Free Mine's to Kill by Capri Montgomery Page B

could do of her. His imagination had already awakened and now that it had, now that he had found the perfect woman to capture her beauty he wasn’t going to stop painting anytime soon. Of course anything he planned to sell would have to look different in the face. She was in a position that told him she could be in great danger if he just plastered her face all over the art world. She probably worked undercover a lot. That thought wasn’t something he liked. She could get hurt, or killed. He didn’t like that thought at all.
     
    He shook his head at himself. He just met the woman and he shouldn’t care this much, but he did. He thought about the paintings and he realized there was another reason he couldn’t just put her face into every painting. She wasn’t a model and she hadn’t signed any release forms. She could sue him; she would win too. Anything he sold would have a different face for her protection and his. But anything he kept for himself was going to be completely her. He would spend some time drawing her too. Maybe while she was working, or sleeping, or anything. He was going to draw her picture and tuck it away. In the event that she decided to walk away from him when this was over he would have more than just a memory to hold on to. Memories faded, but pictures would be there and he would be able to remember her. He wished remembering the sounds of the world around him was that easy, but they weren’t. When he could feel the vibrations, like being in a club and feeling the music course through his body—then he could almost remember the sounds, but it wasn’t real. He had missed it, but most days he didn’t think about it until something happened that he wished he could hear—like her laughter. When she laughed he wished he could hear it. Maybe one day she would allow him to feel it. He could have fun with that one—especially if they were both naked.
     
    He gave himself a mental slap to the back of the head. He did not need to be thinking about her naked—then again, maybe he did. He had the perfect embrace for his painting and he, for the first time in a long time, was going to paint himself fully in the picture with her. He was going to paint the fantasy, his dream, his longing for her. He was going to paint it and hang it in his bedroom. Every night he would fall asleep with her on the wall—even if he couldn’t fall asleep with her in his bed—although he would very much like to have her in his bed.
     
    The painting had to be completed and would have to dry since he was painting with oil paints it would take longer, but he had time—provided this serial killer didn’t come after him that is. She was there to keep him safe and he trusted her to do that. He didn’t miss the guns she had taken with her. He was an artist so he always noticed things, especially changes in the body and her sexy workout clothes definitely showed the piece in the back waistband of her pants. The jacket was loose enough not to make it extremely visible and anybody else probably wouldn’t have noticed, but he had spent some time sizing up her body before they even stepped out the door so he knew there was something off. When she bent to fix the straps on her running shoes he saw the piece strapped to her ankle too. He couldn’t forget why she was there, but that didn’t mean he had to forget that she was a woman and he was a man and together they could have something really good with each other. The trick was getting her to embrace the desire, the passion and the possibilities.
     
    The next morning they jogged around his property. They had breakfast together and he spent time getting to know her. She was sweet, smart, and definitely capable of taking care of herself. He liked that about her. The vulnerability she had was light, but still visible. He liked strong women, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t like thinking he could take care of his woman if she needed him too. He knew Autumn could