Page 18 of The Artist
Victor’s eyes roamed the room. “Is that because you prefer women?”
I shook my head and looked away.
“Then what about Oliver or Lachlan?”
Victor and I each gave a sideways glance to the two Motlander men.
“No. They’re…” I trailed off.
“Too feminine?” Victor said it for me. “Yes, I agree. Honestly, I think I’d have more luck with them than you would.”
“Are you into men?”
Victor answered on a breathy exhalation. “I wish. Women are so complicated. But alas, when it comes to physical desire, I’m afraid no man has ever excited me.” He emptied his drink. “Now, all this talk about sex has me turned on. What do you say? Are you up for a quick release?” He moved closer and took my hand.
It was a question I got a lot back home, but sex didn’t hold much allurement for me and even though Victor was powerful and handsome, I didn’t feel the least bit tempted.
Pulling my hand back gently I gave him the soft rejection I had practiced to perfection. “It’s tempting, but I’m afraid I have my period and I get awful cramps with lots of bloody clumps coming out and it’s sort of disgusting really.”
As expected, Victor gave up right away. Arching a brow, his eyes darted around the room to find someone else to talk to. “I see. Well, maybe next year then.”
“Yeah, next year.” I gave a polite smile and quietly snuck out of the library hoping that I could find my way back to my room in this huge castle.
CHAPTER6
Not a Child
Mason
I watched Belle across the room as she spoke to Victor.
“You shouldn’t have said that,” Jones scolded me. “You upset her.”
Groaning low, I emptied my beer.
“Now she thinks we look down on them,” he continued.
Alexander Boulder took up where his son had left off. “You need to apologize to Belle. That comment about splitting her in two was vulgar and unnecessary.”
I sighed. “It was a joke.”
“Then it wasn’t funny,” Indiana said dryly. “Jones is in love with her, and you just made her hate all Nmen. Good job, Mason.”
“I don’t think Belle has it in her to hate anyone.”
“Well, then, dislike.”
I didn’t answer Indiana, because Belle was leaving the library in a hurried way as if she was hoping no one would notice.
“Where is she going?” I muttered low.
Jones immediately took a step forward. “Let me go see.”
With a hand to his chest, I stopped him. “No. You can talk to her when I’ve apologized.”
“Okay, then hurry.” Jones craned his neck to see Belle’s back as she exited the doorway.
Setting down my bottle, I followed her with heavy steps. My relationship with Belle was complicated. For eleven years I’d felt extra protective of her. First, because she was the youngest female at the summits, and later because it pissed me off to see how disrespectful her own delegation was to her. Belle was an artist and in the strange society that the French had created art wasn’t valued.
