The Tattoo Artist (La Petite Mort #1)

5. Chapter 5

five

Alexander

D eimos might have been watching over her, but so was I.

The smirk that had taken over my face as I walked inside the Art Museum a few minutes after I watched Quinn walk inside.

I pulled out my phone and pulled up the cameras from the museum, searching for where she had gone. It didn't take me long to find her.

She was looking at the painting that called to me —Holding Onto A Memory . Locking my phone, I slipped it inside my trouser pocket and made my way over there.

Entering the semi-dark room, I watched her admire the masterpiece before her. I chuckled to myself at her silliness.

Too consumed trying to open the lid of her container, she hadn't noticed me standing beside her.

She thought I was unaware that she was standing right next to me. Oh, Princess, if you knew I planned this entire encounter.

I noticed her munching on her cranberries as she used her free hand to pull her skirt down. She dressed like a nun, but that was what made her so much more attractive.

Because I could imagine what was underneath all that clothing.

A body made to sin.

"You, again," I said as I noticed my raspy voice caused goosebumps to appear on her skin.

"Are you talking to me?" She looked behind her to make sure there was no one.

There wasn't.

"Unless you can see ghosts, I'm talking to you," I chuckled.

"Last time I checked, I couldn't see dead people except for Casper," she replied, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"Smartass," I teased and continued talking. It made me angry that her parents caused her to be a shell of the woman I knew she could be. I could see the fire in her eyes when she defended her friend and when she called me an asshole.

"Boys don't see me. They don't speak to me. They don't try," she admitted. I hated that she thought no man could ever want her because if she only knew everywhere she went, all eyes would be on her.

She was beautiful.

She possessed a natural beauty and didn't need any makeup. There was strength in her. Power. But also something vulnerable that tugged at me. It made me want to protect her from everything that wanted to hurt her.

"Princess, I can assure you I'm no boy," I hinted with a smirk.Nothing about me is small, and I was definitely not a boy.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. I— I umm, I mean, you aren't a boy. You're more like a man. Yeah, a man," she said as she stumbled over her words.

I raised my hand, and my thumb caressed her cheek. "Explain what you meant by boys?"

And I listened to every single word she spoke like the good girl I knew she could be.

She dropped her sketchbook, forgetting that she had it underneath her arm. Her hand touched mine, and I felt the electric shock run through my body. Quinn pulled her hand away the moment she felt our connection.

"You draw?" I questioned as I picked up her open sketchbook.

"Yeah, I plan on majoring in art," she said, smiling at me.

I looked down and caught a glimpse of a drawing she had sketched, and I couldn't help but analyze the sketch in front of me. It was serene, the couple embracing one another while flames danced in the background, igniting the spark between two long lost soulmates.

"You're very talented. Would it be okay if I saw your work?" I asked her.

She nodded, and with that, I started to examine each piece of artwork she had inside her sketchbook. The amount of details she added to each piece was incredible. Her style of art was more on the realistic scale, and she used black, white, and grey colors. Quinn rarely used color, but when she did, it was exceptionally beautiful.

I turned the page, and what I saw had my heart stopping. I was staring at a sketch of myself. I was alluring. The details were flawless. It was like I was looking at myself in the mirror.

"That's me?" I questioned, but more to myself.

She snatched her sketchbook from my grasp and stuffed it inside her book bag before she rushed out of the Art Museum like her ass was on fire.

"Quinn! Quinn!" I yelled her name.