Page 24 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

“What in the blazing hell are you doing?” I snap, wanting to grab the brush from her hand.

“What does it look like I’m doing, angel?” She asks, throwing me her signature grin.

I glare at her. My hands are itching to slap her hand away and shove her away from my vicinity.

Fuck, what the hell is this woman doing to me?

I don’t know her, and I want to punch things. I'm never violent, nor do I ever think of snapping at anyone. Usually, I would be thrilled if someone showed any interest in joining me to paint.

But only when they work on their own shit.

Not mine.

“You’re ruining everything!” I can’t help but yell.

“How? I’m trying to help you.”

“Why can’t you just leave me the hell alone?” I growl exasperatedly. “I come here to paint in peace; I don’t want an annoying psycho like yourself to bug me!”

“You know how much I love how you talk dirty to me, angel.”

“If you don’t get out of my sight, I will scream.”

“I bet I can make you scream in a more intimate environment.”

For fucks sake.

“I’m going to ask you politely,” I growl, earning another grin of hers. “Leave. Now.”

“But why?” She raises a brow at me before looking at the canvas. “I was trying to figure out what was missing while you were painting.”

When she doesn’t elaborate, curiosity gets the best of me. “And?”

“You’re a glowing ray of sunshine,” She nods at the view. “I’m surprised you're missing some in the painting.”

She winks at me. Fucking winks at me. Again.

This migraine of a woman —

“What the hell are you talking about now?” I snap, my eyes flickering between the canvas and the view.

Briar makes a sound and points at the painting. “You got the view perfectly, but see how the clouds frame the sun? There’s light from the sun shining through the gaps, giving the view that hazy, dusty look.”

She takes the paintbrush dipped in white and looks at me.

I scoff when she doesn’t do anything. “What? Now you’re waiting for permission?”

She shrugs and starts painting.

Minutes later, I can't help but gawk at it.

The hairs on my arms stand up as the vision comes alive before me. The feeling of wonder consumes me as I watch her fully concentrate. The way she blends the older colors I used earlier with the new ones she added is fantastic.

When Oscar told me Briar loved all things art, I thought he was bullshitting me. He has to know who Briar is and what a murderous psycho she is. But with the way he spoke about her, I can tell he doesn’t.

Fuck, the painting looks impressive as minutes pass by.

“What do you think?”

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