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“Why am I even dredging him up?” I mutter. “Next time, I’ll be prepared.”
I dip my brushes in turpentine, wash off the paint, and set them on the wooden stand. Rolling my shoulders, I clean the rest of my materials and leave them out to dry before walking back to the completed portrait.
The eyes I’ve painted for Roman are sharp, and the expression etched on his features is the same one seared into my mind from when he shot that cop. Light and shadow accentuate the contours of his features, bringing out his masculine beauty.
I can’t wait for him to see it.
A knock sounds on the window, making me jump. I whirl around to find Roman waiting outside the French doors with a smile. It’s the same version of him that sat for his portrait in running clothes and then stroked himself until he climaxed all over his abs and chest.
Ignoring the fluttering of my heart and the heat pooling between my thighs, I beckon him in. Roman steps through the door, his posture sagging.
“Did you even sleep last night?” I ask.
“An hour or two,” he replies with a yawn. “How are you feeling?”
I’ve had an entire kaleidoscope of emotions, ranging from terror to despair to hope. Right now, butterflies are taking flight at the sight of my savior. Crossing the room, I wrap my arms around his waist.
“Better. I can’t thank you enough for rescuing me last night. And I’m sorry.”
His brows pinch, and he gazes down at me with eyes so intense that my breath shallows. “Sorry for what?”
“Doubting you.” I bow my head, unable to withstand his stare.
“Emberly?”
“You wanted to fight the corrupt justice system,” I say. “When you saw I was being harassed by a police detective, you did everything you could to help me.”
He hesitates, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. I imagine he’s tired of my perpetual paranoia and from all the fallout from getting shot. The last thing he needs now is my baggage.
I clear my throat. “What I want to say is that I trust you. Completely.”
He swallows as though overcome with emotion.
“Roman, I’ll never doubt you again.”
He cups the back of my head, his fingers infusing me with warmth and comfort. “It’s alright, baby. You were scared, but you need to know I’ll protect you until my dying breath.”
His words are a balm on my frayed nerves. I close my eyes, melt into his embrace, and inhale his familiar scent. “Thank you, Roman. You don’t know what it means to have you watching my back.”
Roman rocks me from side to side. “I know, baby. I know.”
For the first time since I can remember, my heart lifts, and I finally feel safe.
We stand in the middle of the studio for several heartbeats, basking in each other’s presence. I wonder what a man like Roman sees in me that’s so precious. Maybe fate conspired to bring us together that night because I understand what it’s like to feel injustice.
Either way, I’ve never felt closer to another human than I do at this moment. Roman has seen me so many times at my worst and hasn’t rejected me, mocked me, or locked me away. All he’s ever given me is understanding.
I want to stay like this forever, but he still hasn’t seen his portrait.
“Ernest Lubelli called this morning while you were away,” I murmur into his chest.
“Who?”
“The owner of the MoCa art gallery,” I say.
“What did he want?”
“He’s having an auction in a few days and wants you to come.”
