Текст книги "The body painter"

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The

BODY

Painter

by

New York Times Bestseller

Pepper Winters

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The Body Painter

Copyright © 2019 Pepper Winters

Published by Pepper Winters

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Libraries are exempt and permitted to share their in-house copies with their members and have full thanks for stocking this book. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

Published: Pepper Winters 2019: pepperwinters@gmail.com

Cover Design: Ari @ Cover it! Designs

Editing by: Editing 4 Indies (Jenny Sims)

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OTHER WORK BY PEPPER WINTERS

Pepper Winters is a multiple New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today International Bestseller.

All Pepper’s books are available in e-book, paperback, & audio (some titles still in progress).

UPCOMING ROMANCE 2019

The Living Canvas

Add to Goodreads HERE

DARK ROMANCE

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GRAY ROMANCE

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“Voted Best Epic Survival Romance 2016, Castaway meets The Notebook”

MOTORCYCLE CLUB ROMANCE

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SINFUL ROMANCE

Multiple USA Today Bestseller ‘Dollar’ Series

“Elder Prest will steal your heart. A captive love-story with salvation at its core.”

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EROTIC ROMANCE

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ROMANTIC COMEDY written as TESS HUNTER

#1 Romantic Comedy Bestseller ‘Can’t Touch This’ CLICK TO BUY

“Voted Best Rom Com of 2016. Pets, love, and chemistry.”

UPCOMING RELEASES

For 2019/2020 titles please CLICK HERE

RELEASE DAY ALERTS, SNEAK PEEKS, & NEWSLETTER

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Contents

OTHER WORK BY PEPPER WINTERS

The Body Painter Blurb

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Pre-Order THE LIVING CANVAS

PLAYLIST

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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The Body Painter Blurb

“Must be slim, able to stand for long periods of time, and be impervious to the cold.”

The headline caught my attention.

“Hours are negotiable, pay is minimal, clothing absolutely forbidden.”

The second line piqued my curiosity.

“Able to hold your bladder and tongue, refrain from opinions or suggestions, and be the perfect living canvas.”

The third made me scowl.

“Other attributes required: non-ticklish, contortionist, and obedient. Must also enjoy being studied while naked in a crowd.”

The fourth made me shudder.

“Call or email ‘YOUR SKIN, HIS CANVAS’ if interested in applying.”

The final made my heart race.

I should’ve kept scrolling past the advertisement.

I should’ve applied for the boring receptionist job at minimum wage.

I should’ve clicked on any other job where I got to keep my clothes on.

But I didn’t.

I applied.

My interview is tomorrow...

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What am I in the eyes of most people – a nonentity, an eccentric, or an unpleasant person – somebody who has no position in society and will never have; in short, the lowest of the low. All right, then – even if that were absolutely true, then I should one day like to show by my work what such an eccentric, such a nobody, has in his heart. That is my ambition, based less on resentment than on love in spite of everything, based more on a feeling of serenity than on passion. Though I am often in the depths of misery, there is still calmness, pure harmony and music inside me. I see paintings or drawings in the poorest cottages, in the dirtiest corners. And my mind is driven towards these things with an irresistible momentum.

—Vincent Van Gogh

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Prologue

______________________________

Gil

-The Present-

SHE’D RUINED EVERYTHING.

She should’ve heard my warnings, seen my threats, read between the cruel lines I’d given her.

I’d done my best to be a bastard.

To be hateful, heartless, and vicious in my denial of everything that existed between us.

But she didn’t walk away.

She ignored my commands like an idiot.

She believed she could help me.

She willingly gave me the heart I’d broken when we were just kids.

And just like back then...it was too late.

Too late because what she didn’t know had the power to kill her.

Not emotionally. Not hypothetically. But murder...in cold blood.

And now, she knew too much.

Kiss me?

Love me?

Now die for me.

I’m sorry...

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Chapter One

______________________________

Gil

-The Past-

I’D HAD A crush on her for almost two years before fate decided I’d waited long enough, and set things in motion that I wished I could undo.

Olin Moss.

The kinda quirky, slightly rebellious, wonderfully nice girl who sat two rows in front of me in class.

Most days, I slung into my seat exhausted and hungry—fighting to stay awake and learn, hoping to achieve good grades to earn a job but mostly to stay out of the principal’s office so I didn’t get a hiding at home.

I did my best to ignore her.

I didn’t allow her to distract me with her delicate laugh and the annoying way my heart beat harder when she smiled. I didn’t have time to be interested in girls—no desire to get close to anyone.

My life was about survival, not fun.

I wasn’t like my fellow students.

I wasn’t like her.

She didn’t look hungry or tired.

She didn’t seem angry at life or lacking in basic fundamentals of existence.

Her hazel eyes were intelligent. Her popularity impressive. Her acceptance of both good and bad days a lesson I should probably master. However, I was only intimate with the shitty, dark days that made everything else just as depressing.

While Olin hung out with her friends and ate packed lunches on the field, I’d do whatever it took to keep myself alive another day.

Food at home was non-existent. I’d learned that if I helped in the canteen during break, I had better opportunity to steal enough to eat. Filling my belly to the brim, knowing it would be another twenty-four hours until my next meal.

When the final bell went, I didn’t bolt into freedom like the others. I dragged my feet and slinked down alleyways to a neighbourhood Olin Moss wouldn’t be caught dead in.

There, I did my best to forget about the mouldy walls, empty cupboards, and the drunkard down the hall. I used earplugs to block the ranting and homework to ignore the constant stream of stoned guests.

Sleep usually found me face down on a textbook, my dirty blankets thrown over me to ward off the midnight chill.

The next morning was wash and repeat: dash from the house before they woke, spray some deodorant over the unwashed clothes I’d slept in, and collapse onto the chair two rows back from a pancake-and-maple syrup smelling Olin Moss.

For two years, our worlds brushed but never collided.

Until that one fateful day.

A day that ought to have been the best day of my life, but somehow, became the catalyst for the worst.

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Chapter Two

______________________________

Olin

-The Present-

“HELLO?” MY VOICE echoed in the large industrial space as my red heels clicked hesitantly across bare, paint-splattered concrete. “Anyone here?”

Two p.m.

I was on time for my interview, but it seemed I was the only one.

Warehouse number twenty-five yawned in welcome, complete with colourful graffiti on its red brick exterior, a massive roller door with rusty chains, and a cleverly painted sign with the name Total Trickery.

I was definitely in the right place.

It was Wednesday at two.

The email confirmation matched the calendar.

So...where was the body painter who was meant to be interviewing me? Where were the other hopeful interviewees as I stepped through a small opening beside the large roller door and traded outside for in?

Paint fumes floated with paraffin parachutes on the air. Turpentine, oil, acrylic, and papyrus all added to the recipe.

My fingers itched to check my phone for the fortieth time. To triple, quadruple check the address.

Stop.

The details said today.

With my chin high and heart racing, I strode purposely forward in my red-clicking heels. My interview-acceptable black dress whispered against my skin as I hoisted my small satchel with my resume up my shoulder. “Hello? I’m here for the two o’ clock meeting with—”

A masculine groan followed by a curse whipped my head to the gloomy shadows in the corner. A scuffle sounded, something metallic clattered to the concrete, another curse bit in anger.

Goosebumps spread over my arms. “Um, hi? I’m...eh, here for the interview?” I stepped warily toward the noise.

Another curse followed by a loud thump.

“I heard you the first time.” A man appeared from the darkness.

A man with shaggy dark hair, five o’clock shadow, and eyes so maliciously green they masqueraded as body parts but were really well-honed weapons.

A man who was bleeding from his temple, limping, and holding his elbow as if it needed reattaching.

“Sorry, I didn’t know if—” I gulped as something long ago tugged in remembrance.

No.

It can’t be...

Recognition slammed into me as forcibly as it slammed into him.

I stumbled under the weight.

Punched by the unbelievable.

“Gil? Oh, my God. Gil!”

Older.

Darker.

More gorgeous than he’d ever been.

I fought every instinct to go to him.

Did my best not to grab him, kiss him, shake him, slap him.

A gust of air blasted through the warehouse as if the winds of fate woke up, felt a tug on whatever linked us together, and clapped its hands in glee, saying, ‘Yes, this will be fun. Let’s put these two back together again.’

“Olin? Fuck...it’s you.” His gaze tore over me as hungrily as mine tore over him.

Time stood still. It reversed. It plopped us right back in the past where this boy had held my heart, and I’d captured his, and together we knew it would always be about us.

Us.

There is no more us.

I stumbled toward him, desperate to be nearer despite so much pain. “I can’t believe this. What are you doing here?”

“What am I? What are you?” He tripped in my direction, his face etched with lines I hadn’t seen in his youth, his body all angles and threats. As fast as he’d headed toward me, he halted as if yanked back by a rope. His face fell. His shock at seeing me morphed into hardness.

I didn’t understand how he could change so much in a few short seconds.

Goosebumps decorated me as coldness settled like a cloak around his shoulders.

“I’ve been back in Birmingham two years. I—” I stopped talking, unable to share the secrets that followed such a statement. “I...”

He closed his eyes, shutting me out as if battling something deep within him. Deliberately, he took a step back, his chin coming up, his coldness settling into ice.

The silence that’d chased us in our fledgling romance returned, thick and heavy.

My back prickled. My mouth turned dry.

Too much distance existed between us, swelling with memory of how things had ended, why we were strangers now, and just how much heartbreak had been left behind.

Along with silence came shadows, creeping over Gil’s expression, shutting down any remaining signs of his shock and gratefulness at seeing me. Heartbeat by heartbeat, he hid any sign that my visit was a welcome one.

I struggled, not knowing what to say.

His gaze no longer held happiness, just aching emptiness and suspicion. “How did you find me?” He didn’t give me chance to reply. “You can’t be here, Olin. You need to leave. I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

What?

Ice water gushed down my spine. “I...what are you talking about?”

“I just told you. You need to go. Just turn around and walk out the same way you walked in.” He narrowed his weaponized eyes, ready to scold me, scare me, and ruin, not just my chance at employment, but any hope of closure from the past. “You’re not welcome here.”

His words were daggers but his voice quavered with dismay.

My heart kicked. “What do you mean?”

“Are you deaf?” He shook his head, his body seething with anger so brutal and out-of-nowhere it seemed fake. “Why the hell are you here, huh? What made you think I’d want you here?” His gaze flickered behind me, locking onto the door as if something evil would waltz right through it. “Goddammit, I don’t have time for this.”

“Time for what?”

“You!”

I stumbled backward just as he tripped to the side, a wince and gasp escaping through gritted teeth. “Fuck.”

“Gil.” My concern overrode emotional agony. I flew to him, following old patterns of caring for him, protecting him, ready to be everything he needed because that was how it’d been between us.

A partnership.

A vow that we would always, always look after the other.

“Are you okay?” I managed to touch his shoulder, just once. A single caress before he reared back as if I’d hurt him worse than anyone. He swallowed a groan, squeezed his eyes, trembled with pain that I knew didn’t have anything to do with his physical injuries but everything to do with us.

Us.

There is no more us.

Remember?

“Don’t touch me,” he snarled.

“But you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. Let me help—”

“Fuck, Olin.” His head tipped downward, unable to look at me. Unable to fight the draw that still hummed between us. “I need you to leave. I can’t...I can’t do this.”

My heart fell to the floor.

He sounded exhausted.

Cross.

Confused.

“Tell me who did this to you.”

He laughed coldly. “It’s nothing I don’t deserve.”

I reached for him again, my fingertips begging to touch. “Gil...”

“Stop. Just...fuck!” He growled with rage and backed away. His thick eyelashes framed impossible pain. A blue streak of paint mixed with the red blood on his cheek.

Straightening his spine, any lingering sign of weakness or historical affection vanished, slipping into irritable stranger, placing a mask of snow upon his features. “I don’t know why you’re here, but you need to go. I don’t want you here. I asked you politely to leave.” His body tensed, bracing himself to be cruel. “There’s the goddamn door. Use it.”

Gil had always been a conundrum. A loner at school. Sweet with me. Horrible to me.

No matter how he’d treated me, I’d always tended his wounds.

Today is no different.

Squaring my shoulders, I said, “I can’t leave you in this state.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Our eyes collided and tangled.

In one stare, every gate and wall I’d built from him hurting me came tumbling down. “Gil, I...where have you been? I’ve wondered so many times—”

“Don’t.” He tore his gaze away, struggling with the familiarity between us. The sensation of homecoming. The connection that refused to break, no matter how much time had passed.

“I just want to understand.” I stepped closer.

He backed up, succeeding in shutting away his emotions and staring at me with heavy disgust and belittling dislike.

The wind that’d shot inside uninvited, swirled around my legs and up my skirt with icy fingers. I shivered, partly from the draft and partly from the frost now glittering on his face.

“Get out.” He bared his teeth. “Now.”

“But...I came for the interview.”

“Interview?” His eyebrows shot skyward. “You think I’d interview you?” His laugh was a vicious thing. Forced and brittle, cruel and callous. “You’ve wasted your time. There’s nothing for you here.”

I winced. I couldn’t help it.

He was here.

As long as he was here, there were a million reasons why I should stay.

Us.

There is no more us.

Remember!?

“I-I didn’t know it was you.” I swallowed. “The job opportunity. I didn’t know you—”

“And I didn’t know it was you. Otherwise, the offer to be interviewed would never have been given. Your email address wasn’t in your name.”

“I know. I don’t like to advertise my personal info. Wait—” I shook my head, doing my best to keep him talking. The longer he spoke, the more his anger cracked. “How did you become a body painter? I mean you were amazing at art in school, but—”

“Stop it.” He winced, licking his lip where a split oozed and swelled. “Enough, Olin. This is over.”

“Why do you get to decide it’s over?” I kept my attention on his hands, unable to meet his stare. “Why did you get to decide it was over seven years ago?” My question sliced my throat on its way out. Spiky and poisonous, something that I’d wanted to ask since he disappeared.

“Stop.” He swallowed hard, washing back excuses, answers, maybe even pleas for forgiveness. Any sign of regret at breaking my heart remained hidden as his green eyes turned lethally black. “Get out. You’ve been here too long already. I want you gone, do you hear me?”

I stepped backward, my legs obeying the bitten command.

I’d always looked up to Gil. Always been terribly dazzled. Always been hopelessly besotted.

He thought I hadn’t noticed him before that day in the corridor, but I had. I’d been blisteringly aware of him sitting behind me. Of the way he chewed his pencil when solving questions. Of the way his hands transformed mundane into magic.

I should’ve known he’d choose art.

Someone with his talent would always be recognised.

But despite his fury, despite my desire to scurry out of his vicinity to nurse the hot wash of tears, undeniable questions swirled in my mind.

So many years.

Such a long eternity.

How had we gone from teenagers to this? How had time stolen our happily ever after?

Staring at him, catching the strain in his face and the worry lines by his eyes, I didn’t see an older, wiser version of the boy who’d made me cry. I only saw so many mistakes and a whole chest worth of heartache.

“Gil—”

“Don’t.” He barked. “You’re on private property. Your invitation has been revoked.” Skirting around me, he stalked toward the exit.

“We were friends once.”

He didn’t look at me. “Don’t fool yourself. We were never friends.”

He was right.

We’d been aware of each other on an instinctual level. We’d been drawn to one another in ways that exceeded our juvenile comprehension. Our bond exceeded petty arguments or stupid misunderstandings.

There was a link.

An awareness.

A pain.

“We weren’t just friends. We were more. So much more.”

“We were nothing.” He let his damaged elbow go, spinning to face me with a hiss. His injuries leeched away his power, leaving him feral with the need to kick me out.

I scowled. “Why can’t you accept my help? You obviously need it.”

His nostrils flared. For a second, utmost yearning flickered. He swayed toward me, victim to the lashing, licking need between us. But then, he shook his head. He pinched his nose as if fighting the simplicity of us.

Us.

There is no more us.

REMEMBER?!

I tiptoed closer, my voice a whisper. “I just...I need to understand, Gil. I get that I no longer have a chance of employment but...” I swallowed, murmuring with strength I didn’t have, “I’m happy for you. Truly. So glad that you get to do what you love for work. I’ve seen your Total Trickery webpage. I’ve watched you online. Those YouTube videos of the hooded man painting naked canvases...I had no idea it was you.” I sighed in awe. “Your talent is incredible.”

He flinched.

He didn’t speak for the longest moment.

I hoped he’d be kind, now he knew I meant no harm. Perhaps too much time had passed for us to go back to what we were, but there might be a chance for a different type of relationship.

Friends.

Co-workers.

Artist and canvas.

I was willing to accept anything if it meant I got to see him again. If I had the slimmest chance to figure out why he’d left me.

But just like before, he chased off the truth and embraced anger instead. His voice thickened with another growl. “Doesn’t matter.” He raised his hand, pointing at the exit. “Leave.” He looked up, trapping me in emerald intensity. “Goddammit, Olin. Please leave.”

My fingers curled into fists.

That wasn’t fair.

I was useless against him when he begged.

I’d let him guide our path when we were younger; happy to let him be in control because I trusted him impeccably. I loved having the honour of being the only one he talked to. The only one permitted to be close to him, to know his secrets, to walk beside him.

Turned out, I was no longer privileged.

Maybe he’d replaced me.

Maybe he truly couldn’t stand me.

But here he was.

Bleeding.

Wounded.

And no sign of a lover to tend to him.

He needed someone to love.

He needed someone who loved him.

I tried one last time. “You shouldn’t be alone, Gil. Please, let me stay.”

He balled his hands, not showing any signs of an emotional war this time. “I’m better off alone, believe me.”

“You need medical attention.”

“So will you if you don’t leave.”

I sighed sadly. “Resorting to threats won’t work. Not this time.”

His eyes flashed with history. Of the time he’d physically hurt me. Of the time his words had the power to stop my heart.

I braced myself for a torrent of anger, but the ghost of regret softened his features. He exhaled heavily, our battle slipping into the depressing aftermath where nobody won. “I don’t want to argue with you. I can tend to my own wounds, and you no longer have an interview. You should never have come here.”

I nodded, accepting the agonising truth. I would never win when it came to Gilbert Clark. I’d lost him long ago. “Okay, Gil.”

His shoulders rolled as if our fight had stripped his final reserves. He didn’t thank me. I didn’t think he had the energy to do anything more than nod listlessly.

My heels clicked loudly as I turned and headed toward the exit.

My back prickled with basic instincts, warning me not to retreat from a hunter. Not to show him vulnerability because that might welcome an attack. But I’d already been down this road. I’d fought for his affection only to receive emotional scars as my reward.

I didn’t want to leave.

It felt like defeat. It left me with a bad taste of giving in far too easily.

Surely, I should try again? I should honour the past and stay until he’d talked to me.

But when I turned by the door and looked back, he had one hand planted over his eyes and the other balled into a fist by his side. For a moment, he looked broken. But then, his hand dropped, his eyes whipped to meet mine. They narrowed with harsh impatience. “Go. Don’t come back.”

My heart bruised as if he’d driven his fist directly into it.

I imprinted the image of a tortured, injured body painter.

I gave him a smile laced with old and recent sadness.

“Goodbye, Gil.” Kissing my dreams farewell of getting a job today, I crossed the threshold.

Gil had been the boy I’d wanted to marry.

He’d belonged to me like I’d belonged to him.

But then he’d become a monster...and no one knew why.

I closed the door on us.

Us.

There is no more us.

I know.

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