We kissed, and we kissed, and we kissed.

Until the water became lukewarm.

Even then, he didn’t pull from the kiss, just eased me out of the shower and turned off the water.

Still he kissed me as he pulled a giant cotton towel from the chrome rack and wrapped it around both our bodies. Though his hands were busy, our mouths never separated.

Finally, I had to pull away and inhale.

The hell with an inhale. That was a gasp.

Water dripped onto my shoulders and chest from my wet hair. Roy smiled and handed me a smaller towel.

I squeezed as much water as I could out of my hair and into the towel as he did the same.

Then I looked at him. Just looked at this incredible man, his damp hair sticking to his shoulders, his cock huge and erect, even his large feet perfectly formed and beautiful, not a callus in sight.

He stroked his index finger down my cheek and over my jawline. “You’re absolutely breathtaking, silver.”

What did he see in me that was so special?

I thought back to the portrait I’d begun in his studio. Yes, the techniques had come back to me. Yes, I’d been moderately pleased with the result so far. But I’d never be satisfied with it.

I’d never be in the same artistic class as Roy Wolfe.

Never in a million years.

The man was a genius. He had painting in his soul. His work spoke to me—to everyone—on so many different levels.

Then I couldn’t help smiling. The gorgeous abstract he’d created just last night, his depiction of me, hadn’t satisfied him.

He didn’t think he got my eyes right.

How could he not know that he’d glorified my eyes? Made them so much more than they were in reality?

Was an artist never satisfied with his work?

Was I no different from him?

Emotion coiled through me. I was feeling something. Something new. Something vibrant and real and a little bit scary.

It wasn’t love. It was way too soon for that.

But this man had awakened something in me. Something I’d never known and could have never even imagined.

“Roy.”

“What, silver?”

“Take me to your bed.”

He didn’t pick me up and hoist me over his shoulder. No. I could imagine Rock doing that, but not Roy.

There was a gentleness about Roy. Not in a sissy way, of course. But in a gentlemanly way. No, that wasn’t right either.

He was an artist.

And he’d make love like an artist.

Last night had been fast and furious in his studio, But tonight…

Tonight I’d experience the real Roy Wolfe.

I couldn’t wait.