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Guilt and gratitude war within my heart as I place my hands on his chest and raise myself to my tiptoes. Inhaling his masculine scent, I press a kiss on his cheek.
Who could blame him for being pissed that I jumped to all the wrong conclusions? Roman isn’t a bad guy. He’s just not used to communicating his every thought.
“I’m sorry for scratching you,” I murmur. “Thank you for my studio.”
He nods, which only makes my chest ache with remorse. Roman has so much self-control. If I were him, I’d be shaking me until my teeth rattled, screaming that I told you so.
“Stay here if you want or leave,” he says, his words gruff. “The supplies are for your portrait and to give you an… outlet.”
My pussy throbs. Does he think I’m some kind of horny bitch that either needs to fuck or paint? I ignore the jab and rest my head on his shoulder. “What about the guards?”
He shakes his head. “I called them off since they make you uncomfortable.”
I draw back. “And the stuff from my apartment?”
“My contact at the police department looked up your address. There’s a squad car circling your neighborhood. It looks like your ex is having you watched. We’re working on getting your things out without him discovering for sure that you’re staying with me.”
“Oh.”
“Go on.” He gestures at the table full of supplies. “Let me know if there’s something I’ve missed, and I’ll send someone to the store.”
“But you’ve gotten me so much already,” I whisper.
His eyes soften. “I insist.”
My heart flutters. Every time I think Roman Montesano is a cold-hearted kidnapper, he surprises me by being nice.
“Alright.” I walk around, surveying the wooden tables and finding everything I could have ever wished for as an artist. Oil paints, white spirit, varnish, boar bristle brushes, painting knives, charcoal, pencils, and color wheels. There are even watercolor paints and paper.
Canvases of varying sizes lean against the far wall, ranging from the seventy-two-inch ones I use to those as small as letter-sized paper.
My breath catches, and my eyes sting with tears. This is incredible. It’s even more meaningful than the designer clothes because these supplies are all premium brands I’d always wanted to use but could never afford.
“I don’t know how else to thank you, Roman.” I shake my head, my throat thickening. “This is perfect.”
He raises his brows. “Is there something else you want to tell me?”
His gaze intensifies to the point where I can’t even look at him. Thank you can never be enough and sorry is too weak an apology for all my craziness.
When I remember that he was imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit, something inside me breaks. I’m no better than the judge who convicted him on flimsy evidence and nearly had him executed.
“I was wrong for ever doubting you,” I say, still not meeting his eye. “The worst part was that the gallery owner accused me of stealing when I was innocent. Then I did the same thing to the only person who’s ever offered me help. Roman, I’m so sorry.”
Roman places his fingers beneath my jaw, lifts my chin, and makes me look him full in the face. He gazes down at me, his features softening with a compassion that makes the backs of my eyes sting.
“You were scared,” he says. “I brought you here and then left you alone with your thoughts when I should have been offering you comfort. I’m sorry, too.”
I blink, loosening tears, which roll down my cheeks. I don’t deserve a man like Roman Montesano.
He brings his head close to mine, and my heart skips a beat. Is he going to give me a kiss?
“We have so much in common,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine. “Neither of us can stand to be imprisoned. My first few weeks on death row were torture, and I want your time here to be pleasurable.”
“But you set up this art studio for the portrait, right?” I ask, ignoring my instinct to ask why he just compared his home to death row. “In exchange, I’ll get my new ID and the money I need to start a new life.”
His expression flickers before morphing into a broad smile that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle.
“Of course, baby,” he says. “I’ll come here and meet you tomorrow.”
