Page 24

As she watched him paint, his forehead lined in concentration, his gaze moving from her to the canvas, her heart stirred at the visual evidence of his trust. His eye patch hung off the edge of the easel.

He'd tried to keep it on yesterday but had quickly grown frustrated by his lack of depth perception and had asked her permission to remove it.

He'd apologized, going on about how unsightly it was and how he would understand if she found it too off-putting.

Of course, she'd already seen him without it once, and while it made her ache for the pain he'd suffered, it was simply part of him and caused her no distress to see it.

He'd still tried to hide his injured eye from her at first, keeping the right side of his face strategically behind the canvas or pulling his long, tawny hair forward like camouflage.

Yet today, he moved with greater ease, almost as if forgetting about his eye entirely.

Such trust was a gift, and she vowed he would never regret extending it to her.

"You can relax now." Everett stood back from the canvas and tilted his head as he examined his work with a critical eye. "I think I've finally got your hair right."

Callista rose from her chair, rolled her shoulders and stretched the stiffness out of her neck that had accumulated while she'd dutifully imitated a statue. "May I see your progress?"

He shrugged. "If you like. Just remember, much of the shading and detail work will come with the final layers."

As she came around to his side of the canvas, he shifted to the right to make room for her. He reached for his eye patch, but didn't immediately put it on, a fact that made her heart pump a little faster as she inwardly cheered. Then she turned toward the painting, and her heart slowed in shock.

Yesterday he'd spent most of his time revising his original depiction, correcting the lines and curves where he said his memory had failed to get the details precisely correct.

When she'd looked at it afterward, she hadn't noticed anything dramatically different, even when Everett had pointed out all the places he'd made edits.

It had looked like her before, and it looked like her after, just with more of her shoulders added.

Now, however, more color brought the image to life.

Her skin carried a golden glow, and her lips blushed with a gentle pink hue.

He'd even added the freckles that swathed her cheekbones and nose.

Her hair might have given him the biggest challenge, but what she found most impressive was what he had accomplished with her eyes.

Somehow, laughter sparkled in them. Warm, cheerful laughter.

Perhaps it had to do with the placement of her brows or the tilt of her mouth.

She didn't have the skill to recognize the technique he'd employed.

All she knew was that when she gazed upon his work, one truth crystalized in her mind. He saw her.

"Everett . . . this is remarkable." She pivoted to face him, the awkwardness of using his first name overcome by her awe of his accomplishment. "It's me. Not just my face, but me ."

"You are the remarkable one. I'm just painting what I see." The softness of his voice rolled over her nerve endings, leaving them tingling and sensitive.

Her breath hovered in her lungs, neither coming in nor going out as his gaze held hers.

An invisible thread stretched between them, slipping between her ribs to wind around her heart.

Neither of them looked away for a long moment until a distant bark from outside punctured her awareness and caused her to blink and dip her chin.

She stepped back, her pulse galloping. "Maybe I should hold a book during the next sitting," she said, more to diffuse the tension laying heavily in the air than out of any great desire to add a book to her portrait.

"Yes . . . right . . . good idea." Everett shuffled sideways and started tinkering with his palette and brush. "One with one of your covers. Show off a bit of your work. I thought of adding the library shelves as a backdrop as well."

"Papa would like . . . that . . ." She frowned. "Something seems to have Spartacus quite upset." Callista strolled across the attic studio to one of the windows on the front side of the house.

The deep bass canine rumbles had grown louder and closer.

Everett moved into position beside her, his eye patch back in place. Her nerve endings started humming again at his nearness, worsening when his arm brushed against hers.

"Looks like a visitor."

Ordering her attention to extend beyond the man next to her, Callista searched the path and spotted a figure on a large horse approaching the house.

Everett turned away from the window. Afraid of being seen or a lack of interest in the visitor?

"Whoever it is, Timens will send him away." Everett crossed back to his paints and began cleaning his brushes.

"I mean no harm," a voice boomed from below. A voice that even when distorted through window glass set her teeth on edge. "But you should know that if your dog attacks when I dismount, I'll shoot him."

Callista gasped and dashed for the door.

"Callista, wait!"

She paused with her hand on the doorknob.

"Let Timens handle it," Everett urged.

"You don't understand." She tugged open the studio door. "Ambrose Batton shoots animals for sport. Spartacus is in real danger."

Without giving Everett the chance to stop her, she ran down the stairs.