Unbroken Read Free

on her calf with a wave of his hand and goosebumps rose on her skin, as if he’d come into contact with it. But he hadn’t, and she wanted him to. In the worst way. These days Vashti was always honest with herself. She longed for him as she hadn’t longed for a man for over a year. In her mind’s eye she could see him, his muscles bunching as he drove his cock into her.
    No! Distraction!
    Every time interest turned to her injury, she diverted herself, other people’s minds. Time to face it dead-on.
    “Did you enjoy the other work?” he asked her.
    She meant to lie to him, but something in his eyes told her he would know. That clear green said he’d understand if she lied, but he wouldn’t invite any more conversation. And she was so enjoying this, being treated like a human being. She didn’t want it to stop. So she spoke the truth.
    “Not in the last four years. Up until then, it was exciting. I was climbing the career ladder and making lots of money, but when I turned twenty, I wanted something else. My mother persuaded me to give it another five years. No doubt after that, she’d have asked me for another five. And I’d have probably done it.”
    “I read about the accident. You couldn’t get out.”
    It had taken her therapist six months to get her to remember. It had taken him half an hour. “Yes. My leg was trapped under my seat. The collision crushed the front of our car in, and compressed us against the dashboard. The airbag didn’t stop the rib that broke and punctured my mother’s lung.” The tears that came every time she thought of that day sprang to her eyes and she let them fall.
    Her tears usually stopped most people, and led to sympathy, but it didn’t stop him.
    “And you feel guilty, don’t you?”
    “What about?” She’d faced the truth a few months ago, but that remained between her and her therapist.
    “You feel guilty that you can’t be sorry for your mother’s death.”
    Indignation swept through her in a hot tide, that he’d seen the truth…that he knew and he still sat next to her. How had he seen it, when the press, the photographers, even her friends had not? How did he know?
    She took a moment, then responded in the expected way. She couldn’t think of any other method to counter him. “What kind of person do you think I am?”
    “A hurting one. An honest one.” He paused, watching her closely.
    Vashti met his scrutiny. To look away would be cowardly and she wasn’t about to start that now.
    “So I’ll be honest in return. I want you as my model for this sculpture for more than your looks.” He stopped, waited.
    His admission intrigued her. She sat still, not daring to reveal her feelings by moving, shifting away.
    She lifted her chin. “I know my looks are unique. That’s what my whole career is based on. So what else is there?”
    His eyes snared hers, trapped her. “Before the accident, you were strikingly beautiful. The perfect clothes-horse, with flawless golden skin and those amazing eyes. Gorgeous, but like the Titian rather than the Manet . All surface , giving away nothing. I don’t want that. When I saw pictures of you when you were leaving the hospital, most were you stoically facing the press, your mask firmly in place. But once, just once, you let go.”
    He put his finger in the book and flipped the pages to show her two pictures. One image was of her facing the press after leaving the hospital, printed in the centre of a large piece of photographic paper. The top picture was in colour, and she remembered how carefully she’d prepared for it, choosing her dress and make-up herself, without that constant voice behind her. She could still hear it. Do you think that liner is quite right? I’m not sure that shade of blusher suits you. If anything about her mother haunted her, it was that voice.
    The lower picture was a candid snap. Used to the paparazzi, Vashti kept her public face on while she knew they were about, but this one was taken by a