Brush Strokes Read Online Free

him
for your model anywhere. The life you bring into your paintings is
astounding. All the more reason to be ready in a few
days.”
    For the first time, he noticed she
stood stock-still, as if she said one word or made the tiniest
movement, she would explode into a frenzy of untamable energy. He’d
seen it happen before. A day of mania that wound through her and
refused to let go, forcing him to model for an unprecedented five
hours straight before he’d threatened to leave a yellow puddle
beneath his feet if she didn’t allow him a bathroom break. She’d
allotted him three minutes before pleading he return to his
previous position. It went on like that for almost eighteen hours
before she permitted herself to stop altogether.
    “ I can’t—”
    “ This is an opportunity
you’ll not want to miss,” Mr. Killian interrupted. “I need
something to show for all of the money I’ve poured into you. This
show will help me recoup some of the costs.”
    “ But four days?” she
whispered.
    Mr. Killian glanced around the room,
pointedly staring at a stack of paintings leaning against the wall.
“I’m sure you have something suitable in here that’s show-worthy.
Six pieces or so. I think I can ask for a substantive amount for
each one.” Without another glance at Joe, he started moving toward
the door. “Just bring by shots of which ones for my approval first,
okay?”
    Tanya nodded mutely, while Mr. Killian
lowered his mouth to graze her cheek in a parting kiss. She looked
shell-shocked. Mr. Killian looked triumphant. “It’ll be fine,
Tanya. You won’t disappoint me.”
    The slow way she dragged her attention
toward the auspicious paintings made clear she didn’t think it
would be fine at all. Joe studied the blanket of helplessness
shadowing her face. Mr. Killian didn’t offer any further words of
encouragement, but showed himself out, the lazy glide of his
cologne—the scent Joe hadn’t recognized before—lingering
behind.
    “ Your patron, I assume?”
Joe asked softly.
    “ Patron. Agent. Family
friend…It’s a complex relationship. The paintings I create while
under his philanthropy he pretty much owns. I keep twenty percent
of any sales. If it’s enough to live off of or go off on my own, I
can. He can decide to extend our contract another year if he wants
or not. He doesn’t ask much of me except for a few pieces worth
selling every once in a while.”
    Despite every instinct screaming at
him to pull her into his embrace for the comfort she so obviously
needed, Joe moved to the sofa and settled himself into it, making a
concerted effort to avoid the chair Mr. Killian previously assumed.
“So he’s ready for you to show?”
    Tanya scrunched her fingers
into the crown of her hair. She blew out a breath before joining
him. “ He’s ready.
Yeah.”
    “ But you’re
not.”
    She turned to regard him. “Have you
ever looked at what I’ve done? The paintings of you, I
mean?”
    The realization that in fact, he had
not, surprised him. “I guess not.”
    She pointed toward the stack. “Go look
now. With the exception of the one on the easel now, those are of
you.”
    Joe knew she had talent to spare. He’d
seen her work around the apartment, had almost memorized one small
piece of hers hanging in a small café down the block. She’d never
before displayed reticence about her craft, so the way she watched
him get up, the heat of her gaze covering him as he walked to the
stack, unnerved him.
    He pulled back the closest painting,
certain to keep his fingers along the frame’s edge. The last thing
he needed to do was mar one of them with his fingerprints or some
smudge of dirt he didn’t realize he harbored.
    If any doubt existed before, it wiped
clean away now. Damn, she was good. He remembered this pose. She’d
captured rays of light across his back with such precision, it made
him look almost angelic. All that was missing were a pair of lush,
down feathered wings cascading on either side of his