to a perfect point. Why one person needed so many pencils, I didn’t understand.
It didn’t matter why he had them; all that mattered was that I put them back into their orderly little row. I’d also thrown several books around—mostly biographies. I put them back on the bookshelf where they belonged, even placing them in alphabetical order by author when I realized the pattern of the books that remained on the shelf. I didn’t want Marco to be able to accuse me of doing a bad job at cleaning up. I didn’t want him to have any reason to get all intimidating and insert himself in my space again.
When the books were back in order, I returned to the desk. I put some notepads back in place on the polished mahogany surface before moving to shut the drawers I’d nearly yanked out of the desk altogether in my desperation.
My eyes caught on a large, leather-bound book that had been hidden in one of the drawers. It was soft to the touch, the forest green leather worn from extensive handling. There weren’t any markings on the cover, and it seemed too large to be one of Marco’s numerous non-fiction titles that he stored on the bookshelf.
Curiosity urged me to pick up the book and flip it open.
My heart stuttered.
The leather cover didn’t conceal an obscure biography or novel. This was a sketchbook. And the first sketch was…unsettling.
Perverted.
Dirty.
Wrong.
The lead pencil strokes were light, as soft and elegant as the woman portrayed in the drawing. As a work of art, it was breathtaking. But what really stole my breath was the subject of the drawing. The woman was naked, her back arched and her lips parted on a silent cry. Her expression was one of ecstasy: her eyes were closed, and the lines of her face were drawn with erotic tension. Her breasts were thrust out, her nipples peaked.
But her nudity was the least disturbing part of the drawing. Twisted strands of rope were wrapped around her body, framing her breasts and putting them on lewd display. Her arms were drawn tight behind her, forcing her back to arch toward the artist. She was on her knees, her thighs spread wide to reveal her bare sex.
After several long minutes, I turned the page, trying to replace the image that was burned into my mind. My breath caught. There was another bound woman. She was different—her hair darker, her nose slightly smaller, and her chin more pointed. Both women were beautiful, but unique.
I flipped the page again. Another woman, her body twisted by the rope that bound her. Her mouth was open on a silent scream, and I was unsure if it was one of pleasure or pain.
Transfixed, I continued to flip through the book, finding sketch after lewd sketch. I tried to appreciate the artist’s skill, but all I could focus on were the women, their faces contorted in various states of erotic expression. Some were serenely blissful, others shouting out. I couldn’t tell if those women were screaming for pleasure or for mercy, and that unsettled me more than anything.
I was about a third of the way through the book when I gasped. This woman wasn’t bound. She wasn’t naked. It was a close-up portrait of her face. Her dark hair contrasted with her pale skin. Her irises were nearly black, almost swallowed by her dilated pupils. Her eyes were so wide that her long lashes brushed her brows, and her full lips were parted on a gasp that mirrored my own.
It wasn’t just the look of shock, the hint of fear in her eyes, that resembled my current state. I was looking at myself.
“That’s you, on the night I met you.”
I yelped and nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of Marco’s deep voice. His massive body filled the open doorway, and his black eyes studied me with keen interest.
“I went to that dive bar in Cambridge, looking for Joseph so I could bring him home,” he continued. “I found you there. My people who’d tracked him down told me he had a girlfriend. I knew if I confronted you, Joseph would come straight for me.”
He stepped into the room, but I couldn’t move away. I was frozen, locked in place by his dark stare. My breathing came fast and shallow as he approached. He didn’t stop until mere inches separated our bodies. Just like on the night we’d met, he leaned over me, his powerful aura bearing down