d missed our friendship.

We had always delighted in needling one another, challenging and celebrating together.

After so many years apart, it felt like everything I’d missed was within reach.

For one sudden, glaring moment, my hatred for Aidan Willoughby burned hotter than ever. The loss of Kat’s friendship might’ve been a greater sin than the theft of the painting .

A twinge of doubt niggled at me as her outburst replayed in my mind, particularly her insistence that Willoughby didn’t value her enough to make a trade. Everything in my plans hinged on him agreeing to ransom her for the painting.

As brilliant as she was, Kat had a tendency to undervalue herself and to expect the worst, so it was entirely possible she underestimated her father’s reaction to her being placed in potential danger.

Knowing Aidan Willoughby, his reputation would always have been his first concern, anyway, and I intended to lean heavily on that weakness.

What concerned me now was the surge of protective anger that rose in my chest at the thought that her father might still be undervaluing Kat.

Now that I had her close at hand, the instinct to keep her out of harm’s way, whether the threat was physical or emotional, was almost too strong for me to resist.

I gave myself a swift mental shake—even if her father didn’t care about her, I’d manipulate the threat to his reputation.

I’d have to. Failure was not an option. Somehow, I had to make sure she was safe, both from my own course of action and from her father’s disdain.

It might complicate things, but I owed her that much.

As I basked in the glow of her smile, I started to think I probably owed her much, much more.

To my dismay, Kat wiped the floor with me through a dozen hands of rummy, but I managed to even the score when we switched to blackjack.

Though I’d tried to teach her how to play poker a handful of times in our youth, she flat out refused to play against me, citing my ability to read her too easily for her to have any chance at beating me.

“Fine,” I said, watching her shuffle the deck as competently as a casino dealer. “Your turn to pick the game. What are we playing next?”

Her reply was swift and assured. “Bullshit.”

“That’s not even a real card game,” I protested, scowling, but she wouldn’t be swayed. I dealt the cards, glaring all the while. “It makes no sense that you can’t bluff to save your life when it comes to poker, but you can lie without a twitch in this game.”

In response, Kat just smiled sweetly before turning her attention to organizing her hand.

Since it was only the two of us, we removed a dozen cards from the deck in order to keep things interesting.

I studied her intently during each turn, but she had no visible tell.

Somehow, every time I lied, she was able to call me out on it with no hesitation, even when I was sure I hadn’t reacted.

I was convinced she could read my mind, so I planted a few naughty images there just in case.

Her winning streak might have been infuriating if I’d been able to summon anything more than mild annoyance, which I played up outwardly for her benefit.

Inside, I rejoiced at the experience. The brilliance of her grin when she got away with lying hit me square in the chest every time, no matter how I braced myself for it.

This was the Kat I remembered, the one who found joy in the simplest of things, who never hesitated to give herself over to the moment.

That trademark impulsivity had been buried underneath a layer of rigid routine in adulthood, and relief swept through my limbs to learn it hadn’t been fully quashed.

I couldn’t quite tear my gaze away from her face. With the sunlight shining in the window, I noted each tiny freckle scattered across her nose, admired the way her long lashes curled against her cheeks, traced that delicious curve of her lips as she smiled over the cards at me.

Stunning.

I wished I had enough artistic talent to recreate that image—what a fitting companion it would be for the painting of my ancestor.

From the stories passed down in my family from one generation to the next about Céleste Bicardeau, she was a woman filled with joie de vivre, in possession of a buoyancy that captivated those around her.

That quality was something Kat had in abundance.

By the time she won her third round, I tossed down the cards. “I give up.”

“Uh-uh, Nico,” she sang. “You know what you have to do. Time for the Loser Song.”

The force of my glare should have incinerated her, but she simply folded her hands on the table and waited.

“I am not going through the humiliation you insisted on heaping on me when you were twelve,” I informed her. “There will be no singing, no dancing, and sure as shit no groveling.”

When she pouted at me, I rose from my chair and stalked toward her. Kat eyed my approach, keeping perfectly still except for the flush creeping along her cheekbones. As I braced my hands on the arms of her chair and leaned close, she held her breath and had to tip her head back to meet my eyes.

I captured her gaze for a long moment, enjoying the way her tongue darted nervously out to run over her lower lip, the way her breath tickled my chin. Then I bent lower and slid my cheek along hers to murmur in her ear.

“Oh, Kitten. You are the least gracious winner I’ve ever met.”

A choked laugh erupted past her pretty pink lips, but Kat dropped her head against the seat back and glared as I drew back.

“And you, sir, are a tease,” she said primly.

Though dozens of potential responses floated through my head, all I could think to say was, “Teasing is all part of the fun.”

Kat scowled, but it couldn’t disguise her shiver of reaction.

I smirked and, as a result, she closed her eyes until I moved away.

When I returned, I set two bottles of water down on the table and slid back into my chair.

Her expression changed as she sipped at the water, a calculating gleam appearing in her eyes.

I gazed suspiciously at her as I took a pull from my bottle. “I know that look. What are you plotting?”

She flashed a brilliant smile. “Plotting? Not a thing. So, my father will get his first message from you—then what? When do you demand the trade?”

“Are you that eager to get away from me? I’m hurt.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling .

I laced my hands behind my head, watching her gaze drop to the sculpted biceps that had most definitely not existed when we were in high school, and grinned at her.

“I won’t know until he responds, but I imagine he’ll want to do some digging first, mostly to make sure you’re actually missing. Then I’ll lay out the terms.”

“So another comfortable night on your trusty sofa, huh?” she asked, her face the very picture of innocence.

“I thought you’d never ask,” I drawled. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking I’d better keep a closer eye on you. Since I’m perfectly capable of keeping my hands to myself, I decided to take you up on that offer to share the bed.”

Kat blinked at me in surprise. “Oh, you think so, do you?” she managed finally, though it came out in a sweet little squeak.

My smile broadened. “I do think so, indeed. I assume you can keep your hands off of me?”

“I’m sure I can manage.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why the change of heart?”

“We’re both responsible adults. I’ve known you most of our lives. And that fucking couch is the most uncomfortable piece of furniture I’ve ever had the misfortune of sleeping on.”

Though I said it with complete sincerity, I let my eyes stroke over her features as I spoke. By the time my gaze landed on her mouth, lush and rosy, she smiled slyly.

I didn’t trust that smirk for a single second.

There was no doubt in my mind that she was plotting something, regardless of her protests to the contrary. I would have to steel myself against her considerable charms, keep the ball in my court.

When it came to Katherine Willoughby, that was always the best course of action.

We spent the rest of the day lounging around the cabin, watching old DVDs, eating sandwiches, and throwing popcorn at each other as the evening wore on.

By the end of the second movie, Kat was half asleep where she lay curled at one end of the couch.

I switched off the television and held out a hand to tug her to her feet.

Neither of us said much as we prepared for bed, though I eyed her suspiciously when I came out of the bathroom and found her nestled under the covers already with her eyes closed.

I turned off the lights and slipped into the other side of the bed, waiting for her to speak—or to make her move.

It wouldn’t surprise me if she simply reached out to take what she wanted.

Every muscle in my body coiled in anticipation.

Instead, she sighed softly and murmured, “Goodnight, Nico.”

For a moment, I stayed silent, staring up at the ceiling, then I rolled my head to the side to look at her. “Goodnight, Kitten.”

Sometime before dawn, I jolted awake. A flash of annoyance shot through me, given that my dream—featuring Kat wearing very little clothing—was about to take an erotic turn.

It was followed by a bolt of panic, thinking maybe an alert that one of the cameras scattered around the property spotted something had woken me .

I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and quickly scrolled through the camera feeds, but there were no notifications and I saw nothing of concern in any of the footage, not even a raccoon or deer passing through.

Just as I set the phone down again, I heard a soft whimper and realized that must have been the sound that had pulled me from the dream.

Carefully, I rolled back onto my side to face Kat. She was perfectly still, curled in a tight little ball with the blanket clutched under her chin. After a moment, another quiet whimper slipped past her lips.

“Hey,” I said softly, setting my hand against her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. Wake up, Kat.”

She didn’t flail or thrash, but her eyelids squeezed tight and she shook her head slightly. I gave her shoulder a gentle shake and her eyes suddenly flew wide, black discs against the pale oval of her face. She blinked owlishly for a minute before finally focusing on my face.

“Nico?”

“You were having a bad dream,” I murmured, brushing her hair back from her forehead. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

She shook her head more definitely this time, then opened and closed her mouth twice before whispering, “No, I just . . .”

A trembling breath passed her lips and I couldn’t help myself—I held open my arms. “Come here. I’ll keep the nightmares away. ”

Without a word, she immediately scooted against my side to lay her head on my chest. I laced my fingers with hers at the center of my abdomen and ran my other hand gently up and down her arm, avoiding the bandage I’d wrapped around it earlier.

Though she didn’t speak again, she nestled in, her ear resting against my heart. Something about that felt so intensely right that I had to keep myself from tightening my arms.

I couldn’t tell when she drifted back to sleep, but her tension slowly eased, her breath evening out as her body softened against me. What I did notice was the contentment that seeped through my own limbs as I held her.

Like everything I needed was right here in this room.

I fell asleep with her hand still clasped in mine and my other arm tucked snugly around her.