“How long has it been?” she asked.

It had probably seemed like hours to her. I knew well how difficult modeling was. I’d done it during college. “A little less than an hour.”

“How much do you have done?”

“Everything. Except the eyes aren’t right.”

“You painted a whole portrait in an hour?”

“It’s an abstract, and yeah. But I’m not happy with—”

She hopped off the stool. “Let me see.”

I opened my mouth to try to stop her, but she moved quickly. She faced the canvas with wide eyes.

“Wow. Just wow.”

“It’s not right. The eyes.”

“How can you say that? This is more beautiful than I ever imagined.”

I gazed into her eyes. “No, it’s not. Not as beautiful as you are.”

“But it is. You made my hair so…so… And my eyes… It doesn’t look like me at all. I mean, it does, but… It looks like the best version of me, you know what I mean?”

“I do.”

But it didn’t. It didn’t capture her ethereal essence. That silveriness in her eyes existed only in her. No pigment could replicate it, even with a master mixing it.

“I can’t believe it. You’re so gifted, Roy. So much talent.”

“It’s not my best work.”

“It is to me.”

Her pink lips were parted and shiny. I couldn’t help myself. I set down my palette, grabbed her, and pulled her to me. For a few precious seconds, I stared at the miracle that was her, thinking I couldn’t touch her, just couldn’t, because it might mar her perfection.

Then her tongue touched her bottom lip, and I couldn’t help myself. I crushed my lips to hers.

Her mouth was already open, so I pushed my tongue in. She tasted like crisp apple wine. A soft moan hummed from her throat into my mouth, and I deepened the kiss, holding her tightly.

My smock was covered in oil paints. I’d ruin this robe, but I didn’t care. I was a Wolfe. I could buy a million robes. Even if I couldn’t, this kiss was well worth it.

The inside of her mouth felt like smooth silk. Her arms crept around my neck, the touch of her soft fingers making me even hotter. My cock was already pounding against my jeans, demanding release.

I wanted her. I wanted Charlie Waters in my bed, and I wanted her there now.

I’d promised to feed her. Her tummy growling had been so cute.

But damn, she was kissing me back. Kissing me with urgency, all the urgency I felt myself. I cupped one of her cheeks and then trailed back to her head, threading my fingers through her disheveled hair. So soft, like blades of wheat grass on a summer day.

Again, the paint. Surely I was painting her. Didn’t care. Didn’t fucking care at all.