Page 45 of Rogue Villain

And how much I wish he had done as I’d pleaded.

* * *

I spend the next morning sequestered in my room until the hunger pangs in my stomach outweigh my desire to avoid the man who’d chased me into my dreams.

Visions of his hands on my bare skin assault me as I slowly amble to the blessedly empty kitchen, noting an envelope bearing my name on the countertop.

After I’ve poured myself an iced tea, I tear it open, eyes rolling when I read the now-familiar scrawl.

You may also avail of the designated office opposite mine.

The replacement key is enclosed.

The key, identical to the one I’d received on my first day here, falls softly onto the table as indecision flows through me.

Take his offering and acknowledge his pseudo apology or stay here, bored and alone for possibly eternity…

“Screw it.”

I quickly devour a plate of French toast and berries—whilst standing, thanks to my aching ass cheeks—and then set about dressing to check out the locked room opposite Vaughn’s office.

Once I’m ready, wearing a short summer dress courtesy of the studio, I check my Birkenstocks for booby traps before slipping them on.

Grabbing my cell from the nightstand, I note several unread texts from my friends.

MATT

Let me know you’re okay.

I send him back a thumbs-up, and move on to the next as I punch the button for the elevator.

ELODIE

I wish I could find your mute button! Girl, that shit was priceless.

I step onto the elevator with a chuckle, giving myself a self-congratulatory pat on the back. I’m not usually so easily riled, but there’s something about VaughnfuckingBurton that drives me insane.

The entire building is relatively quiet as I make my way across the floor of the staff quarters. I keep my head firmly down until I reach the foot of the staircase that leads to Vaughn’s office.

I quietly tiptoe past his door, ignoring the swoop in my stomach when I hear his deep baritone, and slip the key into the lock of the door opposite, as instructed. The door opens smoothly, and when I step over the threshold, my eyes blow wide with shocked delight.

The entire room is an artist’s dream. The late morning sunshine glistens through the two vast windows on the opposite wall, the light perfect for painting.

An enormous easel dominates the space, a stool and worktable set before it. Blank canvases are stacked on the floor against the wall, and various-sized pots of purple wisteria decorate the white brick walls.

My face splits in a huge smile, and before I can think about what I’m doing, I’ve begun mixing paints even as my mind races, questioning how on earth Vaughn knew I enjoy painting.

When my ass touches the stool, I wince at the sting even as my body hums to life at the memory.

You’re practically begging to be fucked.

His words flash through my mind, heating my cheeks before I push them aside with a shake of my head.

My brush finds the canvas as I allow my heart to guide my hand, instinctively knowing what I want to see brought to life today.

The hours fly by in a blur of brushes on canvas and colors swirling, and before I realize the passing of time, daylight has already begun to fade.

Sighing as I drop my brush onto the palette, I raise my arms over my head to stretch the tight muscles of my neck and back when I hear a cough.

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