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I smile back. “You still shaken?”
“A little, but I’ll live.” Her features fall. “Why are you here?”
“Are you ready to paint my portrait?”
She sweeps her gaze down the length of my three-piece Armani suit, nods, and heads to the door. I take that as an unenthusiastic yes. She’s had time to think about what happened and she’s wary about being alone with a killer. I don’t care as long as she gives me her signature.
Following her, I step into the pool house, which smells of linseed oil, turpentine, and wine. Canvases hang on the wall, filled with vivid colors. Some of the paintings are abstract, others are as realistic as photos, but all of them have a common brilliance that makes my jaw drop.
“Are these flowers from around the grounds?”
“Yeah.” She shrugs. “I paint what I see.”
“That gallery owner who framed you for stealing was a fool. If he had treated you right, your paintings could have earned you both a fortune.”
“His loss,” she mutters, her words tinged with bitterness.
I look her full in the face. “What’s wrong?”
She runs her fingers through her curls. “You just brought up the asshole who got me into this mess.”
My brow rises, and I wait for her to accuse me of being a murderer, but she picks up a large canvas and sets it on an easel.
Nodding, I take my seat and resume the relaxed pose she asked for the last time. Emberly is wrong. The gallery owner might have set off a sequence of events that drove her running into my arms, but she was in my sights the moment I discovered Capello had written her into his will.
“Is this how you want me?” I ask.
“Perfect.” She fills the canvas with basic shapes. “Every time you sit for this portrait, you need to wear this outfit.”
I frown. “Can’t you take a picture?”
“Sure, but it’ll be difficult to capture your essence from a digital image.”
“My essence?” I raise a brow.
“You’re the most complex and multi-layered personality I’ve ever met.” She turns to me and frowns, her gaze assessing.
“Is that good or bad?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
I chuckle. This is exactly what I meant about her being a challenge. Most women would be swayed by my power, physique, sexual prowess, or wealth, but not Emberly. She’s too invested in uncovering my motives to relax and enjoy the luxuries.
“Take the photo,” I say. “My business is unpredictable. There’s no telling where I’ll be one day or the next.”
She hums. “I heard a lot of commotion a few nights ago. It sounded like World War Three.”
“There was some trouble in one of the houses down the hill,” I mutter, not wanting to get into how we helped Leroi capture Emberly’s Capello half-brother.
“You’re right.” She draws back from the canvas and walks toward the kitchenette. “I will take that photo.”
“Do you want me to smile or look pensive?” I ask.
She returns with her phone. “Which do you want?”
“How do you like me?”
She licks her lips, her gaze wandering down my form, and my breath hitches. It’s hard to ignore that Emberly Kay is one of the most alluring women I’ve ever fucked.
