“Can’t I leave my pants on until you are ready for that part?” I demand instantly.

One of his eyebrows goes up as he states very calmly, “No, Gemma, you know better. The piece is full nude—unless, of course, you aren’t brave enough. I don’t understand the problem. I have seen it all before.”

I curse my own insecurities. I’m not sure if I’m ready to be so vulnerable and so exposed to him again. I reach down, unbuckle my pants, and unzip them quickly, pushing them to the floor. I kick them to the side with a little more force than necessary.

“I suppose you need these off as well?” I question in a surly tone.

Phillipe looks at my fingers, which are touching the lace of my white panties. “Of course.”

I roll my eyes. It figures he would find a way to make me feel like I just asked a stupid question. Reaching down to the bottom of my shirt, I start to unbutton it, when I realize he is still standing there. He patiently watches me with intense eyes, pulling his lips into a pensive line.

I raise my eyes to his and decide to try and lighten the mood by joking. “So, I’m just supposed to bare my soul to you?”

In the blink of an eye, he darkens the moment. “Well, you’re asking me to bare mine.”

 Contemplating his terse reply, I reach back to undo the clip of my bra. “That’s true in a sense, but what you are doing and what I am about to do are two completely different things.

His eyes have moved, focusing on my breasts and my arms, which are paused behind my back for the moment.

“Yet each of those two things requires an enormous amount of trust,” he reminds me.

I can see that he’s trying to teach me a lesson—something along the lines of, you blew my trust this morning by thinking I would hurt you, so take off your shirt, and maybe I’ll forgive you.

“So, Gemma, are you willing to trust me?”

I unhook the bra and slowly lower it, revealing my aching breasts to him. Moving my arm to the side, I drop the piece of lingerie on the floor.

“Yes, I am. Now, my question remains. Are you going to trust me?”

* * *

Courage ~

Tonight didn’t go very well.

My parents arrived at my uncle’s two nights ago. They had made a “special” trip in order to meet the man I had moved in with. They wanted to meet Phillipe, so we went over to Uncle Beau’s home.

I’m so annoyed right now because I feel like it has somehow put a wedge between us. He didn’t say much at all when we got home, and right now—well, I don’t even know where he is.

He left around ten minutes ago and told me he needed to go for a walk.

He’s never just left. I suppose this is our first fight. I keep reassuring myself that couples do that…right?

All I can think about is how upset he was.

“What do you want me to say, Chantel? That did not go well,” he told me.

“I’m sure they didn’t mean to make it sound the way it did.” I tried to reassure him as we made our way into the kitchen, but honestly, I knew that my parents weren’t being very welcoming.

“They accused me of brainwashing you, and you just stood there!”

“I did not!” I defended while I tried to convince myself that I didn’t.

“I hardly think ‘Mom, I wanted to go,’ was very convincing, especially after I just told them that I would look after you and I couldn’t help but want you close to me.” His voice trailed off as if defeated. “How could you let them make you question us, Chantel? They basically told you to leave, and when you said nothing—well, you might as well go and pack your bags.”

“Phillipe,” I pleaded.

He brushed by me. Suddenly, I felt more alone than I ever had before.

“Yes?”

“Don’t leave like this,” I begged. I hated that he was feeling this way, and I hated that I couldn’t express how I felt.

“I just need to be alone for a while. I’m going for a walk.” His voice softened as he asked me, “Will you be here when I get back?”

How could he think to question it? How had I made him question me?

“Of course. Where else would I go?”

I never received an answer. Instead, all I heard was the kitchen door as it slammed shut, making me jump where I stood. Why hadn’t I told my parents everything I felt? I didn’t understand my own reluctance and that annoyed me. Maybe it was because I didn’t want them to judge me—judge me like they had him. That didn’t seem fair.

It makes me wonder what kind of coward I am. I’m an adult. I’m a grown woman who found a man she loves. How dare they make me question that and how dare I let them make me.

I need to find him. I need to go and find him and bring him back.

Bring him back to me, to us, and to the world we belong in. I need him to come back and paint me as I am—strong, courageous, and brave.

Armor—that’s what I need when I deal with my parents from now on. I need a suit of armor and the courage to stand behind my convictions to fight for what I want. And, what I want is Phillipe.

* * *

I can feel my bare nipples harden in the cool air. They almost seem to be begging for attention, like they remember what they received earlier, and they want it again. I slip my fingers into my panties and slide them down over my hips, all the while, keeping my eyes on the silent man across from me.

I concentrate on Phillipe as he makes his way to the shelves on the wall. He crouches down to reach into the bottom. I’m so focused on his broad back and amazing ass that I don’t even notice what he is holding in his hand until he stands. It’s an old music case.

Almost instantaneously, it feels as though the oxygen in the room has been removed. I can’t breathe as he stops at the desk just a few feet from me. He gently places the case down. Immediately, I know what is in there. He doesn’t have to tell me. As I stand there silently staring at him, my brain is screaming, Why? Why on earth does he have Chantel’s violin? How?

It has been reported that the astronomically expensive Stradivarius, which had been passed down for years through the Rosenberg family, was never recovered. It is still reported as missing to this day.

I have no idea how he has it, but I know that the instrument inside that case is a violin. I know it is Diva.

 I’m also very aware of what he’s going to ask me to do. I have seen the collection and studied each piece for hours on end. None of that matters though, as the locks on the old music case are flicked open.

As he lifts the lid, my eyes are automatically drawn to the contents, like a moth to a flame. This right here is the other piece in the huge, distorted puzzle that is them, and it is about to be handed to me.

He reaches into the case, which is lined with what looks like red silk. He lovingly—yes, lovingly is the only way I can describe the way he is touching the instrument—cradles Chantel’s Stradivarius as he removes it from its resting place.

My mouth falls open as he turns and walks toward me. He’s cradling it as though it is his child. When he holds it out to me, I look at him as if he is insane, and I begin shaking my head.

“Apparently, I am going to trust you. Here, take this.”

Looking at the violin he’s now handing to me, I am very aware, all of a sudden, that I ‘m standing here naked. And yet somehow, that is not the most bizarre part of this equation. No, the most bizarre part is the fact that he thinks I can and will be responsible for hanging on to an instrument that is not only worth more than a million dollars but is also reportedly a missing family heirloom. Not to mention, it means more to him than the entire house we are both standing in.

Shaking my head again, I raise my eyes from the beautiful Diva. “No. I can’t use that to model with.”

“Here. You need it to model with,” he tells me, pushing it closer to me.

I literally step away from him, refusing to take a hold of what I essentially know to be his heart.

“No.” I refuse again. “Don’t you have a spare one?” I realize how stupid that sounds but so does the fact that he wants me to hold her violin.

He steps closer to me and reaches out. He takes my right hand in a firm grip and tugs me to him. Placing the neck of it in my hand, I have no choice but to close my fingers around it tightly. I’m afraid I might drop it, smashing it into little pieces.

“See, it won’t hurt you,” he reassures as he steps in closer. “You seem spooked tonight. That’s what it is.” Bending down until our noses are almost touching, he asks, “What happened this afternoon, Gemma?”

Denial falls smoothly off my tongue. “Nothing happened.”

“You’re lying.”

Raising my head, I bring the violin up close to my body. “How do you want me to hold this?”

Strong, nimble fingers grip my wrist where my pulse is beating a rapid tattoo. “Once you are seated facing the wall, cross your legs, rest the bottom on your calves, and let the handle nestle between these beautiful breasts of yours.” As he finishes that provocative statement, he reaches up to run the back of his fingers gently over the curve of one of the breasts in question.

I gasp. They are still sensitive from earlier. My eyes move up to meet his. As he repeats the move, I clamp my bottom lip between my teeth.

That’s when a seductive grin appears. “I like teeth,” he tells me before turning on his heel, making his way back to the easel. He’s letting me know that, all along, he’s been aware of the sensual journal entry I read earlier, and he knows, somehow, that I’m hiding a secret.