Page 58 of Bad Influence
“I don’t know anything about art and painting, but shouldn’t you have something by now?”
He laughs bitterly. “I should have a lot by now.” Quietly, he adds, “I haven’t been able to paint in a while.”
“What about me?” I ask quietly.
Killian grabs my arm as we walk past a pub and a group of drunken men step out. They glance at us, their eyes lingering on me and traveling up and down my body. The sound which leaves Killian can only be described as a growl. The men step back, walking off in the other direction. At least they’re sober enough to know what’s good for them.
I look up at Killian in question. “Did you justgrowlat them?”
He scoffs. “No.”
“You totally growled at them,” I say, smiling up at him.
Killian watches me through narrowed eyes. “I think you’re hearing things. The music is too loud.”
“Uh-huh. If you say so.” I smile, continuing walking.
“What were you saying? What about you?” Killian asks.
“Oh, um, you asked to paint me,” I say, looking anywhere other than him. “Do you still want to do that?”
As I ask the question, I realize that a part of me is worried he’s going to take it back.
“I absolutely want to do that, butterfly,” he replies.
My heart flutters, and I look at him. I’ve missed hearing that nickname. I can’t express how much. When he stopped calling me that and he stopped talking to me, I thought I’d done something wrong. Killian is the kind of person who doesn’t tell you if you’ve done something wrong, he just cuts you off.
“You haven’t asked me about it again,” I say
He shrugs. “You said you wanted to decide how it happens. I was letting you decide.”
I take a deep breath, bracing myself. “Do you want to do it tonight?”
He looks at me sharply, eyes widening in surprise. “Are you sure? You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
I swallow, nodding once. “I wouldn’t have agreed to it if I wasn’t sure.”
Killian holds my gaze. “Tonight? After dinner.”
Swallowing nervously, I nod, my heart pounding in my chest loud enough I’m sure he can hear it.
“Use your words, Caroline,” Killian commands.
“Tonight, after dinner,” I agree.
CHAPTER 17
Caroline
While Killian orders dinner,I take an everything shower. Everything gets shaved, plucked, exfoliated, buffed, until my skin is red. I wash my hair and properly condition it. The whole process takes about an hour. I use a lavender scented bath oil and cream to lock in the moisture and hydrate my skin.
The last time I sat for a painting was a family portrait my mother insisted she wanted hanging in the foyer. It’s still there. I was twenty-three and I’d just recovered from a terrible bout of flu. My skin had been pasty, eyes still puffy, and I had lost a bit of weight. I looked like a sickly Victorian child compared to my family’s healthy complexion.
That’s not going to happen this time. This time, I get to decide how I want myself painted.
I step out of the bathroom in my pajamas—proper pajama pants and a top this time—and a towel wrapped around my hair. A billow of steam blooms out around me.
Killian turns to look at me from where he’s sitting in the living room. The food’s been delivered and he’s got the boxes stacked on the table along with our plates.
