Free Captivated (Stranded) by Mia West Page A

recognition, and for a moment her brows rose in happy wonder, and he wanted to drop with relief.
    But then she frowned and took in the whole thing again, edge to edge. His throat tightened at the series of expressions that played over her face, from confusion to alarm.
    “It’s a collage.”
    “I know what it is,” she said. “Did you start this yesterday, after we met?”
    “No.”
    “When?” Her voice didn’t sound right. It came out flat and forced, as if someone were pressing her chest like a bellows to work her voice box.
    Panic beat wings against his ribcage. “About a month ago.”
    Wrong answer. She hugged her shirt to her chest, then tried to pull the bottom down to cover her crotch.
    Shit. “Don’t—”
    She reached down and jerked his top sheet up to wrap around herself, then looked at the bed again. Slowly, she looked back to the collage. Then she sank down to sit on his bed, her eyes on the wall the whole time. She shifted around, testing something. When she turned to him, her face was as blank and taut as a newly stretched canvas. “Do you masturbate to this?” she asked in a tone too casual to be anything but dangerous.
    “Laine—”
    “Do you?”
    She already looked ready to run, hands clutching the sheet tightly, shoulders rigid. He couldn’t lie to her. Still, to admit it out loud. He stared at her, hoping his silence would give her the answer, but no, she was waiting. She wanted the word. “Yes,” he said.
    She glared at the piece, and then shot up from the bed and stalked to the walk below the collage. Planting her hands and feet wide against the shelves, she let the sheet fall to the floor, leaving her entire backside exposed. “Is this what you’ve been picturing?”
    He stared, unable to reconcile the furious woman across from him with Laine, his Laine, from the roof.
    She looked up at the collage, then pulled her hair up with one hand, leaning her elbow on the shelves. She yanked loose a curl with her free hand, then braced it again. “I don’t have my glasses on, but is this close enough?”
    He picked up the sheet and draped it around her, hands shaking. “It’s not like that.”
    She turned on him, and the sheet fell again. “It’s not?”
    “No, it’s a portrait,” he said, hearing the gears whine as he backpedaled.
    “In the closet?” Her eyes challenged him to hold her gaze.
    “You’re mad because it’s not in the apartment?” Please let that be the reason.
    “If this was something you were proud of, it wouldn’t be in here.”
    “It’s in here because I work with a bunch of busybodies!”
    She flinched.
    He stepped back and lowered his voice. “I’m sorry. It’s a portrait, Laine. I couldn’t capture you on paper, so I tried to do it in collage.”
    “Capture me,” she whispered. Her eyes narrowed at him. “Did you lock me in?”
    “No!” He held out his hands. “No, I swear. God, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d be so upset.”
    “Didn’t know?” She pointed at the door. “You’ve kept this room shut tight. Right before you showed me, you said you were about to lose your nerve.”
    “But I did show you. I knew I had to. I wanted you to know.”
    She closed her eyes.
    He wanted badly to touch her but knew he couldn’t. “I’ll take it down. It’s just…you’re only here for so long, Laine, and you’re so pretty—”
    “Don’t.”
    “I wanted something beautiful to look at for a change.”
    “Stop it!” she shouted, her voice shocking in the narrow space. “Talk about pity. You’re not some monster who has to hide in the attic!” She stepped up to him and, miraculously, touched him, her hands gripping his shoulders. “You’re a good man, Evan, a good, generous, talented, gorgeous man.” She lowered her head and growled, frustrated. Then she smoothed a thumb over the scar tissue on his left cheek. “I’m sorry if some people have made you think otherwise, but you owe it yourself not to buy their bullshit.”
    He