Chapter 17 Masterpiece

• Helaine
• He looked down at me with so much reverence in his eyes that I suddenly felt sorry for my canvases. When I painted for myself, I poured out all the hate and pain inside of me, projected in paint, wax, whatever medium I chose.
• Evan though, as he trailed his hand down my body, smearing the colorful oil paint down my pale flesh, he looked at me like a work of art—like he did when he carved his roses into my skin, only . . . softer, without the lure of my dripping blood tempting him.