Trapped with a Navy Seal by Skylar White EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Skylar White
- Language: English
- Genre: Clean & Wholesome Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Amber
The hands of the clock tick like they have arthritis. I stand at the far end of
the room, brush in hand, lost in the swirling labyrinth of my thoughts. The
grandeur of the room envelopes me, every corner dripping with opulence.
Gilded frames adorn the walls, and chandeliers hang like crystalline
stalactites from the ceiling. A Persian rug, worth more than my annual rent,
stretches underfoot.
My muse, an elderly lady in her late sixties, beckons me back to
consciousness. She clears her throat gently, a sound like a distant bell
chiming through a serene forest.
“Amber, dear, are you alright?” she inquires, her voice carrying the years
of wisdom that have etched lines on her face.
I glance at her, pausing my brush mid-air. “Yes, Mrs. Harrington, I’m
perfectly fine,” I reply with a faint smile. She’s made up meticulously,
every wrinkle concealed, and dressed in a fashionable ensemble that defies
her age. She sits regally on an expensive sofa, her posture mirroring the
poise of the room.
This room is a world apart from what I’m accustomed to. When the cab
dropped me in front of this majestic building, my jaw nearly hit the ground.
Since my arrival, I’ve been treated with a reverence I rarely encounter.
Water, snacks, and treats have been offered, making my memories shift to a
menagerie of past clients.
There were the whimsical ones, the ones who never paid their dues in full,
leaving me with only scraps to move on with. Then there were the restless
ones who couldn’t sit still for a painting. They fidgeted, swaying back and
forth as if they had fire ants in their trousers. There would be a phone call
here, and a meal to catch there. A wee here, and a poo there. A painting that
would have taken just a few hours could stretch through a century.
And, of course, the predatory ones who made lewd advances. I shudder at
the memory of one such incident. A middle-aged man had contacted me to
come give him a live portrait painting. The amount he had to offer was
more than my regular charge. I thought that the heavens had smiled on me
that day.
I arrived at the apartment and called him when I was just outside the
entrance. He had said that the door was open, and he ordered me to come
in. The room was shrouded in a dim, sensual aura. Faint flickers of
candlelight danced upon the walls, casting a soft, golden glow across the
space. The air was thick with the smell of scented flowers, their fragrance
weaving an intoxicating spell around me.
I stood hesitantly in the center of the room, my heart pounding like a
caged bird. It was a stark contrast to the grandeur and opulence of the room
I am currently painting in. This memory was a haunting one, a stark
reminder of the darker side of my profession.
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