Page 11 of Canvas of Lies (Spruce Hill #3)

Chapter Seven

Kat

W hen I awoke the next morning, sunlight peeked around the edges of the curtains. I was curled against Nico, my head still on his chest, my palm resting against rock solid abs. Though I vaguely remembered him holding my hand there, in sleep he’d flung that arm up above his head on the pillow.

I tilted my chin carefully to keep from waking him as I studied his features.

A faint growth of stubble shadowed the line of his jaw, making me itch to run my fingertips over it.

He looked younger, more vulnerable, and terribly handsome with a lock of black hair tumbling across his forehead.

The way his arm curved over his head revealed sleek, corded muscles that caused my pulse to trip over itself .

Been doing more than just programming computers. What else has he been up to?

He was as beautiful as ever, but I definitely appreciated the maturity of this look over his gangly adolescence or lean teenage years. A low hum vibrated against my cheek as he cracked open one eye to peer down at me.

“Morning,” he said, his voice gravelly with sleep. “No more nightmares?”

I snuggled back down against his chest. “No, you really did keep them away. Sorry I woke you.”

Though he tucked his bent arm behind his head, his other hand lifted to stroke lightly over my hair. I closed my eyes and tried to keep myself from uttering the appreciative murmur that rose in my throat.

For a moment, I thought I’d succeeded, but then he chuckled softly. “Are you purring, Kitten?”

“No,” I grumbled.

When he laughed again, I buried my face against his neck. He made a soft sound that reverberated deep in his chest, beckoning me closer.

Maybe his resistance was lower than I thought.

I’d enjoyed a reasonably active sex life until the past year or two, when the business had taken over most of my free time and all of my mental energy. Combining that dry spell with the intensity of my desire for Nico was like tossing a match into a puddle of gasoline .

I knew he was a talented flirt, but I was no amateur, not anymore.

It was clear his intention was to avoid getting involved with me, at least beyond his role as a criminal mastermind or however he saw himself now.

As far as I was concerned, he’d involved himself enough when he set this plan in motion.

Could he really blame me if I took the opportunity to wear down his resistance?

There were only so many card games one could play in the course of a weekend.

He said it could take a few days to work out the details of this whole debacle, so I had plenty of time. Knowing him, he’d be expecting me to make a move immediately—impulsive little Kat, ever impatient. I’d gotten him into trouble too many times to count by leaping before I looked.

Joke’s on you, darling Nico, I thought, enjoying the feel of his heartbeat against my ear.

It would be much better to wait until he dropped his guard, or at least until anticipation began to get the better of him. No matter how impetuous I tended to be, I was perfectly capable of patience.

There was something intensely intimate about lying there with him, even though we were both fully clothed.

In his arms, against his hard body, my limbs felt soft and languid.

He continued to trail his fingertips through the wispy curls that had come loose from my ponytail during the night, and though I didn’t make a sound this time, I melted against him .

When I swept my thumb in a tiny arc across his stomach, I felt him trying to stay still, to keep quiet, but each little movement ratcheted up the tension in those impressive muscles underneath my hand.

He managed to hold it together for another minute before shifting to face me, then he caught my chin in his free hand, stared long and hard at my lips, and said, “You’re killing me, Kat.”

Whether it was the low tenor of his voice, the husky quality of the words, or his use of my actual name, the statement ignited a ball of fire low in my belly.

My gaze caught on his mouth before I managed to drag it to his dark eyes, burning with the same intensity that thrummed through the fingers touching my jaw.

I lifted my hand to his face, exploring the sharp planes under a rough shadow of beard, the contour of his cheekbone, the arch of a dark, smooth brow. For so much of my youth, he’d been my best friend in all the world. It was strange and wonderful to explore the man he was.

And Christ, the way he looked at me had my entire body ready to burst into flame.

“This is a bad idea,” he said in a hoarse whisper, but the statement had no strength behind it.

I didn’t bother to acknowledge it, just shifted up against the pillows so that my lips were close enough to torment his with each whisper of breath.

His fingers slid along my cheek, then around to cup the back of my neck.

For a heartbeat, he held me there, his eyes locked on mine as he kept me captive without a single ounce of force.

Just when I started to think he might pull away, might refuse to take the next natural step, he growled, “To hell with it,” and brought his mouth to mine.

This kiss was heat and light and wave upon wave of emotion crashing over me, over both of us. My fingers clenched in the front of his shirt as I struggled to stay afloat.

Neither my teenage fantasies nor my more mature imaginings could possibly prepare me for the reality of kissing Nico Beaumont.

Was it really only moments ago that I’d noted how perfectly we fit together?

Kissing him now made it clear on an entirely new level as he tilted my jaw for a better angle.

My breasts pressed snugly against his chest and I tangled one leg over his hip as our lips and tongues collided in a heated choreography.

All it took was a single kiss and Nico managed to obliterate the world outside of this intimate little bubble. Each sweep of his tongue and graze of teeth sent me spiraling into a completely different orbit.

A soft, frantic sound tore from my throat, spurring him to take the kiss deeper—though I doubted if he’d intended to let it go this far. Part of me thought he only meant to warn me away from this very thing before drawing back.

The rest of me laughed that idea into the next county .

His hand swept down my body to grasp my hip, tugging my pelvis flush against his, then his palm slid around to cup the swell of my ass.

That was all the invitation I needed. I rocked my hips against him, rejoicing in the clear evidence of his arousal. He growled against my mouth, but his fingers tightened into my flesh, holding me there, letting the heat between my legs sear us both.

When I gasped, breaking the kiss, his mouth cruised slowly along my jaw and down my neck as he shifted to balance on one elbow above me.

“God, you’re soft,” he murmured, rubbing his rough cheek over my collarbone and sending bolts of sensation rocketing through me.

I arched under him as his lips explored my throat and his free hand rose to toy with the top button of my pajama shirt. When his mouth covered mine once more, a single finger traced slowly back and forth along the skin above the cotton neckline.

Just as he slipped that first button free, his phone let out a series of staccato chirps. Nico dropped his forehead to my sternum with a groan.

“You cannot be serious,” I breathed.

Nico’s expression tightened, like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. All of his muscles tensed to the point of quivering and the heat of his skin through that thin layer of cotton burned me like a brand.

“The universe hates me,” he mumbled against my chest .

I hooked a leg around his waist and grabbed onto his face with both hands. “No! No, ignore the phone, Nico. That’s an order. It can wait ten minutes.”

A slow smile curved his lips. “Oh, Kitten, I’ll need a lot longer than ten minutes with you. I’ve got a lifetime of fantasies to play out.”

“I don’t know how you can say things like that and then leave me here to suffer,” I said, scowling. “It’s inhumane.”

Nico rolled his hips, watching as my eyes fluttered, smirking at my soft moan. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to punch him or strip him naked.

Probably both.

“This thing between us,” he said, grinning when I opened my eyes to give him a pointed glare at the innuendo, “I’m done denying it. I want you, you want me. Believe me, this is just a temporary interruption. I intend to finish what we started.”

I shut my eyes again and flung my arms wide with a frustrated groan. “Fine. Go.”

He started to roll off of me, then dropped his head and nuzzled one nipple through the fabric of my shirt. My blood heated back to a rolling boil.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he whispered.

Though I was tempted to flip him the bird in response to that, I managed to refrain, instead simply listening to his footsteps as he left the bedroom.

The man was positively masterful. After the intensity of that kiss, I had no doubt that he would prove himself an expert in the rest. My entire body had turned to liquid heat—certain parts more liquid than others.

Maybe there was some benefit to waiting until we weren’t angsty, inexperienced teens anymore.

When he didn’t return after several minutes, I groaned and rolled out of bed. I padded into the living room and found him sitting on the couch, frowning at his laptop. He shot me a cursory glance, then focused on the computer screen again.

“Trouble in kidnapper paradise?” I asked, cocking one hip against the doorframe.

“Just one of my monitoring programs,” he muttered, fingers flying across the keyboard.

“Monitoring for what? My father?”

I crossed my arms over my chest and when he looked over again, his gaze lingered on the flesh forced upward to gather just where he’d unbuttoned my top only moments ago. I tried to hide a triumphant smirk.

“Ah. No. Keyword alerts. Mentions of the painting,” he said, distracted, then his mouth snapped shut.

I straightened, the puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. My arms fell to my sides as I stared at him in horror. “The painting. He took the painting?”

Nico scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “So you do remember it.”

“Of course I remember it,” I snapped, but my frustration was short-lived.

“Your father told me that story for the first time when I was eight years old. He found me hiding in the garden after I tore the stupid dress my mother insisted I wear for some party and he brought me back to the cottage for milk and cookies.”

A swift jolt of grief crossed Nico’s face, and I felt it echo in my own chest. Those moments had meant more to me than any time spent with my father, not that he’d offered much.

In the Beaumont home, I’d learned what it meant to be part of a family.

It had been my escape, a dream world where love lived on even after tragedy.

“I have to get it back,” Nico said, looking grim and as determined as ever.

“Nicolas Beaumont, you can’t seriously be hoping to bargain me for the goddamn painting!”

“It’s the only way.”

“Look, I know how much it means to your family, and I agree that it absolutely belongs to you. But he’s not going to trade it. Not for me, not for anything. If he took it, he had a reason.”

He shook his head. “He has to. It’s a family heirloom. I have to get it back.”

I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the stubborn look on his face, but everything inside me softened in response to his predicament.

“Oh, Nico. I know it is. But this . . . it’s not going to work, and he’s going to know it’s you.”

“No, he won’t. I planned it all out. This has to work. It’s all I have left of my father.” His voice broke and I went to sit on the couch beside him .

“I know, and I’ll help you get it from him, but this particular plan is going to backfire,” I said softly, looping my arm around his shoulders.

While he remained silent, my mind whirled with a series of progressively darker images involving my father’s hired goons dragging Nico into the woods, beating him, leaving him for dead.

I’d heard the stories—it was impossible to live in Spruce Hill and not hear whispers of how the self-appointed king had slowly conquered his adversaries, both personal and professional.

There might not be proof, but I’d heard enough snippets from behind closed doors in my childhood to believe it all, starting with that night under the desk.

His mistress’s husband had started getting suspicious, and he’d gone missing.

Getting on Aidan Willoughby’s bad side was dangerous, even fatal.

I couldn’t let it happen. I’d just found Nico again. I couldn’t lose him now.

“Look, why don’t we take a nice hot shower and then make some breakfast? We can talk it all through over waffles,” I suggested, keeping my voice low and calm.

When he turned his face toward me, eyebrows lifted, I tangled my fingers in his hair and kissed him, hard and swift. For once, I hoped he couldn’t read the thoughts galloping through my head.

“Right. That’s a sound plan,” he mumbled against my lips.

I smiled and stood. “I have to brush out this tangled mess,” I said, gesturing to my hair as I started toward the bedroom and prayed he wouldn’t question the weak excuse. “Get the water going, would you? I’ll meet you in there.”

With that, I blew a kiss over my shoulder and shut the door behind me.