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Authors: A.C. Warneke
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she would have realized his intentions as he made his way over to her and her canvas.
But she was picturing him as the warrior, coming to claim the lover he had to leave behind. In that moment she wanted more than anything to be that woman , to be the object of passion that was blazing in his green eyes. Her eyelids grew heavier as he approached and for a moment she thought he meant to take her in his arms and kiss her as if he had just walked through Hell to be by her side.
His hand reached out and she leaned forward, ready to be embraced when reality forced its way into her fantasy as his hand went past her to the canvas. Wrapping her hand around his wrist, she stopped him from going any further, “Um, no, you can’t see it yet. It’s not finished.”
“Come on,” he grinned, slaying her where she stood. Life was so cruel, making her love a man that refused to love and be loved. “Let me see it.”
Putting her plans of seduction aside, she fell back into the natural rhythm of their relationship. She was just going to have to figure out some other way of seducing him since nothing she did pushed him across that final line. Stepping between the portrait and Armand, she shook her head and grinned, “Not until it’s done.”
He smiled at her, that devastating smile that made the butterflies fuck and her skin burn. Without deliberate thought, only that she didn’t want him seeing the portrait yet, she reached out with her loaded brush and painted a line of pale blue down his naked chest. He froze and stared at her . She froze and stared back, heat blossoming in her cheeks. “Oh my gosh! I am so sorry.”
Before she could grab a rag and wipe it off he had easily wrestled the paint brush from her lax fingers and brushed it across her cheek. Startled, she gaped at him as a mischievous smile curved his lips. Her heart tumbled madly in her chest as she fell a little bit more in love with him. It was so rare that he let her see his mischievous side and she doubted anyone else even knew it existed.
He crossed his arms over his naked chest and he should have looked ridiculous holding the blue tipped paint brush but he didn’t. He looked sexy and so powerful that even a line of sky blue streaked across his chest didn’t take away any of his masculinity.
Matching his grin and holding his gaze, she reached to the side and surreptitiously grabbed a tube of paint. Without warning, she aimed it at his chest and squeezed, splattering hot pink all over his gleaming skin. Throwing the tube down, she stepped forward and smeared it around with her palms, taking a moment to enjoy the firmness of his muscles. “Much better.”
“You think?” he asked, his voice coming out as a rumble. Wrapping his arms around her, trapping her arms between their bodies, he hugged her. A little giddy by his response, she wasn’t fully aware of what he was doing behind her back until she felt cool, squishy paint oozing between her shoulder blades and down her spine. She gasped as his broad palms rubbed it in.
He stepped back and she saw the burnt umber staining his palms. His eyes dipped to her chest and she glanced down, seeing the light blue and hot pink smeared on the front of her shirt. Grabbing a handful of tubes, she took one and squirted it at him and ran across the room, prepared to get away from her masterpiece and take cover as the paint war escalated.
Ducking behind a shrouded chaise, she pe eked over the top and saw Armand standing there with a blob of green smeared across his abdomen, the hard muscles flexing as he slowly and methodically picked up some tubes of paint, taking his time in choosing which colors to retaliate with.
“Now, Ferris,” he murmured, shaking his head in mock disappointment as he slowly prowled across the room towards her. “Is that any way to fight?”
“I don’t want to ruin my painting,” she explained, keeping her eye on the man who still stood too close to the portrait. A slow smile curved his
But she was picturing him as the warrior, coming to claim the lover he had to leave behind. In that moment she wanted more than anything to be that woman , to be the object of passion that was blazing in his green eyes. Her eyelids grew heavier as he approached and for a moment she thought he meant to take her in his arms and kiss her as if he had just walked through Hell to be by her side.
His hand reached out and she leaned forward, ready to be embraced when reality forced its way into her fantasy as his hand went past her to the canvas. Wrapping her hand around his wrist, she stopped him from going any further, “Um, no, you can’t see it yet. It’s not finished.”
“Come on,” he grinned, slaying her where she stood. Life was so cruel, making her love a man that refused to love and be loved. “Let me see it.”
Putting her plans of seduction aside, she fell back into the natural rhythm of their relationship. She was just going to have to figure out some other way of seducing him since nothing she did pushed him across that final line. Stepping between the portrait and Armand, she shook her head and grinned, “Not until it’s done.”
He smiled at her, that devastating smile that made the butterflies fuck and her skin burn. Without deliberate thought, only that she didn’t want him seeing the portrait yet, she reached out with her loaded brush and painted a line of pale blue down his naked chest. He froze and stared at her . She froze and stared back, heat blossoming in her cheeks. “Oh my gosh! I am so sorry.”
Before she could grab a rag and wipe it off he had easily wrestled the paint brush from her lax fingers and brushed it across her cheek. Startled, she gaped at him as a mischievous smile curved his lips. Her heart tumbled madly in her chest as she fell a little bit more in love with him. It was so rare that he let her see his mischievous side and she doubted anyone else even knew it existed.
He crossed his arms over his naked chest and he should have looked ridiculous holding the blue tipped paint brush but he didn’t. He looked sexy and so powerful that even a line of sky blue streaked across his chest didn’t take away any of his masculinity.
Matching his grin and holding his gaze, she reached to the side and surreptitiously grabbed a tube of paint. Without warning, she aimed it at his chest and squeezed, splattering hot pink all over his gleaming skin. Throwing the tube down, she stepped forward and smeared it around with her palms, taking a moment to enjoy the firmness of his muscles. “Much better.”
“You think?” he asked, his voice coming out as a rumble. Wrapping his arms around her, trapping her arms between their bodies, he hugged her. A little giddy by his response, she wasn’t fully aware of what he was doing behind her back until she felt cool, squishy paint oozing between her shoulder blades and down her spine. She gasped as his broad palms rubbed it in.
He stepped back and she saw the burnt umber staining his palms. His eyes dipped to her chest and she glanced down, seeing the light blue and hot pink smeared on the front of her shirt. Grabbing a handful of tubes, she took one and squirted it at him and ran across the room, prepared to get away from her masterpiece and take cover as the paint war escalated.
Ducking behind a shrouded chaise, she pe eked over the top and saw Armand standing there with a blob of green smeared across his abdomen, the hard muscles flexing as he slowly and methodically picked up some tubes of paint, taking his time in choosing which colors to retaliate with.
“Now, Ferris,” he murmured, shaking his head in mock disappointment as he slowly prowled across the room towards her. “Is that any way to fight?”
“I don’t want to ruin my painting,” she explained, keeping her eye on the man who still stood too close to the portrait. A slow smile curved his
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