Page 25 of Stolen Summer

Something sparked in his eyes, and my heart raced, tingles moving into places they had no right dwelling.

Fucking hell. Why him? Why did it have to be him?

My face got hot.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek to squash the arousal aching within me. “What are you doing?” I rasped.

His gaze returned to the page, the piece of charcoal moving in purposeful strokes. “Don’t move. I need another ten minutes.”

Was he drawing me? “To do what?” I asked, uncertain how I felt about being the subject of his art.

Our gaze met again, just briefly. “Capture you. Close your eyes,” he demanded.

“I can’t now that I know you’re watching me,” I murmured.

His mouth remained a thin line, but amusement danced in the flecks of gold in his irises. “Close them, Killer.”

I did as he asked but not before rolling my eyes first, the wisping of charcoal on paper oddly calming, and after a few moments, I relaxed. “You draw?”

“If the mood strikes.”

My body wanted to fidget, not liking being made to stay still on command. “Can I see it?”

“For a price,” he replied.

My eyes flew open. “Don’t even say it,” I warned. His price would be a kiss. I’d hoped he’d forgotten our silly bet.

Cole’s lips quirked. “You moved.” His hand shot forward so fast that I didn’t have time to react, and before I knew it, he clutched my chin, tilting it just a fraction. “Stay.”

My jaw clenched, and a zip of anger lanced through me. “I’m not a puppy. I don’t follow your commands.”

“You’re in my house,” he reminded, daring me with a look to disobey him.

I jerked my chin out from his grasp, tossing the blanket off my legs as I sat up. “I don’t want to be here. Trust me.”

The fireplace flames were gone, but the wood burned in an amber glow, and the taper candles had burned to only an inch of life left. “As soon as the power comes back on, we’ll both get what we want.”

This position wasn’t better than lying had been. Our knees bumped, and I shifted mine so they weaved in and out with his. Again, a bad decision on my part. It seemed no matter how I moved, he was too damn close. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He took the pad of his thumb and brushed it down my cheek. His eyes went to my lips, and my brain warned me I treaded in dangerous territory, but my body rejoiced at his nearness. “You know what I want.”

I shook my head. “You’re relentless.”

With a wicked grin, he sat back, his hand dropping from my face. “And you need a shower.” He held up his fingers that had been touching me.

I frowned at the dark blots of charcoal staining his hand.

“Art looks good on you.”

“Funny,” I retorted dryly, but what I’d almost said was it looked better on him. “Which bathroom can I use?”

“Mine.”

“Which one is yours?”

He gave me a cheeky grin. “I’ll show you.” He held out a hand.

Staring at his outstretched hand, I chewed on the corner of my lip. What would it hurt? I was already smeared with smudges. I put my hand in his and let him pull me up from the couch.