He pulled my hands to my sides and let go, eyeing me wolfishly up and down. A cool perspiration beaded up on my temples.
"Your ankle," he breathed, "It's feeling better, I imagine?"
I nodded, unable to speak. The sheer shock still had my knees shaking.
"And your jacket," he glowered, tugging a few frayed threads on my shoulder, "I see it's still ripped."
I flushed scarlet, still quivering, and shrugged.
"No time," I kept my eyes down, "...I've been working hard for you, Mr. Caine."
He nodded, letting it pass.
I don't know what I expected—for him to be furious. Confused, maybe? Anything but unmoved by my presence. His face gave nothing away. His eyes were sharp, impenetrable. But through the downy little hairs on my arms, and along the nape of my neck, I felt a prickly electricity charging in the air between us. I stayed perfectly still, afraid if I moved away, if I broke the balance, the static discharge might incinerate us.
"So here you are..." he leered, "With me. In my study. You've made it this far with your little plan," He ran a rough hand across his jaw, "What now, Miss Foster?"
"I—I'm sorry?" My voice quavered.
"What is it you want?" He took a half-step back, letting me breathe, "Why are you here, Penny?"
I shook my head, trying to clear it.
"I just..." I murmured, "The other day. You never answered my question."
"Your question?" He cocked his head.
"I asked you first," my heart pounded, "What is it you wanted from me?"
He raised his lip, "Your piece, Penny."
"You have it," I nodded coolly to the canvas, leaning along the bookshelves, "And now?"
He held up his hand, silencing me, and stepped over to unravel the ropes, and strip away the drop cloth. It stood bare between us. Naked, unbound. I felt my heart crawl up in my throat. For all my agonized hours, all my toil and trouble, somehow I hadn't quite accounted for the gravity of that moment.
I didn't want to care what he thought of it. But I knew. I knew if I he wasn't satisfied, it would shatter me.
It wouldn't be here, wouldn't even exist
, my toes curled tight inside my sneakers,
if he hadn't ripped it out of me
. And here we were, just one week later. I'd done it. I'd followed his demands like a holy writ.
Just one week
... I bit. It felt like half of a lifetime.
I waited, teetering on pins and needles. At last, he spoke.
"Yes," he turned, "It's perfect... Penny Foster."
I breathed a deep, searing sigh of relief. I hadn't even realized I was holding my breath.
"You... you really approve?" I murmured.
"I do," he nodded, stepping nearer, "But now," he scowled, "you should go."
My fists clenched. My knuckles went white.
Bastard.
I swallowed,
is this really it? Is this how it ends?
I watched him move between me and the door, predacious; his icy eyes flashing.
"You should go," he said it again, closing the space between us, "because you've fulfilled the terms of our agreement. Because you and I have nothing more to say to each other. And because right now, it's only with a great deal of
difficulty
," his voice curved off into a growl, "that I'm keeping my hands from your throat."
My face went white. My lip began trembling.
"Go," his breath blew cool across my face.
Time stopped. Everything stood still.
Did he? Did he really just say that?
My heart rattled in unruly
torsades de pointes
. I met his gaze as best I could. He didn't blink. He didn't speak. He only stared, and bared his teeth.
God. He's serious, isn't he?
I backed up blindly against his desk, almost knocking a lamp to the floor. He caught it quickly, without breaking his gaze.
"You know I've noticed a few things about you, Miss Foster," he stepped aside slightly, offering me a clear path to the door, "For one, your survival instincts are awful."
I bit deep into my lip. I knew what he was doing. He was daring me to make a break for it. Daring me to run. I breathed through my teeth, barely audible.
"...And
two
?"
"Two," he sneered, "you are very, very
bad
at doing as you're told," He leveled his gaze, hovering just over my shoulder, "I won't tell you again," his words burned and bristled, "Now,
go
."
As I'm told?
I glowered at him, though my fingers were quivering like reeds. And even as my nerves caught fire, I knew what I needed to do.
"
Le chapelle notre-dame-de-bon-secours
," my breath rattled, "Two by three and a half meters. Six centimeters deep. Linen canvas. Red underpainting. One week..." I recited, breathless, but verbatim, "I listen, Mr. Caine, when I
choose
to listen."
His lupine eyes flashed, "Is that right?"
He snapped his fingers, and Rupestrian fled from the room. He loomed closer and closer, trapping me between him and his chair.
"Sit
down
," he snarled softly.
I really don't know if I had any choice. My legs were shaking, my knees knocked. I fell back into his seat.
"Now stand," his voice cut sharp across me.
Do what?
My brow furrowed, but like a limp marionette plucked up by the tethers, I rose to my feet again. He stood above me, burying me beneath his shadow.
"Close your eyes, Penny."
I did. My lids fell shut. My breath stopped. He was so near, I could feel him—feel his lips hovering, just barely, over mine.
"Now," he whispered, "Tell me
no
."
My blood ran cold. Still, I stayed silent.