Page 150 of Insolence
This is when a sack full of money lands on stacked books beside me.
“Excuse me?” I gape, stunned at the gesture. At her boldness.
“I’m sure you’ll find it’s enough to cover what you just mixed and more.”
Oh, hell, no.“You have no idea if this piece was commissioned or not.”
She swings away to inspect a different book, the hem of her lace and linen dress kissing just below the knee. “Well?” Pauses to look me up and down. “Isit a commission?”
It isn’t. But I don’t want her money.Don’twant her breathing down my neck. I probably ought to sell it to the pretty little twerp and be done with it, but—
But the gods’ honest truth is I’m inconveniently enthralled with her and no longer using my brain as a result. Telling myselfit’s the principle of the matter. Andthe audacity of her.
Stubbornly tying her up.
I balance my brush across my jar of turpentine. Set my palette aside. Spinning on my stool, I swipe up the money and drop it at her feet. “Allow me to be clear. It isn’t for sale.”
“This once,” she says without batting an eyelid, “I’ll pay ahead of time. Next time, I’ll expect to see the finished product first.”
Unsure what to make of her, I scoff. Take her in.
Her eyes remind me of a pair of earrings hanging from a customer’s lobes this morning. Two cobalt spinels, perfectly matched. Her lips are painted a deep cherry blossom pink. The color complements her frothy blue-green dress to perfection.
A warm breeze ripples the hem, and I watch. Captivated.
Her wedge-heeled sandals are trimmed in jute, a cutout revealing red varnished toenails. Ribbons fasten the stylish shoes to her ankles, and my fingers itch to tear them off.
She traverses the space between us. Leans past me before I realize what’s happening. Touches the tip of her finger to my palette.
Before I can stop her, she presses it to a corner of the canvas, smudging ultramarine on an area of finely rendered cobblestone. “Oops.”
Shock and rage flash through me like heat lightning. I’m on my feet in an instant, fingers around her wrist, wrenching. “That. Wasn’t. Very. Nice.”
Disingenuously coy, she flushes in my grip. “Am I in trouble?”
“Sweetheart, youaretrouble.”
Using my hold to pull herself closer, she presses a soft peck to my cheek. Whispers sweetly, “It’s gorgeous, and I will have it, El Asher. Finish it and take it home with you. I’ll pick it up when I have time.”
The depth of my stupidity finally sinking in, I mutter idiotically, “You’re from Aronya Dar.”
With a grin, she flips her hair back. The maneuver reveals a brooch fastened to the shoulder of her dress.
I stare, barely breathing.
Delicate gold filigree and clusters of diamonds and indigo lapis sparkle fiercely in the light of golden hour. The stones form a scrolling J so decorative, it takes a moment.
Finally clocking the emblem of Clan Jedrek, my stomach plops to the ground. To say anoceanseparates her social status and mine would be a trivialization.
She twists her wrist from my weakening fingers. Leaves a blue streak on my work shirt’s cuff and a cloud of pheromones heavy in the air.
Of course I don’t know yet what the chemical signals are. All I’m aware of is going from cold panic to feeling like I've been hit by an autocarriage. Need floods my lower extremities. Lust clouds my mind, and my blood pressure immediately tanks.
Dizzy and panting, I drop to my stool, hands propped on my knees. Her lip paint sears my cheek like a brand.
With a last lingering look, she steps over the money. Walks the aisle between vendors with her dress rippling around her knees.
In the distance, the two famous lion statues marking the Citadel’s entrance frame her perfectly. Beyond them, the sun sinks below the jumbled towers and spires of Old Nehel, painting a dazzling aureole around her retreating figure.
