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Chapter twenty-five
A Painting of a Thousand Emotions
Emily
For a long time, I painted. My brush dancing across the canvas with a life of its own. My other hand re-lighting the joint when necessary.
Max had never closed the windows, leaving me enveloped in the embrace of the night.
The French Quarter serving as my soundtrack, a symphony of distant laughter, the occasional clink of glass, and the soft murmur of conversations from the night owls who roamed its ancient streets.
When I began painting the little girl, light snores came from Kaz.
I stopped and studied him.
The soft rise and fall of his sculpted chest was the only indication that the giant before me was anything but a statue. His muscles, huge and defined, seemed even more pronounced in the dim light.
My eyes traced the contours of his form, catching on the tattooed ink that adorned his skin. The solid black stars near each shoulder and the huge lion crawling up his arm.
That lion was majestic and terrifying, much like Kaz himself.
I love you, baby.
Paint dripped from my brush, but I could not return to the canvas just yet.
I placed the brush on the easel, lifted the lit joint to my lips, and inhaled. The whole time my gaze remained on him.
Mmm.
Even in his sleep, Kaz’s pose was one of deadly violence. Tightly coiled, as if he was perpetually ready to spring into action.
The true embodiment of an apex predator in the wild.
Not just any man could hold such tension.
Even in rest.
It was as if every cell of his being had been woven for violence.
I blew out smoke.
His presence alone was enough to send shivers down the spine of those who knew what he was capable of.
And yet, here he was—my baby—sleeping peacefully on the couch as if he were any other man.
But I knew better.
Kaz was a deadly storm waiting to happen, a tightly coiled nuclear spring of violence and power that could explode and flatten a city at any moment.
A Russian nightmare.
I flicked the joint’s ash out of the window, put the lit side out, and lay it next to my easel. Next, I turned back to Kaz.
He still loves me. Even though I’m a hot fucking mess.
It was crazy, but guilt hit me.
Was it fair that he loved me so much—a woman with a fragmented mind?
