His shoulders quivered slightly. Shit. He’d heard! Of course he’d heard. He just got done telling me how great his senses were. No reason to get upset. We were adults here, and all adults knew that stomachs growled when they were hungry.

“How long will this take?”

“I’ll get the nuances down in an hour or so. Then you can eat.”

“No worries. Take as long as you need.”

“I don’t want to keep you past midnight. I know you have work tomorrow.”

“Yeah. True.”

“Now we need to stop talking. I want you to look at the wall, focus on the spot right over my head, okay?”

I nodded. At least I wouldn’t be looking right at him. That helped. Otherwise I’d need to squirm against the pressure between my legs.

I might need to anyway.

Roy Wolfe was the sexiest man I’d ever met. Truly.

He washed the canvas in a gray. First I thought it was black, but then I realized the color on his brush wasn’t complete darkness.

“You don’t have to let the background dry?” I asked.

“Nope. Not with the technique I plan to use. Now no more talking.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Focusing on the wall above his shoulder, I could only see him peripherally, and I longed to watch the expression on his face as he brushed my image onto his canvas.

I remained as still as I could, with the throbbing between my legs.

6

Roy

The dark gray represented nighttime. Her moonlit features would be more pronounced against darkness.

Her caramel-colored hair fell in sporadic loose waves around her shoulders. If only she’d shed the robe, and I could see her in her naked glory.

But it was too soon for that. I was too attracted to her. She wasn’t just any model. She was a woman I wanted in my bed. Really wanted in my bed. If I saw her body, I wouldn’t be able to capture what I longed to on this canvas.

The lighting cast silver highlights in her hair, and I brushed little glints of zinc white over the soft browns.

The flesh tones of her face were easy to paint and contour. First things first, because what I wanted to focus on were those eyes.

So silvery and sparkling, they gazed above my shoulders as I’d instructed her. Good thing. If she were looking at me, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate. As it was, I was having a hard time, but I placed my need to paint her above the ache in my groin.

I mixed the zinc white with a touch of ivory black and added some blues. Nope. I tried again. Nope. Then once more. A little closer.

I began painting her eyes. Damn. Still not perfect. Why was that silvery hue eluding me?

“Fuck,” I said aloud.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s your eyes. They’re not right.”