Enticing Charm

He glares at me for a second.

"You did promise, me." I point out, batting me eyelashes at him sweetly.

"Fine." He grumbles. I scramble off of his lap and he gets up and walks towards the selection of many art supplies and hidden works. He looks around, his hand on his chin. I watch, patiently as he shifts a few easels around and pulls out a large, stiff white canvas. "This was the last one I did; it's on of the pieces I submitted to my school." He says softly, not meeting my eyes as he clutches it in his palms nervously.

Harry is nervous.

This is new.

"So you go to an art collage?" I press, me being nosy.

"Well I admitted; I don't go." He laughs and shakes his head and unrolls the paper. "Now stop asking so many damn questions." He adds as he holds it out from himself at arms length, admiring his own work with a new sense of comfort on his face.

I oblige and wait patiently for him to show me.

He flips it awkwardly and lets me look at the canvas.

Wow.

http://lovehawk.com/home/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/oatmealfull.jpg

The paper is stained with a beige and a pen had drawn a symmetrical working of animals and flowers and just.. wow. I have never seen something that beautiful.

I stand there in complete awe.

I figured he must of been good. But this? This was amazing. I walk a step closer and gently run my fingers down the paper, the indents where his fingers pressed in to paper as he perfects the thin black line. This must have taken days, no weeks.

His name is in scribbles at the bottom center. The designs and patterns swirl the animals, skull and then the face of the detailed woman. I wonder if she was supposed to be someone. I wonder if this meant something to him.

Something tells me if I asked he would say no.

But I think it actually does.

Harry studies me, obviously nervous, I don't even think I can form sentences.

It's so beautiful.

"Well?" He snaps. I smile up at him, and then put my eyes back to the canvas.

"It's so beautiful?"

"Really?" He breathes? I look up at him. His face is desperate and what.. vulnerable.. His eyes are soft and his voice gentle and unsure. How could he think it wasn't? Did he have eyes?

"Yes! It's so .. oh my goodness. I don't even know. I love this." I tell him sincerely. "Can I have this in my room?" ask him, excitedly. The blue wall in my prison were so depressing. I can barely imagine waking up to his art every morning.

"No." He says flatly, rolling it back up.

"Why?" I pout as he throws it by the other pieces. I have never wanted anything as bad as to go over there and inspect every single piece of art Harry has created. My heart swells as I imagine him showing me willingly, pointing at each little detail and explaining why it is the way it is.

"Because that would be stupid." He growls, turning back to me, stopping back in front of me. His vulnerability gone, replaced with his usual cold front. I frown up at him.

"I loved that so much... no it wouldn't be." I say softly. I kind of want him to hug me. I felt like that was an intimate moment between us. But he obviously doesn't feel the same way.

He shrugs and glares at the floor.

"Will you dance for me again?" He asks softly, peeking up at me through his dark lashes. I glare at him.

"No."

"Why the fuck not?" He yells, I do not flinch form his tone. Instead I put my hands on my hips and glare at him.

"First, I do not appreciate when you cuss at me. Second, if I can't have it then no!" I conclude, turning on my heel ad stomping away from him.

"Olivia, where are you going?" He asks as he follows me from the room. To be honest I have no clue. I have no clue where I am in this house. But he doesn't need to know that.

"To my room!"

"You're going the wrong way!" He says in a sing song voice, his previously sour mood gone . Again.

"I am not!" I snap, walking faster, as soon as the words leave my mouth I run in to a dead end hallway.

"Thought you weren't lost?" He teases. I groan and spin around to face him, his dimples are popped and he watches me happily. "Lets go get some food." He offers with a smile. I roll my eyes as he walks away without another word.

I jog lightly to catch up with long strides. I want to reach for his hand but decide against it. We made a lot of progress today and that's obviously something he's not used to.

When we arrive in the kitchen he takes a seat at the table and smile at me.

"What?"

"Well, get to it!" He smirks at me, his eyes tracing, longingly up my form. I blush, remembering I'm still int he skimpy spandex.

"You want me to cook?"

"Yes."

"But, why?" I whine, glaring at him.

"Because I always cook. It's your turn!" He encourages, giving me a full glance of his dimples. I shake my head and smooth my hair and shirt, looking around the vast kitchen nervously. "Stop fixing yourself." He suddenly yells harshly. I jump and spin around to face him.

When he doesn't meet my eyes, and instead traces angry patterns in to the table top with his fingers I sigh and start walking around the kitchen, looking in the fridge, deciding on our meal.

Niall's Uncles P.O.V.

Once I pull up to the residence I turn the ignition off and shut my door silently.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared shitless. But I needed to do this. For Niall and Olivia's sake. She was such a nice girl, and Ni was crazy for her. I just remember her being very ordinate and poised at all times. It was a little strange but she was also incredibly sweet and caring.

I shudder as I picture her stuck in that place with those terrible men and their sons. If I do get her out, she will never be the same. That's apparent.

Creeping around the back of the house, I keep my trench coat tucked in tightly, glad for the blackness of the night.

Most of the lights in the house are on except one towards the back, leaving a beam of light on the lawn.

Hesitantly I creep towards it and peek in.

And I can not believe what I see.

Olivia twirling around the kitchen while the Styles son laughs and flicks floor at her.

She's smiling. And laughing...?

Good god.

Olivia's P.O.V.

"Lasagna sounds good.'' I decide, turning to find Harry starring at my butt. I snap my fingers, annoyed with him and he flushes and nods his head in agreement.

As I take out the ingredients and before I can start preparing the pot of water for the noodles suddenly something loud and extremely dreadful fills the kitchen.

I whip around and find Harry smiling, next to the radio. His hands folded behind his back and he stares at me innocently. The Beatles blare through the kitchen.

"HARRY TURN IT DOWN!" I yell over the music, instinctively covering my ears with my hands making the utensils in my hands clatter to the floor. He smiles wider and shakes his head as Twist and Shout screams int o my eardrums.

I stomp over to him and shove his shoulder away, turning it way down.

"What is your problem I think I just went death!" I yell at him, throwing my hands int he air, he continues to smile.

"Oh, live a little, babe!" He sneers, stepping closer to me. I ignore the fluttering in my stomach from his words.

"I live very much! Every day!" I protest, he steps even closer. His eyes say nothing but mischief.

"Yeah but do you live to the fullest?" He inquires. Cocking his head lightly. I swallow the lump in my throat as his forehead presses in to mine and his hands find my hips.

"Do you?" I whisper, looking up at him as he studies me. My insides are on fire. Why won't he just kiss me? I want him to. Very much so. I do not understand what this conversation means, but it means more than he will let on even if I ask.

"I didn't. I want to now.With you. I love seeing you in the kitchen." He whispers, his voice is suddenly low and his pupils dilate as his hands creep down my back, dangerously low. "It's too tempting, really." His words swirl in my head. I feel like I could throw up on him. Do I dare believe Harry really means this? Whatever this is?

"What is?" I whimper, wanting him to talk to me as his lips press gently to my jaw bone.

"You. You're so tempting to me. I can't explain it." He chuckles and I use my limp arms to wrap them around his shoulders. "Lets dance." He whispers.

Before I can even get confused, he spins me away and dips me before pulling me back up.

We yell and laugh and run about the kitchen. Well he does mostly as I attempt to cook and run away from me. He sings obnoxiously with the Beatles as he everyone once in a while flicks ingredients at me. Or spins me like a balerina as I cook for us.

I hide my smiles when he every once in awhile leans down and kisses my cheek.

He never fails to comment o the color across my cheeks though.

Notes