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His shutdown was as expected, but that didn’t mean his lack of response didn’t irritate the hell out of me. “What are you hiding,Zorro? Are you afraid that if I learn too much about the man behind the mask I’ll run away in fear?”
He moved to the landing, stopping long enough to turn in my direction. As he closed the distance, I sensed his hunger returning, his need to ravage me outweighing anything else. “Yes, Eden. I am. But we’re both hiding details about our pasts. Aren’t we?”
“I… I’m an open book. Just a girl trying to make something for herself.”
As his eyes narrowed, I realized he was homing in on the corner of my mouth. I could feel the twitch. He lowered his head, nuzzling against my neck. “There’s no reason to lie to me, sweet Eden. Or to yourself. Remember the past will always come back to haunt you.”
His statement seemed more like a warning. Now it seemed he was trying to confuse me or keep me on edge. Why did I have a feeling that I’d soon be tipped off the cliff, plunging to my death?
He backed away, taking several deep breaths before heading down the long hallway. I took a few seconds before I followed him, breathless with anticipation at what I’d find. When I walked in, several bloody images floated into my mind, pictures of the horrible scene from years ago suddenly stealing my breath.
My body swayed as I blinked several times, trying to force them to fade. But I continued to see their faces, their bodies twisted from the agony they’d endured before being brought to their deaths.
“Eden,” Cruz whispered as he took my arm, pulling me closer. “Are you alright?” He no longer had the champagne in his hand. How long had I been locked in the memory?
How could I be alright? He was right. The past was catching up with me. Not with armed men bursting through my door but with wretched memories that were taking control of my mind. Soon, they’d be spiraling out of control.
I finally managed to control my breathing, even offering a smile. “I’m fine.” When my vision returned, I broke free of his hold, basking in the beauty of his paintings. “You did these?” I turned in a full circle, shocked at the number of them. They were all bold in color and design, only a few that reminded me of the one he’d painted for me specifically.
He seemed delighted by my reaction, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yes. This is my release, the only thing that keeps the demons away.”
The statement was so truthful I managed to take a deep breath. “You are incredibly talented. I mean…” I almost skipped as I headed toward one of them, the scene of a New Orleans street brought to life, three dimensional in how he issued the brushstrokes. I was floored at his clever artistic methods, depicting the city in a dark gloom while creating a masterful celebration. It was as if he’d managed to capture the Day of the Dead in all its glory.
“They are reflections.”
“I can tell. What demons do you have, Cruz?”
“They are the things nightmares are made of.” He brushed his hand across my shoulder before heading toward the champagne. As he’d done so many times before, he kept his eyes pinned on me as he deftly opened the bottle, the slight hiss from the gas the only indication he’d pulled the cork. It would seem he was an expert at many things.
Painting.
Controlling.
Fucking.
I bit back a smile from the lurid thoughts racing through my mind. He poured two glasses, leaving them on the small table. Then he flicked on two more lights, the streaming glow from both highlighting two works in progress. There was no doubt both subjects were of my likeness, and the realization hit me as hard as it had when the first painting had been delivered.
“You’re painting me again.”
“You believe the woman depicted on the canvas is you?” he asked as he moved toward his paints, selecting a long handled wooden brush.
“I know it is.”
“Hmm… Let’s see.” He dipped the coarse animal hair into his color of choice. I knew he’d select bright red, the hue accentuated the most in almost all of his paintings.
The color of my favorite lipstick.
The color of fresh blood.
The same nasty vision from before plagued me again and I found myself walking closer, easing against the wall, the vantage point perfect to watch every stroke of his muscular arm. My thoughts continued to be ravaged by the horror, and even blinking couldn’t shove the images aside. I held my breath and as he dabbed a few areas with contrasting black, another primal selection, I shuddered from a cold chill drifting down my spine.
I tried to concentrate on the veins in his arms as he issued stroke after stroke, the flexing of his muscles altering the tattoo on his dominant arm.
A skull with roses, blood dripping from broken teeth. I’d paid the colorful ink little attention at dinner, but now the raw portrayal of death was all I could focus on. Who was this man? Why had the fates put us together? Was our twisted affair meant to rid the same demons he’d spoken of, freeing me from the nightmares that I knew would return?
“Have you killed people?” I asked, the words blurting from my mouth before I could stop them.
He didn’t miss a beat, continuing his painting, his answer said without any emotion. “Yes.”
