Page 9 of Break Me Beautifully

Chapter 4.

We land safely in thestate of New York. The trip was uncomfortable. Neither of us spoke much. He flipped through a notebook while we were in the air, jotting things down, leaving me to stew in the turmoil of my thoughts.

He wants me.

What the hell did that mean? I couldn't ask, not after he'd laughed at my last question about me being beautiful. I'd never thought I was ugly, but beautiful?

I'm a man who can't resist beautiful things.That's what he told me earlier today. God, was that really only hours ago? My life had flipped upside down so fast.He also warned me about what he does to beautiful things. Breaks them.

“Leona.” Klintock is standing at the bottom of the plane's steps with an umbrella in his hand. I didn't notice the rain, but I do now. The refreshing smell heightens my senses, waking me up. He holds his hand out expectantly. I climb down the steps, consciously avoiding his offered hand, but I do stand under the shelter of his umbrella. I knew he was tall, but at his side, my head comes to his chest. The umbrella looks miles above me.

His fingers drift into his jacket pocket. If I offended him by not grabbing his hand, he doesn't act like it, he's still wearing that damn sly smile. “This way,” he says, walking towards a gorgeous black town car parked on the tarmac.

“My suitcase,” I say.

“It's taken care of.” He nods towards a man who's carefully rolling my bag towards the car ahead of us. I get the feeling a lot of things are taken care of for Klintock.

I glance his face from beneath the umbrella. I feel so unsure around him, like he's becoming more of a stranger the longer we're together. He catches me looking at him. I duck my head in embarrassment, half-diving into the car when the driver opens the door for me. It's dark inside with plenty of space between the huge seats. I wish there was more, especially when Klintock sits across from me. He invades every space he enters. The shadows jump to him like they're old friends, and he settles so easily into the role of brooding villain. Katy's warning whispers in my ear,He's dangerous.I know about the mafia from television and stories. Only brutal men with no qualms getting blood on their hands could be part of that world. I'd thought, though, that the mob was into drug trafficking, or arms deals. Art seemed so mundane.

“Marshall?” I say, needing to erase the awful tension, “Can you tell me how long you've worked as an art curator?”

He shuts the car door, smiling at me curiously. “About seven years, when I was your age.”

“That seems so young.”

“Maybe. But my father taught me everything he knew. I was appreciating fine art before I could walk.”

I grin helplessly as I imagine that. “Your dad is a curator?”

Marshall pauses, looking away before answering. “Was. He died a long time ago.”

“Oh. I'm sorry,” I say sincerely.

The back of his hand presses to his cheek. He's still looking out the window when he speaks again. “He was a wonderful artist. I was never as good as him. I'll never be.”

“You’re an artist, too? What sort of art do you make?”

He smiles at me, eyes lighting up. "Oil paintings," he says.

Picturing him detailing a canvas with stroke after stroke of rich colors, I start to relax. "I prefer watercolors. I like oils too, but I never had the patience for how long they take to dry."

"I'm a fan of working on things that take time. Effort often leads to a satisfying result." He leans towards me, his knees spreading wide, and I realize too late that I'm blocked in. His legs are on either side of mine, his face inches away. I can smell the same delicious scent from this morning under the bright blue sky. "I have a feeling you're someone that doesn't warm up easily to others, Leona. And I'm guessing most boys—because they certainly weren't men—backed off at the slightest cold shoulder from you. Am I right?"

I start to breathe quicker. "Are you always like this?"

"Like what?"

"Ballsy." I tilt my chin up, keeping my voice as steady as I can. "You talk to me like you have some right to be so bold, no, rude. It doesn't matter if I'm going to be working under you, or if you're going to help my career. I'm still someone you need to behave yourself around.”

Klintock takes a deep inhale, going still in front of me. "I like what you said just now. Working under me." His lips form a tempting smirk. "You're not used to people telling you what they think or want."

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