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room of her gallery. She had been free painting and apparently her subconscious was tired of being shut out of her thoughts.

She’d overheard two tourists trashing all the art in her studio and needed to refresh her creative soul which had been crushed at the unnecessarily cruel criticism. She knew it was part of life, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when she heard them laughing and saying nasty things about her work. So, Tinsley had turned off the lights, lit a roomful of candles, and turned on her favorite music. Then she’d gotten lost in the world of color, music, and unconscious movement. Her mind told her that Paxton was a pain in the ass, but her subconscious was connected to her heart and painted a different picture. This painting showed how strong and protective Paxton was. His storm-gray eyes were closed in the painting as he clutched her to him. Her back was curved into the shape of a C as Paxton bent her back and kissed her.

Tinsley had been annoyed because Paxton liked to dominate every conversation they had, even when they weren’t arguing. And while she was petite, she wasn’t a pushover. However, her annoyance had shifted recently when she realized his whole body came alive when they were together. The storm clouds cleared from his eyes. His body language wasn’t intimidating, but proud. He leaned toward her when they talked, he smiled at her, teased her, and that’s when her annoyance turned into anticipation.

Everyone around her treated Tinsley like she was some kind of fragile flower. She was the smallest and the youngest of all the Faulkners and her family tended to think of her as a child still. Then a couple of years ago, she’d been attacked when she was trying to protect her best friend, Edie Greene Wecker, from the man who had killed Edie’s husband and was trying to kill her brother.

Yes, Tinsley had been injured. Yes, she’d been scared. That didn’t mean she was broken, though. She’d fought back. She’d been taking self-defense lessons not only in Charleston, but also at the church in Shadows Landing. Only when she felt fully capable of handling a weapon safely herself did she go out and buy Tina, a paint-splattered handgun she kept for safety at her house. Tinsley’s gallery was in downtown Shadows Landing, but her house was out in the country. She felt better knowing she had Tina when she went home alone at night.

Tinsley looked at the painting and smiled. Paxton might be pushy and refused to admit he didn’t know the difference between Monet and Manet, but he didn’t treat her as if she’d break if he looked at her cross-eyed. Instead, he treated her like an equal. He constantly pushed her intellectually, and she was finding herself looking forward to their next debate. Maybe looking forward too much if her painting told her anything.

“Tinsley.”

Tinsley spun with her paintbrush out like a dagger as a deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Are you going to paint me to death?”

Tinsley rolled her eyes at the object of her fascination. “Agent Kendry, what are you doing here and why didn’t you knock?”

Paxton’s lips turned up into a slow smile and Tinsley bit the inside of her lower lip to prevent herself from staring. “I did knock, but you were lost in thought. I’m sorry to interrupt your work.”

Paxton moved to look at the painting and Tinsley jumped in front of it. Would he notice she’d painted them kissing?

Paxton looked down at her and chuckled. His eyes were alive as he kept his smile in place. “You’re cute when you’re self-conscious about your work, but it doesn’t do much good to try to hide it when I’m taller than you by a foot.”

“Then you should respect my obvious wishes for no one to see it and look away,” Tinsley said, putting her hands on her hips and glaring up at him. Unfortunately, her eyes never made it past his lips until his smile widened after he noticed where she was staring.

“I’d be happy to oblige your curiosity.” Paxton’s voice dipped lower as he leaned toward her. “If you’re not afraid of the big bad wolf.”

Tinsley rolled her eyes. “Oh please. You don’t scare me. You’re all bark and no bite.”

“You’re the only person to ever say that to me. And for the record, I do bite, and you’d love it.” Tinsley tried to act nonchalant but failed miserably when she couldn’t form a comeback. “Nice painting.”

Paxton stepped around her to get a closer look, and Tinsley hurried forward to try to block him, but failed when he shot his arm out to the side to barricade her from getting by him. “This is different from your other paintings. Romance isn’t really my thing, but this may be my favorite of yours so far. Your landscapes are excellent, but you hardly ever put people in them.”

Tinsley was filled with warmth at the compliment. The negative comments from the tourists were forgotten. She knew Paxton well enough to know he wouldn’t hold back with his opinions. So the fact that he liked it meant a lot to her. Now, she just had to stop him from realizing it was the two of them kissing in the painting.

“I’m not very good at people. What did you need or did you realize you hadn’t met your quota for torturing people for the day and decided to visit me?”

Tinsley moved to wash her brush, forcing Paxton to turn his back to the painting.

“There are all kinds of torture, you know. The kinds that are painful and designed to hurt, and then there are the kinds that leave you begging for more,” Paxton said, his voice growing rougher as he spoke.

Holy smokes! Tinsley’s body was on fire because she knew exactly what kind of torture he was talking about and looking at his eyes staring at her left her with no doubt he’d be very, very good at it.

What was

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