As I Breathe (One Breath at a Time: Book 2) (33 page)

Rain simply said, “No. She is not.” He offered no further information.

“
Oh.” I winced. “Your grandmother?” I raised a curious brow. There I was prying again. I really wanted to know. I’d noticed I’d been telling him a lot about myself, but he didn’t open up as easily. He obviously guarded his anonymity.

“
No, she’s not my grandmother.” He chuckled and smiled at me, amusingly. She had to be someone of importance to land a spot on his wall. Then it dawned on me she may have been his current girlfriend dressed up for one of those antique photos that you can get taken at a county fair. Or Rain himself took the picture.

“
She’s extremely beautiful,” I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. I wanted to know who she was.

“
Yes, she
was
,” Rain agreed.

“
Oh I’m sorry,” I responded, trying to conceal my pleasure. The way he answered by using the word “was” confirmed in my mind she was definitely an ex-girlfriend, or in the least a friend. It pretty much validated he was currently single and available.

“
So you took her picture, right?” I inquisitively asked.

“
I did indeed.”

Boldly I said, “I would love for you to take my picture. I’ll pay you of course...”

“It would be my pleasure to photograph you.” I could feel his eyes grazing over me. A warm surge released in my belly. I consciously tried to not fidget. I hoped he liked what he saw.

“
Really? Thanks. I can’t wait.” With grace, I flashed him my best Hollywood smile. I examined the photo closer. “It’s so ominous.” I inhaled. “You could sell these...women everywhere would line up to have their photo taken like this. You could make a small fortunate.”

“
Thanks, that’s sweet of you, but it’s just a hobby. I could never charge for taking photos. I love the art of it too much.”

Free
, I thought, that could have only meant he wanted to see me again.

“
You’re amazing that’s all I can say.” Things were going better than I had expected. My heart fluttered. I didn’t want my time with him to end. “I love how the light casts perfectly against her silhouette, creating the shadows all around her, almost like she’s in a bubble.” I didn’t think Photoshop could do something this extraordinary.

Rain whispered something inaudible. “She sort of,” was all I heard him say. Automatically, I shot him a glance then turned away. It was all I could do, making a good show of self-control as well as trying to be polite by ignoring his private spoken thoughts about her. Prying into his past relationship would’ve been crossing boundaries at this stage. But I wasn’t against listening if he freely offered.

Instead, I inadvertently asked, “Has this been retouched?”

“
Retouch?” he questioned.

“
You know...did you alter the picture with Photoshop?” I held my breath, hoping the photo had been retouched; otherwise, feeling a mountain of competition in the looks category between her and myself. Why did she have to be so damn beautiful?

“
Photoshop?” He paused. “Aaah, no Photoshop. I took it with my old Lecia Lemar standard 50mm camera. It’s film—not digital.”

“
Wow.” My chest constricted. Suddenly, I didn’t feel as glamorous as I thought I looked. She was the real deal although the innate artistry of the photo made me even more impressed with Rain’s work. His talent was visceral.

I felt compelled to run my fingers over the glass of the shadow box that her photo was displayed in. When I touched it, a vibration radiated through my fingers. Perhaps it was static electricity, although powerful static electricity. I didn’t bother questioning Rain about it. It didn’t hurt, but felt odd like sticking your tongue against the end of a 9-volt battery. I knew this because I’d tried it once when playing truth or dare with some friends years ago. I chose dare and receive an unexpected zap. My friends thought it was pretty funny. I didn’t. After that experience, I learned to use it as a harmless weapon against my brother when he would stick his tongue out at me. I convinced him there were magical powers in the end of a battery, and he could become a super hero he held it against his tongue. Little weirdo, I think he liked the jolt it gave him over the idea of gaining powers. Either way he fell for it every time. No wonder he didn’t have any taste buds left on the tip of his tongue by the time he reached puberty. Poor thing.

“Be careful, Brielle. The glass is thin. I wouldn’t want you to cut yourself.”

“
Oh, yes of course.” I grimaced, stepping a few paces back from the photo.

“
I have something over here I think you may find of interest. A friend of mine painted it.”

I supposed he was trying to get me to stop touching his artwork. I should have known better, but I always had a curious fetish to touch everything.

Rain guided me to stand in front of the piece of art he was eager to show me. Quickly I noticed the artist had dedicated it to him. On the plaque the dedication read...

To Rain...May all your wishes come true...

Your friend and confidant, Michael.

I raised my hand to my heart and sighed in awe. “Rain, is this an original Michelangelo?” What a silly question, of course it wasn’t.

“You could say that,” he said unpretentiously.

“
Ah, your friend does an
unbelievable
rendition of Michelangelo.” He really did.

“
Yes. He’s very talented.”

“
Yes, very.” I half-turned on my heels, breathing in the beauty of all the art. “This place is exquisite. It’s like a museum. Thanks for sharing it.”

“
I have found the chamber radiates a remarkable energy.” As he spoke, he ran his palm down the length of my arm, causing chills to trace over me. Yes, I felt an indescribable synergy too, but I wasn’t sure if it was the chamber or Rain. I certainly liked his energy.

I was acutely aware he had taken my hand in his again. A polite and passive-aggressive maneuver to keep me from touching anything, I assumed.

“Yes, it does. I definitely feel it. But the name
chamber,
it sounds...well, kind of archaic. Like a place where a king would keep prisoners.” I tightened the corners of my mouth into a smile.

Rain exhaled a breath, in a low hearty tone he repeated in the form of a question. “Prisoners?” he asked and gently released my hand. Immediately, I interlaced my fingers together to stop any temptation of wanting to touch everything. This included Rain. “This
chamber
stands for a room of importance. Back in my day—”

“
Back in your day?” My pitch rose, with a single brow flying up. I half-laughed and questioned him, “What, you’re maybe...thirty-three at the most?”

“
Oh thanks. Thirty-three...plus some.” He ran his fingers casually through his coal black hair, which caused my heart to leap. “So there’s no misunderstanding, I take no prisoners,” he said commandingly, and then winked seductively.

“
That could be taken in two different ways.” I grimaced playfully. Rain nodded slightly to agree. “So why do you call this a chamber? Obviously, this is a place of importance to you but it’s such an old fashion term and you’re so young.”

“
When growing up, my mother’s definition of a chamber was her boudoir. However, my grandfather referred to the small room tucked away in the back of his home as his chamber. It was where he retreated to when he met with important associates or when he needed quiet time to read, or to just sit and think. I call this room my chamber in honor of him. So, my dear, there are no prisoners here. Don’t worry you’re perfectly safe.” He flashed me another heart-throbbing wink.

“
Safe,” I repeated him. It brought to mind a naughty novel I’d just read, where the main characters—two lovers, establish a
safe word
for trust purposes.
The thought caused my heart to swell for a fraction of a second. God, what was I doing with a complete stranger—correction, beautiful stranger with illicit thoughts streaming through my head? The truth was, being concerned for my safety was my least worry.

Rain continued to unnecessarily reassure me in his charming way that I was safe. “I sensed your hesitation when we first came in. If I’d said
dungeon
instead of chamber, I could understand your trepidation.” He half-laughed, and endearingly tapped the tip of his finger on the end of my nose, which made me feel childish. I’m sure it was his best attempt to put me at ease. Unlike New Yorkers, I’d found strangers were much more trusting of one another in Paris.

“
I’ll admit when you called it your chamber,” I exhaled a short giggle. “It did throw me for a second. Hey, haven’t you read:
Fifty Shades of Grey
?” I asked, immediately wishing I hadn’t.

“
No, can’t say I have. What is it about?”

“
Aaah, well...” I paused. “It’s about a super wealthy guy named Grey—that was his last name. Christian Grey,” I shot out. “He had this room in his home that was sort of like a chamber—but not like yours.” I smiled, nervously when I spoke. Surely Rain knew what I was talking about. “That’s why I sort of hesitated when you called it your chamber.”

“
Aah, so you like reading scary novels?”

“
I love reading everything.”

Curiosity lingered in his dark gray eyes. “So did this Christian character torture women in his chamber?” Rain asked, furrowing his brows together.

“Ah, no, he, uh...he was a messed up guy. And had some major issues and liked to...” How could I tell him that Christian Grey was a Dom and liked to control women sexually?

Rain looked at me, detecting my uneasiness. “I’m sorry it left such a dark impression on you.”

“Actually no, no. It wasn’t like that.” I blushed. “The book was about romance, sort of...” I lowered my voice, choking back the lump that had formed in my throat. Clearing my vocal chords,, I said in a raspy tone, “It actually caused a major craze amongst women readers everywhere. Everyone liked it. So, do you like to read?” End of the
Fifty Shades
topic, I hoped. It was my fault for bringing the spicy subject up. I wanted to avoid telling him the hook-line; that was for sure. Admitting that I was engrossed with reading steamy erotica about handcuffed sex, and spankings may have given Rain the wrong impression of me. Damn it. Mr. Piccart warned me about this and my overt ways.

How could I tell this gorgeous man the book started off mild, pulling me in, and then shocked the shit out of me? But that didn’t stop me from finishing each book!

“I do. But I’m interested in knowing what was all the fuss about this
Fifty Shades
. Do you think I should sink my teeth into this masterpiece?”

That was an interesting choice of words.

“Well,” I barely said, gazing at his beautiful pearly whites.

“
What was it that caused such a craze? Did you enjoy the read?” he asked a string of questions. My face heated. I didn’t have the nerve to tell him. Why was he so interested in a novel that women liked? Rain probed on, “Is it worth me taking the time to read? It might give me a little insight into what women want.”

He answered my internal question, but seriously, he didn’t need insight into a woman’s mind. One look at him and they’d want him as he was, as I did. He was perfect.

“So, what’s the hook...in general?” he coaxed me, raising a single brow.

This wasn’t how I expected things to go. In hindsight, he would’ve thought I was a dirty little freak if he decided to read the book.

Inhaling deeply into my lungs, I exhaled breathlessly and said, “Just a normal love story…” I waved my hand into the air nonchalantly. “It’s just about a super sexy, wealthy leading man and a beautiful naïve girl next door type.” I shrugged, flashing him my best,
who knows why the book was so enticing
expression
.
“I guess it was the perfect combination for a novel, like the movie
Twilight
but with a twist. It’s probably too chick-flick for you. You won’t like it,” I said casually shaking my head.

“
Darn, no vampires I take it?” He snapped his fingers indicative of a facetious air. “I probably wouldn’t like it then,” Rain said with a disappointed growl in his tone, but I knew he was teasing me.

“
Probably not. It was a totally different hook.” Crumb, why did I go on? I never knew when to just zip it.

“
What was it, are you going to tell me? Or should I rush out and buy it? You’ve got my curiosity soaring.”

I cringed, seeing no way out of telling him the plot. “Yeah, yeah, sure, it’s really no biggie. The author didn’t expect it to be a literary masterpiece, and it wasn’t...but...it was a phenomenon.” I stalled for time to make up a diversion to avoid telling Rain the hook of its success. “And, the craziest thing is, it wasn’t even edited. I’m sure it was a few times, but no one editor is going to catch all the mistakes. I suppose if the storyline is great that’s what counts. And it was a hit,” I rambled on. “Do you know publishing houses have books edited like four or five times before they go to print? But this author was self-published, so it’s totally different.”