Risking it All (35 page)

what she’d learned from her uncle in the

alley, her brain couldn’t process any

more. Months of preparation, years of

pain, had been funneled into this mission

to avenge her brother, and in the end, the

whole thing had only been part of a

cover-up to protect a corrupt man. A

man she’d obviously never known. It had

been one big illusion, a relationship

she’d created with the charismatic man

on television.

“Hey.” Bowen tipped her chin up, a

frown marring his brow. “What are you

thinking about?”

“I’m thinking I’m hungry.”

He focused on a spot past her

shoulder.

“You’re

not…you

don’t

already regret—”

“No.” She shook her head, laying a

hand over his. “I just want to be here

with you tonight. I don’t want to think

about anything else. Can we do that?”

Oh, boy. He wanted to argue. She

could see it. Sera had no doubt that if he

could pin her to the floor and demand to

know every thought in her head, he

would do it. Bowen didn’t sit back and

wait for explanations, and this was new

to him. Instead of pressing, though, he

squared his jaw and nodded. “I haven’t

been to the store in a while. Been a little

distracted.” He winked at her on the way

to the refrigerator. “Egg sandwich? Or I

can order something…”

“Egg sandwich, please.” She leaned

on the counter, utterly delighted to watch

this rough-hewn man with visible battle

scars cracking eggs into a bowl with

enough masculine grace to flush her skin.

As he performed the task, he threw her

somber glances over his shoulder.

Expecting her to disappear? How could

she blame him? Her plan all along had

been to disappear. Still was. Only now,

she would ask him to find her worthy

enough to follow. If he didn’t, the

loneliness would be vastly harder than

before because she knew what it felt

like, being with him.

“Ladybug.” Sera jumped when she

realized Bowen was leaning across the

counter, face inches from hers. “I can get

on board with your no-thinking rule, but

you have to cooperate.”

She

picked

up

the

sandwich.

“Cooperating.”

Bowen tucked into his own sandwich.

“So I guess your waitressing career is

over,” he said between bites. “Good

thing you have those law enforcement

skills to fall back on.” One end of his

mouth ticked up, but his eyes were

serious. His not-so-subtle way of asking

if she intended to remain on the force?

“Something tells me you won’t get a

good reference from Rush.”

“Are you saying I’m not a good

waitress?” she evaded.

“No. I’m saying you’re a terrible

one.”

Determined to keep the mood light,

she threw a balled-up napkin at him.

“It’s harder than it looks. I’ve had

patients come into the ER less concerned

about a broken leg than some customers

in Rush are about their chicken wings.”

“Wings are no joke.”

“Hmm.” She downed the last of her

sandwich, feeling even more relaxed

now that she had something in her

stomach. “Anyway, you were my most

belligerent customer and you didn’t even

order anything to eat.”

“I wanted to. I wanted to watch you

bring me dinner. Still do.” He scrubbed

a hand over his hair. “Jesus, that didn’t

sound so fucking crazy in my head.”

“I’ll make you dinner someday,” she

rushed to say, wanting to erase the

sudden insecurity in his face. “I owe you

for the egg sandwich.”

“You never owe me for anything.

Never.” He took her plate and set it in

the sink, along with his own. When he

turned back to face her, he looked

thoughtful. “Actually, there’s one thing

you can do for me. Come on.”

She had no time to prepare before he

dragged her toward his bedroom.

“Subtlety isn’t really your thing, you

know that?” Not that she minded in the

slightest. Already, goose bumps were

forming on every inch of her skin, heavy

heat trickling into her lower belly.

Would she ever get used to him, the way

he controlled the reactions of her body?

He stopped at his bedroom door and

turned to her with a chastising look. “Get

your head out of the gutter, baby. You

Catholic girls and your filthy minds.”

Her mouth dropped open, then

snapped shut as he pulled her inside and

flipped on the light. His murals were…

gone. All of them. His walls had been

painted a startling white, the evidence of

his work strewn across the floor in the

form of paint cans and spattered drop

cloths. It looked like a tornado had

whipped through the room and ripped all

the color from the walls. No, not all the

color. As Bowen moved farther into the

room, she saw it. On the far wall, he’d

painted a woman.

Her? It was…
her
.

Even though painted Sera was missing

a mouth, it captured her eyes, her hair,

with perfect detail. When she looked at

it, she might as well have been looking

in a mirror on her absolute best day. The

way he saw her…it heightened what she

knew actually existed. He’d painted her

eyes as if they were weighed down with

love, her hair floating out around her

like a cloud.

Sera’s throat tightened painfully. She

could feel Bowen watching her,

awaiting some sort of reaction, but she

didn’t know how to put her feelings into

words. For his sake, she tried anyway.

“It’s beautiful. I wish you hadn’t gotten

rid of all the others, but it’s so

beautiful.”

He ran his gaze along the bare walls,

horror marring his features. “I couldn’t

have any of those things around you.

They had to go.”

“Oh.” She wondered what he would

do if she curled up on the floor and

basked in those words for a while.

“When did you do this?”

His booted feet made the floor creak

as he closed the distance between them.

“The night I…left you here. I came back

and found you sleeping under your halo.

But I couldn’t sleep afterward, so I

painted.” He brushed a thumb over her

bottom lip. “I should never have left that

night. I’m so sorry.”

Sera nodded, unable to speak for a

moment. “It’s okay. I’m starting to

understand why you did.” She leaned

into his touch. “But next time you won’t.

You won’t have to get that far before you

realize you’re better than that.”

“Is it wrong if I let you go on thinking

that?” he murmured. “Probably, but I’m

going to anyway. Whatever will keep

you here the longest.”

If he continued speaking in such a

manner, she would turn into a puddle.

“Why don’t I have a mouth? My painting,

I mean.”

“Huh?” It took his eyes a moment to

refocus. “Oh, right. That’s what I need

your help with. I couldn’t get your mouth

right.” He tugged her toward the wall.

“Pose for me?”

She laughed as he bent his knees to

study her lips. “How’d you get my eyes

to look so accurate and you couldn’t

remember my mouth?”

“It’s not that I can’t remember it,

Ladybug. I just…” He groaned in his

throat. “When I look at your mouth, I

want it
on
me. I’m not thinking about the

gentle swell of your upper lip.” His gray

eyes twinkled, looking momentarily

blue. “Disappointed you didn’t hook up

with a poet?

“No,” she answered, trying not to

smile. “Poets are too tortured. Artists

are much more well-adjusted.”

“Ah, and I hooked up with a wiseass.”

He gripped her chin and tilted her head,

still studying her mouth. It unnerved her,

in a breathless, anticipatory kind of way.

“You think maybe we could, I don’t

know, balance each other out?”

His gaze finally met hers with an

intensity that shook her to the soles of

her feet. She swallowed the knot in her

throat. “Do we have a choice?”

“I don’t.” He released her chin and

picked up a clean paintbrush. She

watched as he mixed together red and

beige on a wooden palette, so much

concentration going into the task it felt

necessary to remain silent. When he

spoke again, his deep, husky tone

breaking through the quiet of the

bedroom actually startled her. “The first

time we met, I thought you were wearing

lipstick. But when I kissed you, it stayed

on. No type of lipstick could have stayed

on through that kiss.” He sucked his

bottom lip through his teeth. “They’re

pink, your lips. I’ve never seen that

shade before, like maybe you just got

finished sucking on some candy. Fuck, is

that why they make me hot? I can’t look

at them without thinking of sucking?”

“I don’t know.” The words came out

in a whoosh. She leaned back against the

wall to the right of the painting, afraid

whatever he said next might finally

topple her. “I’m more of a savory girl.

Like, you know, egg sandwiches…”
Oh,

please, please shut up now.

He dabbed the paintbrush into the

paint, amusement tipping the edges of his

sensual mouth. “Are you actually

flustered, Ladybug? After I’ve made you

come in a stairwell, a photo booth, an

alleyway—”

“Point made. Just paint my mouth.”

She watched his hand move, leaving a

rosy shade of paint on the wall. Every

few seconds, his gaze would flash to her

mouth and each time felt like a bolt of

lightning to her overwhelmed system.

She found herself wanting him to look at

her mouth, felt it parting of its own

accord, her tongue slipping out to

dampen her lips. A pulse beat at the base

of her neck and the sound multiplied

itself in her ears.

Finally, Bowen stopped looking away,

obviously sensing the change in her.

“Can you try not to look so goddamn

fuckable for a second while I finish this?

It’s important to me, Sera.”

The frustration in his tone cut through

her haze of lust. “Why is it so

important?”

With a curse, he dropped the palette

and paintbrush, before planting his fists

on either side of her head. He brought

his face close enough to kiss her, then

stopped. “I need something to prove you

were here, all right? Are you happy?”

“No.”

His

flinch

sent

her

backtracking. “Being here with you

makes me happy, Bowen. But I’m not

happy you’re so worried about me

leaving.”

He scoffed. “How can I be anything

else when you won’t talk to me? When

you want to play this no-talking game?”

His head dropped onto her shoulder.

“You’re here and I’m so fucking grateful

for that, but I don’t know
why
or what

led to it. If I don’t know those things,

how can I make sure I keep doing them?

You’re making me crazy, Sera.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to,” she

whispered, shaken by his passionate

speech. The events of the night were

right on the tip of her tongue. She’d been

played,
used
, by her only remaining

family. Her brother, the sibling she’d

always looked up to, had been flawed in

a way she’d never imagined. Nothing

felt concrete except Bowen against her,

and she wanted to lose herself in him.

Forget everything, just for one night.

Tomorrow, she’d find a way to trust

again and tell him everything, but right

now? Her insides felt raw.

She ducked under his arm and picked

up the wet paintbrush, making sure

enough rose-colored paint coated the

end. Then she turned toward the wall

and wrote, in giant letters, SERA WAS HERE.

She started to set the brush back down,

but changed her mind. Beneath it she