Page 22 of Finding Home

Maybe I can still get Knox to see reason before I leave. If I can convince him to sell, then the others will fall in line. I don’t have time to pursue them each individually, not with Moore waiting for me.

One last attempt and then I’ll wash my hands of the whole business.

I load my suitcase into the rental car, and by the time I make my way to Knox’s new clubhouse, Lizzie has already sent confirmation that the plane will be ready for take-off within the hour. I’m happy that I decided to invest in my own plane last year. Flying commercial, even first class, is simply not worth the hassle.

Knox’s truck isn’t at the Clubhouse, but since he and Dad still live so close nearby, he might be inside anyway. If not, I can at least leave the offer papers for Mrs. Kendall’s property in the mailbox. Seeing that number alone might sway Knox and his friends.

I know exactly who I’m thinking of, though. It’s not Samantha or Asher or any of the others. It’s Kylie. I hate that I can’t get her off my mind, even when I’m trying not to think of her. I can’t stop this burning in my gut as I think about that scene in the bakery yesterday.

Did she, Sam, and Madi go into the city last night?

Did she bring some fucking dickhead home?

I shake my head swiftly, removing the thoughts as I test the door of the clubhouse. It opens easily and I stalk inside. The place is eerily silent.

“Hello?” I call out.

No answer.

Fuck, did he forget to lock the door? Just standing in the entrance like this I see a bunch of his tools. Not expensive by any means, but it’ll hurt him if they’re stolen. Why the fuck does he have this place open to any idiot who wants to walk in?

I start to fish the phone from my pocket as I step back outside. As I do so, I catch sight of the door to the detached garage—it’s open. Is Knox in there, or are there Willowcreek hoodlums causing trouble for the clubhouse before it’s even open?

As I approach, the sound of humming greets me. I push open the door, frowning, to find myself in Kylie’s studio. Her back is to me, her hair pulled into a ponytail. She’s wearing a pair of noise-canceling headphones. If I wasn’t so shocked by the sight of what she’s painting, I might have interrupted her to say something about her needing to pay better attention to her surroundings.

Her toes are tapping against the floor, the paintbrush in her hand as she studies her work. From this angle, I can see it perfectly.

If this is her normal fare, no wonder her New Orleans gallery is so successful! It’s not even finished and I can see the beauty of her vision. The skill in her work, and the emotion she puts into every brushstroke.

The garage blooms with a golden glow as clouds move away from the sun. It shines through the windows, lighting Kylie up. She’s got a halo around her hair, and even without seeing her face, I can feel her concentration and passion.

Without thinking, I lift my phone and snap a picture. The image of Kylie working in this old place is just like a baroque painting.

Fitting, that the artist is a work of art herself.

I tuck the phone back into my pocket and step forward. I don’t want to interrupt her, but I need to finish up the business here and get to the airport. As I do so, though, my eyes are drawn back to the image on the canvas.

Two people, entwined in the act of sex. The man’s fingers are buried in the woman’s hips, and I know just from the shadows around them that they’re going to bruise. But neither of them cares, too involved in their passion. The woman… the woman’s red hair falls down her back.

Kylie.

It’s Kylie in that painting. She’s capturing herself in the throes of passion.

The more I look, the more I see tiny details that indicate more about what exactly she’s experiencing. Her arms are at an angle that indicates that she’s been tied. To anyone else, it will be inconsequential. But I recognize instantly what it is.

Sweet little Kylie is into bondage?

All reason seems to leave me. I can’t quite connect the two images. One of the Kylie I’ve known my whole life. Shy, kind-hearted, the sort of girl who will go out of her way to be nice to others or camp out for days below the porch to save a feral kitten. And this sex magnet, the erotic woman who is taking what she wants without caring about what anyone else might think of her.

Jealousy punches me in the stomach as I draw nearer.

Who’s the man she’s fucking? Why didn’t she give him a face? What kind of man would she give so much control to, that she’d let him dominate her?

And why the hell isn’t itme?

Chapter Ten

KYLIE

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