And she’s directing every bit of her longing at the artist.

If Liam ever sets eyes on this painting, he’ll see it too.

11

Keeping my promise to Liam has never been so difficult. In the days since Sebastian painted my portrait, I’ve had to fight myself too many times to count. Because I’ve never ached to touch myself the way I do now, and I don’t want to let Liam down by breaking the promise I made to him.

So when I meet him for our second chess game, I’m certain shame lingers in my eyes. So does this incessant ache between my legs, reignited by his long kiss upon greeting me.

“You’re quiet today.” He slides his bishop across the board. “Is everything okay?”

Moving a pawn, I capture one of his, but I find no joy in the conquest. Because I can’t lie to him—we established that dynamic early in our relationship.

But God, I don’t want to hurt him.

“What’s wrong, Novalee?” A frown plays at the corners of his lips.

I settle back in my chair and hold his gaze. “Sebastian painted my portrait last week.”

He’s quiet for several moments. “You wore the diamond.”

It’s more of a statement, but I nod anyway.

“I knew it was a possibility when I sold the necklace to Heath.” He shifts in his chair. “What’s bothering you about it, my sweet girl?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” The admission splashes a cold aura over the room.

“Then be honest with me.”

“Sebastian didn’t want money for the portrait,” I say, skirting the issue.

“Of course he didn’t.” Certainty hardens his tone. “He wanted to touch you.”

Shame clogs my throat, and everything I don’t say darkens his eyes.

“What did he get in exchange for his services?”

“I already told you. He touched—”

“I want details,” he cuts in.

My heartbeat thunders behind my breastbone, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t pull in a full breath. “I’m not giving you details.”

He watches me, tense with jealousy, his chin resting on his clenched hand. “Did you come?”

“I wasn’t allowed to.”

“But you wanted to, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I admit through gritted teeth, hating the undeniable anger that shadows his gorgeous face. “And now I can’t stop thinking about touching myself.”

His nostrils flare in surprise. “You kept your promise?”

“It hasn’t been easy.”

“It’s not supposed to be easy, Novalee.” He leans forward, chess game abandoned on the table between us. “It’s supposed to teach you obedience, patience, and control.”

“It’s teaching me resentment.”

“I disagree. Abstaining is teaching you that your pussy belongs to me, even when eleven other men think they can claim it.”