Love, Art, and Murder – Mystery Romance - Page 53

“Will Hex still need a model?” she asked. “Do you think he’ll still want to create after another girl was killed?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure he will. Art isn’t a means for income when it comes to Hex. He would do it if he was trapped on an island by himself or the richest man in the world. For him, art is like breathing. He just has to do it.”

“Oh.”

“Why did you ask? Are you thinking about leaving?” I hated the sadness that decorated each word. “I know our agreement was that if things seemed unsafe, you would leave.”

She took off my jacket and exposed her bare arms and shoulders. The hungry man in me fought with my gentlemanly side and urged us to just seize the curve of her neck with our teeth and suck and lick to our hearts’ content. It was a tough battle, but I kept the both of us at bay, on the other side of the couch.

“I won’t lie to you, Alvarez. When I saw the body in the garden, I wanted a plane out of here tonight.”

“You can still have one if you need it. I don’t ever want you to be afraid under my roof.” I gestured to the men outside in the hallway. “You have four men watching you and I just assigned another three to stay off in the distance and monitor anybody who may be looking at you in a threatening way. If something happened to you, it would crush me.”

“That’s the type of man you are, it seems. You like to take care of people. I think if anybody got hurt on your watch it would crush you.”

“That’s a fair assessment, but you’re on a higher level of priority when it comes to anyone else. If you get hurt, it would defeat me.”

She opened her mouth with a shocked expression. “Why?”

“We don’t know each other well at all, but damned if I don’t long to get to know you in any way possible.”

She shook her head and began to say something, but I stopped her. “We can talk about more of that later, when things are less stressful. For now, let me know how you feel about continuing to model for Hex. If you need to leave, I’ll have my assistant take care of all of the details. I’ll just require one promise.”

“Oh, really? And what’s the promise?”

“Wherever you go, let me come and visit you there, as a good friend. An amigo.”

A few minutes passed before she said anything. Her face was a transparent screen of her emotions. I could spot them all. She liked that I planned on seeing her again. The pleased emotion was in the upturn of her full lips and the glittering amusement in her eyes. But there was fear too. I hated that. What did she fear, that I would break her heart or that she wasn’t ready for another relationship? Someone had torn her heart to pieces. That was the next thing I saw, he’d made her scared to try again and had her second-guessing every move when it came to dealing with the opposite sex.

“Just a friend?” she finally asked.

“Just my little, beautiful amiga. Of course. We have lots of time for our friendship to develop into anything else.”

“I’m not interested in anything else right now.”

But her face didn’t say that and neither did her body language. She leaned toward me probably without even knowing it, the tops of those breasts riding her chest as it rose and fell. Her gaze had traveled across my arms and chest while we talked. And the few times when she figured I wasn’t looking, her gaze lingered toward where my length rested on one thigh, hoping he could feel the warm wetness of her one night in the very near future.

“I’m a very patient man.”

“Is that another thing you received from being a Cuban man?” she joked.

“No. That’s from assuming the role of mother hen to a crazy artist who uses his talent to shock people. You get patience when dealing with a spoiled man.”

“Where is your mother, by the way?”

My face went hard. My mood shifted to alarm. My shoulders tensed. I formed my hands into fists. I cursed myself when I realized that I did it, and that she noticed, too.

“I’m sorry.” She raised her eyebrows. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No. I just don’t like talking about my parents. She’s gone now, and so is my father.”

“Did you lose them when you were young?”

“My dad died when I was ten. He was in the navy, too. It was some freak fire on an aircraft carrier that took him and several others.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No problem. I’ve had years to get over it.” I tilted over and grabbed my W.H.L. By now melted ice cubes watered it down. I swallowed the whole thing in less than a minute. “Hex and I have different dads. We’re five years apart.”

Tags: Kenya Wright Mystery
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