Free Unforgettable Lover by Rosalie Redd Page B

since the accident, her paintings just didn’t quite have that same spark, the same beauty. 
    An unwanted memory coiled itself from the depths of her brain. As a newb, she’d run off from her father and their honey cart, excited to paint. As she ran down the market aisle, an older female appeared in her path. Unable to stop, Leonna crashed into her and both fell to the stone floor. Pinned underneath the other female, Leonna couldn’t move, her arms sprawled out in front of her. A nearby vendor’s cart rolled down the aisle. Before she could scream a warning, the cart’s wheels ran over her hand, cutting off three of her fingers. As much as Gaetan had tried, his healing stones couldn’t reattach the severed digits. Even today, the creak of cart wheels sent goosebumps along her arms. 
    Leonna pulled away from her friend and looked into Chantel’s eyes. “I have a responsibility to my parents to run the honey cart. It’s our family legacy—our contribution to the Keep. What I want doesn’t matter.”
    “Not true. What you want does matter.” Chantel traced her finger over Leonna’s hair. “Oh, honey, why you can’t see that I’ll never understand.”
    “Thank you for helping me work through this, but I have to get to the artistry chamber. I’m meeting someone for a painting.”
    Chantel’s gaze roamed Leonna’s face, as if she evaluated whether she was ready to let her go. She glanced at the stone floor and stepped back. “Okay. I’d love to see the picture when you’re done. I’m sure the painting will be beautiful.” 
    Leonna’s muscles relaxed. She pulled Chantel into a quick embrace. “You’re a good friend, Chanty.” 

Chapter Fourteen
     
    There she was. The female he’d commissioned to paint his portrait. She brushed a stroke of paint over her canvas, the movement sensual, beautiful. That she used her damaged hand was remarkable. Her thumb and index finger grasped the brush with ease. Mesmerized, he could gaze upon her face for not just hours, but days on end. As he walked past the other artists in the room, none caught his attention, not like this female. 
    Nicholai’s body responded as if he knew her, as if she was the one he’d been with during the Betram ritual. But she was not. As a qithan female, she wouldn’t have been allowed to participate. Then, why did he respond to her this way? He ground his teeth. The last time they’d talked, he’d failed to get her name. He would rectify that immediately.
    Her back to him, she didn’t appear to notice his approach. He gazed upon her fine, blond hair. The stands fell down her back. The tips graced the top of her rounded behind. He had a sudden urge to get close, introduce himself by showing her what she did to him. That was inappropriate, but his beast liked the idea.
    Not wanting to startle her, he stepped past her so that he’d be in her line of sight. She jumped anyway, and a drop of red paint from her brush landed on her cheek. The bright spot made her all the more delectable. She didn’t seem to notice. 
    Her eyes widened. 
    “Oh, you’re here.” She blushed a bright shade of pink that blended well with the dab of paint. He longed to wipe it away, but contained his desire.
    “Yes, as promised.” He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lip. She brought that out in him. The smile overtook him and turned into a full grin.
    If possible, her cheeks colored even darker shade of pink, and his chest expanded from the warmth she exuded.
    “I have a fresh canvas.” She removed the painting she’d been working on and pulled a white board from her stack. “It’s brand new, and—”
    “What’s your name?” A burning desire to know ate at him. 
    She bit her lip. 
    A warmth spread into his groin. He wanted to nibble her lip as well.
    “Leonna.” 
    “Leonna.” The way her name rolled around on his tongue was like a gentle caress. So, he said her name again. “Leonna. What a beautiful name. I am