Page 18 of Canvas of Lies
“Nico,” I said softly.
“Yes?” he croaked.
I leaned in close enough to catch a whiff of that scent that had soothed me to sleep, vanilla with a hint of citrus, then I peeked up at him and flashed a playful grin. Only then did he seem to note the devilish gleam in my eyes, narrowing his own in response.
“I’m going to kick your ass at cards this afternoon. First one to the cabin picks the game.”
With that, I bolted toward the door. He would’ve won easily if I hadn’t distracted him, given that he was in jeans and sneakers while I wore pants that dragged a few inches too long as they came untucked from my clompy boots. Unfortunately, it took him an instant too long to process the challenge in my words before he reacted and I heard his feet pounding into the ground behind me.
As it was, he reached the cabin door barely half a second after I did. His hand closed over mine on the doorknob, trapping me between the door and his chest.
“You cheated,” he growled into my ear.
Though a shiver rushed up my spine, I turned in a tight circle to face him. It took a great deal of willpower to resist planting my palms against his chest. I knew he would feel as firm as he looked, as warm as those brown eyes promised. Better to keep my hands to myself.
For now, anyway.
“What happened to your advantage in a physical contest?” I asked sweetly, batting my lashes at him.
When his eyes flared, I knew exactly what kind of physical contest he wanted to engage in. Once he’d firmly locked down his reaction, he leaned close enough to brush the tip of his nose against mine.
“I am going to crush you at cards, Kitten. Prepare to lose.”
Chapter Six
Nico
Kat’sbrighttrilloflaughter 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 toplay 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 overto 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.
