Page 61 of Sinfully His

His voice got louder and louder with every word. I almost felt bad until that last sentence.

“What the fuck would you know about what we do or don’t do for family? Where was this rage when I was sent to seminary school? Where was this anger in my defense? I’m your brother.”

“She was innocent!” he screamed.

She wasn’t, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Between the bullshit you’re pulling with her mother and whatever you’re doing to her, she had to run away by herself to the ski chalet. She couldn’t even talk to Amelia about this. They talk about everything. That poor girl is up there by herself because you?—”

I didn’t hear the rest of what he said. It wasn’t important. I knew where my angel was, and I needed to know that she was okay.

If she ran, I needed to know that it wasn’t because of me, it was because of her mother. And if it was because of me, well then maybe I needed to be giving her a little more carrot and a little less stick. I could fix that.

Either way, I needed to see her.

CHAPTER 25

ROSE

It happened again. No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough. He kept showing up.

I threw my brush to the side in frustration. Not even caring that paint splattered on the cobblestone patio. I just stared in disappointment and disgust as I sat back on the stool, pulling the warm blanket closer around my body.

The garden in front of me was serenely beautiful, in transition from fall to winter. The November air had a sharp chill to it, but that wasn’t what had me feeling cold and empty.

I had tried to capture the last bits of today’s daylight in a landscape. The garden itself was absolutely lovely in the rays of the sun disappearing over the horizon. I loved how the shadows crept ever closer to me and gave the most amazing complexity to the landscape. That was what I was trying in vain to capture on my canvas with my oil paints.

Instead, each of the long lines of the trees in the distance, the slopes of the neighboring mountain peaks, and even the ridges of the now barren hedge maze seemed to mimic the lines of Father Manwarring’s body.

Thomas, I internally corrected.

It had taken several days of isolation and drinking for me to realize that he may have been ordained, but he was just a man. If I called him by his first name, he didn’t seem as intimidating, as powerful. Even though it felt wrong, I clung to that first name. It helped me see him for what he really was, and it was supposed to help me get over him.

Which was something I definitely needed to do.

Especially after Amelia found out. Earlier I was on a video call with her and she saw a painting I had done of Thomas, of his bare back from the first night I met him. I hadn’t meant to show it to her. She saw it and at first, she thought it was Raul. Then she realized that the figure I had painted had broader shoulders. He didn’t have Raul’s blond locks. Or his fair skin.

She demanded to see more, and I wanted to hang up. I wanted to end the call, but I just couldn’t. Amelia had been nothing but good to me, ever. I had had more than a couple glasses of wine at that point, so I couldn’t come up with a reason not to show her.

It was the cross that confirmed who it was. One image of him standing over me while I sucked his cock played over and over in my head and I had to get it on canvas. I had painted it not as I had seen it, but from the perspective of someone standing behind me watching.

The bottom of the canvas showed my hair, and his hand tangled in it. The canvas ended at his shoulders, so there was no face, but the truth was undeniable given the depiction of the cross that Father Manwarring wore, the gold one embedded with rubies, and the signet ring that was only half covered by my hair.

She didn’t give me a chance to explain. She disconnected the line, and I assumed she was on her way here to drag me back and make me face whatever consequences she thought necessary. Maybe she was going to tell Mother, maybe she was going tohave Thomas shipped back to Rome. I had no idea what her plan would be, but I just knew she was on her way.

I took another sip of the dark red wine I had found in the wine cellar. I didn’t recognize the label, but it was fantastic.

As I put the glass back down on a side table, movement in the mirrored surface of the fountain caught my attention. Someone had come up behind me and it wasn’t Amelia.

It was him.

I turned, knocking over the canvas and shattering the glass, dark red wine spilling across the patio.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, backing away, pulling the blanket tighter around my body.

“You left without permission,” he growled, taking a slow, measured step toward me.

“I don’t have to ask for your permission,” I said, taking a step back, my heart racing as icy fear shot down my spine, but still my body responded to him and warmth built in my core.

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