Page 28 of His Innocent Muse

“I said I think that’s a Monet painting.”

He smiles, lowering his touch down to my hand, which he holds a little too tight. “Mm, pity you are correct.”

“Why is that a pity?”

“I was hoping you would say it’s a Degas.”

I squint, and he quickly rambles on before I can ask if he’s needing medical attention. He doesn’t smell drunk, and his eyes are too focused for him to be high, but I cannot for the life of me figure out what he’s talking about.

“What brings a precious little flower like you into Vie de Mort?”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Of all the words he could’ve picked out for me, that’s what he comes up with. I wonder if the fates are laughing at me right now.

“The owner was just helping me out with something,” I whisper, tugging for my hand, but he holds fast. “I’m going… I-I’m going home now, I guess.”

“Home now, I guess,” the man echos, frowning thoughtfully. “I see. So, you do know Ghost?”

First name basis, probably a friend or a colleague of some sort. Chuck always called Ghost the head of the Saint family, or something equally detached, so this guy probably isn’t anything but an old acquaintance. Maybe even one of Ghost’s…

What? Family? They don’t look related, but then again, I’ve been upstairs this whole time. I haven’t seen anything but the inside of his loft, Murder, and Mayhem, so for all I know, this is his cousin.

“Yes,” I answer, hoping he won’t ask how. “He’s a good man.”

Disappointment flashes in the man’s eyes, and he lets loose a deep sigh. “Definitely not a Degas.”

“What–”

“What’s your name?”

Something tells me not to tell him. I’m not ready to giveLucyback to anyone but Ghost now, and I chalk up my anxiety to that.

“Lucinda,” I say. “Lucinda Parker.”

“Lucinda Parker,” he says with a smile, bringing my hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Roman.”

Yet another one-name-wonder. Definitely one of Ghost’s people.

“Nice to meet you, too, Roman,” I say.

He straightens, smoothing his thumb down the back of my hand in such a tender gesture I almost shiver. He interacts with me like we’re old friends, studying me like he’s absolutely captivated, and I have no idea what to do about it.

“You remind me of someone,” he says carefully, something like heartache flashing in his emerald gaze.

“Someone awful?” I laugh anxiously, glancing around the room again.

He barks a small laugh, shaking his head. “No, not at all. Someone…very kind. Too kind for the hell of this world.”

My smile drops as the ghosts of his past capture him. He ages fifty years in an instant, strangled by the memories of whomever I remind him of. I’ve never seen a pain so intense before in all my life.

And I’m sure I’m not supposed to see this one.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I whisper.

His eyes snap back to me, clearing just as quickly. “My loss?”

“An ache like that…” I say, swallowing past the empathetic lump in my throat. “I’m just so sorry you’re hurting like you do.”

His head tilts, and a blush takes my cheeks. I don’t even know this guy, and I’m in Ghost’s home, being intimate right in the middle of what appears to be a very important event.

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