Risking it All (Crossing the Line, #1)(69)

Never.” He took her plate and set it in the sink, along with his own. When he turned back to face her, he looked thoughtful. “Actually, there’s one thing you can do for me. Come on.”

She had no time to prepare before he dragged her toward his bedroom.

“Subtlety isn’t really your thing, you know that?” Not that she minded in the slightest. Already, goose bumps were forming on every inch of her skin, heavy heat trickling into her lower belly.

Would she ever get used to him, the way he controlled the reactions of her body?

He stopped at his bedroom door and turned to her with a chastising look. “Get your head out of the gutter, baby. You Catholic girls and your filthy minds.”

Her mouth dropped open, then snapped shut as he pulled her inside and flipped on the light. His murals were…

gone. All of them. His walls had been painted a startling white, the evidence of his work strewn across the floor in the form of paint cans and spattered drop cloths. It looked like a tornado had whipped through the room and ripped all the color from the walls. No, not all the color. As Bowen moved farther into the room, she saw it. On the far wall, he’d painted a woman.

Her? It was… her.

Even though painted Sera was missing a mouth, it captured her eyes, her hair, with perfect detail. When she looked at it, she might as well have been looking in a mirror on her absolute best day. The way he saw her…it heightened what she knew actually existed. He’d painted her eyes as if they were weighed down with love, her hair floating out around her like a cloud.

Sera’s throat tightened painfully. She could feel Bowen watching her, awaiting some sort of reaction, but she didn’t know how to put her feelings into words. For his sake, she tried anyway.

“It’s beautiful. I wish you hadn’t gotten rid of all the others, but it’s so beautiful.”

He ran his gaze along the bare walls, horror marring his features. “I couldn’t have any of those things around you.

They had to go.”

“Oh.” She wondered what he would do if she curled up on the floor and basked in those words for a while.

“When did you do this?”

His booted feet made the floor creak as he closed the distance between them.

“The night I…left you here. I came back and found you sleeping under your halo.

But I couldn’t sleep afterward, so I painted.” He brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. “I should never have left that night. I’m so sorry.”

Sera nodded, unable to speak for a moment. “It’s okay. I’m starting to understand why you did.” She leaned into his touch. “But next time you won’t.

You won’t have to get that far before you realize you’re better than that.”

“Is it wrong if I let you go on thinking that?” he murmured. “Probably, but I’m going to anyway. Whatever will keep you here the longest.”

If he continued speaking in such a manner, she would turn into a puddle.

“Why don’t I have a mouth? My painting, I mean.”

“Huh?” It took his eyes a moment to refocus. “Oh, right. That’s what I need your help with. I couldn’t get your mouth right.” He tugged her toward the wall.

“Pose for me?”

She laughed as he bent his knees to study her lips. “How’d you get my eyes to look so accurate and you couldn’t remember my mouth?”

“It’s not that I can’t remember it, Ladybug. I just…” He groaned in his throat. “When I look at your mouth, I want it on me. I’m not thinking about the gentle swell of your upper lip.” His gray eyes twinkled, looking momentarily blue. “Disappointed you didn’t hook up with a poet?

“No,” she answered, trying not to smile. “Poets are too tortured. Artists are much more well-adjusted.”

“Ah, and I hooked up with a wiseass.”

He gripped her chin and tilted her head, still studying her mouth. It unnerved her, in a breathless, anticipatory kind of way.

“You think maybe we could, I don’t know, balance each other out?”

His gaze finally met hers with an intensity that shook her to the soles of her feet. She swallowed the knot in her throat. “Do we have a choice?”

“I don’t.” He released her chin and picked up a clean paintbrush. She watched as he mixed together red and beige on a wooden palette, so much concentration going into the task it felt necessary to remain silent. When he spoke again, his deep, husky tone breaking through the quiet of the bedroom actually startled her. “The first time we met, I thought you were wearing lipstick. But when I kissed you, it stayed on. No type of lipstick could have stayed on through that kiss.” He sucked his bottom lip through his teeth. “They’re pink, your lips. I’ve never seen that shade before, like maybe you just got finished sucking on some candy. Fuck, is that why they make me hot? I can’t look at them without thinking of sucking?”

“I don’t know.” The words came out in a whoosh. She leaned back against the wall to the right of the painting, afraid whatever he said next might finally topple her. “I’m more of a savory girl.

Like, you know, egg sandwiches…” Oh, please, please shut up now.

He dabbed the paintbrush into the paint, amusement tipping the edges of his sensual mouth. “Are you actually flustered, Ladybug? After I’ve made you come in a stairwell, a photo booth, an alleyway—”