The Jewel of His Collection Read Free Page A

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    Flustered, Violet managed to unbutton half of her blouse before realizing what she was doing. Apparently Carlisle wasn’t interested in having a conversation, and she flushed with anger as much as embarrassment. She was a person, not a painting, and she had no intention of letting him forget that inconvenient fact. She’d agreed to strip, not to be silent while she did.
    “I lived in New York for a while and hated it. I know it’s supposed to be exciting, but to me it just felt crowded and noisy. I always felt like…” She trailed off, not sure how to explain the soul-crushing effect the city had on her.
    “Like you couldn’t breathe,” Carlisle said softly, and for a moment, Violet wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or not.
    “Exactly,” she agreed, just in case his remark was aimed at her. “I’ll take Owensport any day.”
    Carlisle’s eyes met hers, and Violet gasped at the intensity she saw in them, not sure what to make of it. He wasn’t looking at her with anger or lust or any other easily identifiable emotion. Instead, for the first time, he was looking at her as though he really saw her, giving her the uncomfortable feeling that he was seeing her soul as clearly as her body.
    “I always liked being outside,” she said to break the tension of the moment, leaving off with her buttons and instead stepping out of her shoes which earned her two more choices. “When I was growing up, we had this big tree in the backyard and my dad built me a swing. I used to play on it for hours. Sometimes if I just sat there quietly, I’d see deer. One time I even saw a moose.”
    She was babbling to distract herself from what she was doing as she went back to unbuttoning her blouse, but Carlisle actually looked interested. “When I got older, that’s where I sat to sketch.”
    Almost at once, she realized her mistake. “Tell me about your sketching,” he commanded, his face intent as he leaned forward.
    Carlisle was interested in art—of course he’d want to know more about her sketching. Suddenly, taking her shirt off seemed less revealing than telling him about her work. Having seen the best that the art world had to offer, he’d hardly be impressed by her amateurish efforts. “Oh, you know. I drew flowers and trees, the usual,” she said carelessly, injecting a light laugh. “All the things teenage girls like. I probably even wrote some bad poetry while I was at it.” She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip to prevent herself from saying more, relieved when he didn’t press her.
    Feeling like she’d dodged a bullet, Violet tossed her shirt onto the pile. Considering the camisole she was wearing, not much of her skin was on display, but this was more than she’d showed anyone since her ex-boyfriend decided to trade her in for a prettier model.
    Carlisle opened his mouth as though he was going to say something, but then closed it again. “You may now choose any painting with a yellow tag or a blue one.” Somehow, Violet didn’t think that was what he’d originally planned to say.
    “Thank you.” Without her shoes, the marble floor was cold against her feet, but looking at the artwork warmed her. Madden was truly gifted, and knowing that she would have the freedom to study his paintings at her leisure once they were at the museum made everything she was doing completely worthwhile.
    Her skirt was the next thing to go, leaving her in just her slip and camisole. “You’re a greedy thing, aren’t you?” Carlisle asked with what sounded like admiration when he got his first glimpse of her slip.
    “I prefer to think of myself as shrewd,” she corrected him primly.
    At that, he laughed aloud. “You are that, Miss Fabre. I’m impressed.”
    Her body might not be much to admire, but at least he admitted that there was nothing wrong with her mind. Warmed by his compliment, she considered her options. Once the camisole and slip went, nothing would shield her thick thighs and rounded