“Right.” She got the impression he had more to say, and she was curious to hear what was on his mind, but he didn’t come out with it. After hesitating for another moment, he gave her a nod and left.

Once he was gone, Tia sank onto the bed. She couldn’t feel safe in the guesthouse. Not with Kouretas proving to be such a determined adversary. But was she any safer here?

She supposed that depended on her definition of safe.

Seth knew Tia probably assumed he was working on the commissioned piece for San Francisco he’d mentioned to her before. But he couldn’t quit thinking about last night and the way she’d tasted and smelled and felt against him. Now that he’d made love to her, he had to change the painting—to add more depth and texture—or it wouldn’t feel right to him anymore. As obsessive as he could be about his art, he knew he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else until he fixed it and hoped that channeling his emotions—the regret and the guilt he felt along with everything else—onto canvas might dispel some of the tension inside him.

As he worked, he became aware of the fact that his painting was becoming decidedly more erotic, which surprised him. He hadn’t painted a naked woman in years. His usual passion—for anything—had been so muted since Shiloh died. He’d felt as though he was living in a bubble, so insulated from the rest of the world that nothing seemed particularly sharp or in focus, except for the pain of losing the love of his life. He’d been living a gray, lonely existence since she died, but he had to admit part of that was his fault. He’d purposely isolated himself so that he wouldn’t have to deal with anyone else’s questions or concern.

But his libido had come roaring back. To cope with the sudden surge of testosterone, he had to create something that would help him remember every detail of last night, down to the satiny feel of Tia’s skin, so that he wouldn’t continue to obsess about it. After having no interest in any woman for three years, he suddenly seemed to have focused all of his latent desire on Tia.

Using her wasn’t the answer, however.

The buzzer signifying someone was at the gate went off an hour later.

After setting aside his brush, he jogged downstairs so that Tia wouldn’t feel as though she had to answer it. But he could tell she’d heard it, too. She came out of the aviary and stood nervously in the entryway.

“Do you think it’s the police?” she asked.

“Probably,” he replied.