Bringing Home the Bad Boy (Second Chance #1)(66)

She did, indeed, have a hair tie in her pocket. Nevertheless, she argued, “Evan.”

Kneeling in front of her, his eyes warmed as they danced over her naked body. “Make art with me, Ace.” He lowered his lips and kissed her, and unable to argue with a request like Make art with me, Ace, she gave in. Soon her mind went on vacation and her limbs wrapped around him.

They made art. Blue and red and yellow, and where it mixed purple and green, art. After thoroughly enjoying themselves, they rolled to a nearby drop cloth so as not to destroy the fine wood floors in his studio. Evan sat and tucked her against his front. She’d pulled her hair up as instructed, but noticed a strand had come down.

She held it out and groused at the red paint striping her hair. “Man! I knew it!”

A male chuckle vibrated her against her back. They were speckled in paint from the neck down, and it’d taken some very careful planning to not end up with it in (ahem) places that weren’t safe, but they’d managed.

He dropped his chin on her shoulder, kissing her neck as he did. “You’re sexy and beautiful.” Another kiss, then, “I love that you let me do that.”

Her heart ka-thumped the moment he got to the “I love…” part. She didn’t know what the ka-thump meant—but it felt very similar to hope mixed with fear. She chalked it up to too much sun and paint fumes.

“Now we burn it in the fire pit,” she concluded, studying the painting leaning against a few others. She could make out the shape of her breasts when he had been behind her, and his butt cheeks when she’d ridden him.

“Absolutely not.”

“Evan!” she scolded. “You can see the sex on that canvas.”

His arms squeezed her, painted fingers linking with hers. “I know. It’s amazing.”

“You can’t let Lyon see this! You can’t let anyone see this!”

He chuckled again. “Relax, Ace. I’ll paint in a few more lines, hide the obvious parts. Like that nipple.” He pointed with his free hand.

She gave him a playful slap. “You can’t keep it.”

“Let me keep it.” His soft murmur against the shell of her ear made her spine melt against his front. “I don’t burn art, Ace.”

Her thoughts, and her attention, went to the stack of dark art leaning against the wall. The paintings of smoke and billows, smears and smudges. “I see,” she murmured.

His head turned as he looked with her. She said nothing, not sure if it was her place to ask.

His arms tightened around her. “I dream of Rae.”

Charlie squeezed his fingers. She was right about the paintings. They were sad. “This would be an appropriate time to say I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He kissed her neck and murmured, “You’re sweet, Ace.” His soft chuckle tickled her skin. “Outside and in.”

Warmth unfurled in her chest, but her eyes hadn’t left the paintings. “Why do you keep them?”

“They’re the truth. Always been honest.”

He was. Evan always told the truth. “You’re beautiful, Ev,” she returned quietly. “Outside and in.”

Turning her, he kissed her mouth, this time long and slow and oh-so-smooth, his arms skimming over her nude body.

When they broke apart, her eyes went to the painting of them they’d just created. “But why keep this one?”

His arms had wrapped around her once again. He gave her a squeeze. “Never want to forget.”

Her eyes closed, her heart sliding into her throat and clogging her next breath. His words were sweet, and said while his lips rested against her ear. What she didn’t know was if he never wanted to forget because this was the beginning of something that would last forever… or if he never wanted to forget because this was something that would soon end.

Well. She would have to avoid reading into it.

She was still trying not to read into it when he helped her up and carried her into the bathroom closest to the studio. And when they showered. And when she pulled on one of his T-shirts and crawled into his bed upstairs.

She especially tried not to read into it when he said, “ ’Night, Ace,” kissed the back of her neck, and crawled in behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist.

The more she tried not to think of it, the more she did. Thought about all of it—every angle, every possibility, every minute breath, utterance, or slide of his turquoise eyes.

Which was likely what kept her awake until the wee hours stretched into dawn and beyond.

Tired was settling in when Evan’s phone rang. Letting loose a sleepy groan, he reached to the nightstand and promptly knocked the phone to the floor.

She laughed and he grumbled, but she thought it sounded like a laugh through the grumble, which made her smile despite being epically sleep-deprived.

“Yeah?” he said in a rocky morning voice as he rolled back onto the bed.

She was stroking a hand on his back, admiring the planes of hard muscle with a soft touch, when those muscles grew harder. Taut. Rigid.

“Where?” His voice had gone as rigid as his body. “I’m on my way.” He tossed off the blankets and stood, phone resting between shoulder and ear. In a tone sharper than before, he repeated, “Yeah, Pat, I’m on my way.”

Pat?

Oh no.

“Lyon?” Charlie guessed, her stomach sinking.