Page 27 of Stolen Summer

“I never got to finish my piece. I was thinking a nude might be more representative of our first encounter,” he said, his voice carrying over the pelting water.

I poked my head out of the shower, glaring at the man leaning against the wall, looking too comfortable. “You’ll have to do that one from memory.”

The gold flecks in his eyes sparkled as his gaze traced lower, and despite the frosted doors concealing me, it felt as if he could see through them. “I might need a second glance to get all the details accurate. The lines of a woman’s body are so tricky.”

I flushed at his words. “You’re not winning this bet, Cole,” I ground out, my wet fingers clutching the shower door.

The look he gave me was pure trouble. “I’m sure you’d change your mind if you saw me naked.”

I choked but shook my head and quickly recovered. “You ever had your balls sliced with a razor? You have a pretty sharp one in here.”

He toyed with the hoop on his bottom lip, a smile tugging at the corners. “Cruel, Killer. And so damn hot.”

“If you’re done tormenting me, can I finish my shower?” I closed the glass door, my way of dismissing him, but what I needed was a moment to gain control of myself before I did something foolish. Like pull him into the shower with me, clothes and all, not that they would stay on for long.

Ducking my head under the hot spray, I rinsed the bubbles from my hair, pretending to go about my business when I was tensely listening for his exit. Or his entrance.

I didn’t know which one I leaned toward.

The smart choice would be to tell him to get out. Again. I remained silent, waiting.

My breath stalled as his shadow moved closer to the shower. What did I want? And why couldn’t I make up my mind?

When the suds were gone from my hair, Cole said, “I left you some clothes on the counter.” The door clicked softly behind him.

Exhaling, I pressed my forehead against the shower wall, willing my body to calm. I’d been excited, turned on even, and the feeling remained.

What the hell is he doing to me?

Since I’d woken up, I’d been in a perpetual state of arousal. I had no intention of kissing Cole Riley. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. My body needed to get on board.

I wanted to blame it on my sad sex life. It had been too long since I’d been with a guy. I wasn’t good with relationships. Sex was different. I was exceptionally good at doing the deed. It was the after stuff and everything in between I sucked at.

I had to deal with my hormones or risk being seduced by the moody sex god.

My finger slipped between my lips as I turned, pressing my back into the tile. Water rained over my skin, but I was already wet. I wouldn’t think of him. I wouldn’t picture his face, his lips, his hands. Nothing about Cole would enter my mind.

One problem.

I smelled like him.

Chapter Ten

His woodsy scent covered me from head to toe. And if that wasn’t enough, I wore his clothes, a soft tee too big for me and black sweats. At least they had a drawstring. Regardless of how tantalizing my senses found his smell, I was grateful to put on something clean and comfortable. It was like being hugged by a cloud.

And I needed a hug.

The flashlight bobbed up and down the hallway as I meandered through the house in search of Cole. When I didn’t find him in the living room, I intended to go to the kitchen, but the sketchbook discarded on the coffee table captured my eye. The candle on the table burned low, wax melting onto the wood. Drawn by the memory of waking up this morning, I walked into the room and sat on the floor, my fingers reaching for the art pad. I dropped the flashlight beside me and opened the book, thumbing through the pages. Various images of people, landscapes, quotes, and animals flipped by.

They were good. Really good. It was clear Cole’s fingers held talent, and my guess was that skill went beyond the page. It did feel intrusive going through what seemed to be private, like I was skimming through his diary but in art form.

And then I came to the page of me.

There was no mistaking it.

He’d captured me sleeping, my hand tucked under the side of my face, long lashes fanning my closed eyes. My expression was one I’d never seen before. Peaceful. A little sad perhaps.

Was this how I looked to him? Or just how I appeared when I slept?