Page 101 of Lured By Shadows

I could have screamed from frustration and need, from the maddening tension coiled low in my stomach that begged for release and kept me trapped in agonizing limbo where every step forward felt like it might unravel me completely if he so much as brushed against me again. Instead, I clenched my thighs uselessly and forced my breathing into something resembling normal while he extended his hand once more, smirking like the cat who had not only caught the canary but left it flustered and questioning its entire existence.

I took his hand because pretending otherwise would have been an insult to reality, and he tugged me along, leading me deeper into the house. My thoughts stayed shamelessly fixed on how his thigh had nearly rewritten my life choices, replaying the firm slide and the way it had lit me up inside, making it impossible to shake the lingering throb whispering promises of what could come next if I just let myself fall into it completely.

“I will have Belinda bring snacks to the art room for you in a bit,” Culver said, his voice gentler as he pushed open a pair of intricately carved double doors.

The room beyond flooded with color and texture: painted canvases in gilded frames, glass pedestals displaying twisting sculptures, and carefully arranged crafts tucked into curated corners. The entire space hummed with soft, cultivated creativity.

“This is the art room, or the gallery. Whatever you prefer to call it.” He motioned inside like he was unveiling something sacred. “She wanted to speak with you in a creative environment, so please, make yourself at home.”

He paused, his gaze warm and heavy on my face.

“After she spends her time with you, you are mine for the rest of the day.”

Heat flushed through my chest at being his for the rest of the day. It sounded like something I wasn’t emotionally prepared for, yet my body had already RSVP’d yes.

And then there was the second realization: this single room was larger than the house I grew up in. Standing in it made me feel like a kid in a fairy tale who’d wandered into the wrong chapter without anyone noticing.

At the center of the room, elevated on a shallow platform that made her seem even more ethereal, Anna sat poised like a piece of art waiting to be admired. She wore a gown in a shade of pink so rich it flirted with coral at sunset, and her curls cascaded down her back in gleaming waves that reminded me of fire flickering behind frosted glass. The entire room seemed to bow to her without needing to. She looked like she belonged in a painting framed in gold leaf beneath museum lighting.

“Ira, it’s so lovely to see you again!” she called, lifting her hand in an elegant wave that my brain insisted on comparing to a princess in a storybook.

I waved back, fingers fluttering awkwardly, my smile stretching a little too wide. “H-Hi Anna,” I managed, stumbling over my own tongue like I was back in middle school meeting the cool senior girl who always smelled like expensive perfume and emotional stability.

“Go on,” Culver murmured behind me, his palm settling lightly against the small of my back. His touch was brief but grounding, steadying my nerves the way a hand does when you’re about to step onto a stage you didn’t rehearse for.

I glanced over my shoulder at him, nervous energy coiling along my spine like a spring ready to snap if I didn’t get a grip. “Fine,” I sighed, like I wasn’t about to be sent into a private meeting with someone I both admired and low-key feared. “I’ll see you later.”

“I will be back before you know it,” he said, punctuating it with a wink that sent heat shooting straight to my cheeks.

I puffed them out and looked away so I wouldn’t grin like an idiot.

Show-off. Of course he could wink and make me feel all mushy.

For half a second, I wondered what he’d do while I was gone. Something mysterious and sexy, no doubt, like leaning over ancient books in a dim room with a lamp and a glass of red wine.

Either way, I forced myself to peel my thoughts away from the hallway encounter still clinging to me like perfume.

Ugh. Focus, Ira. Please.

I climbed the stairs and crossed to where Anna sat waiting, her softness making her intimidating aura feel more like an invitation than a test. Her smile was so warm I nearly forgot I was supposed to be nervous.

“You look beautiful today, Ira,” she said gently, her voice smooth as satin ribbon.

My face went nuclear, heat flooding my skin as I ducked my head, avoiding her eyes because compliments from someone like her felt dangerous.

“No, that’s not true. You’re way prettier than me.”

She didn’t even blink. “We can both be beautiful at the same time,” she said easily, reaching across to slide her hand over mine. The touch was light and graceful, but just as chilly as everyone else in the Scarbrough family. “I imagine you have something you’d like to show me.”

It wasn’t like we were competing, but I still felt inferior to her, given the way she carried herself so effortlessly. After all the times I’d heard similar lines from guys who treated compliments like transactions, tossing out “pretty” as bait before pushing for more, it was hard not to brace myself for some hidden catch. Even with Culver, it twisted in my head sometimes, the pull between wanting to believe him and bracing for whatever might follow, because looks had never secured anything for me. They sparked interest for a while, until something better came along, leaving me feeling temporary every time. Being pretty never felt like stability, just something fleeting that disappeared when it mattered most.

Still, I inhaled and forced myself to focus, reaching into my bag for the folder of sketches and swatches.

“I do,” I said, pulling it out and setting it between us. “I’ve been working on this and wanted your input. Last time you mentioned the bouquet, you were wanting to do the fuchsia and watermelon palette?”

Anna tilted her head, fingertips gliding to her chin as she considered. “Yes… though more flamingo than watermelon,” she said thoughtfully. “But if you have ideas that incorporate watermelon, I would love to see them.”

Relief washed over me in a slow wave, easing the flush building in my cheeks as I straightened the pages and turned to the board I’d prepared.