My heart flutters as he groans.
God, it’s easy to forget we’re pressed for time and juggling a priceless mystery artifact.
There’s something about walking into this temple to human creativity that makes me feel like anything is possible.
Yes, it’s a gorgeous building, all soaring columns and arches, but it’s also something else. The world makes more sense when I can bask in my one true love.
“Ohhh, yesss. We have to see the Egyptian display.” I grab his arm and drag him the second I see the sign. I try not to notice the hard, unrelenting muscle under my fingers.
Seeing him shirtless with his hair tossed around this morning was a whole vibe.
Definitely not the daddy vibe I need.
I knew he worked out like he’s preparing for a rabid zombie apocalypse. PopPop kept him around for a reason, after all. He made him my problem fora reason.
But after watching him stuffing his face with breakfast and still looking hot…
Holy hell.
No man should get to look like a Michelangelo sculpture, especially not when they come with such an attitude.
Not when this gruff, unsmiling brute exists to make my life complicated.
Except I’m the idiot complicating it more with my brain stuck on half-naked Holden.
Hard ridges of deadly muscle.
The lethal V pointing to his low-slung pants like an obscene arrow.
The rough dusting of dark hair on his chest, turning him pure animal. I’m not sure why but you don’t see it much with guys my age.
He’s exotic and older and so, so bad for me.
A forbidden fruit bursting with rattlesnake venom. One bite would drop me to the floor.
But it’s my muse, I think. Yes, let’s blame her.
Awful or not, Holdenbegsto be drawn—and maybe as a man, for once, and not a silly caricature. There’s a lot to capture, from his stacked, towering muscle to the brooding, deep shadows in his strange sad eyes.
I’ve always adored playing with lighting, and he’s a whole mountain range. Visually fascinating, right down to the way the sunlight scatters across his savage hills and untamed valleys.
I noticed it the second I woke up, after I got over the shock ofsleeping next to him.
We won’t even dwell on that. But there he was, packed against that pillow, the first hint of sun splashed across his washboard abs like a golden ribbon.
I’d use charcoal to capture that, I think, smudging it with my fingers. A little wild shadowing around the edges. He’s not clean enough for pencil.
He’s dirty and smeared and real. Never quite perfect when you look directly at him, which you don’t because he’s as blinding as a Phoenix afternoon.
“Egypt,” Holden growls, tossing me a look.
I jerk my head away so he doesn’t see me flushed, trapped in my own head.
“Um, yeah. There’s five thousand years of art here. Might as well work backwards.”
“Got any Picasso paintings here?”
I glare at him, the heat leaving my face. “Is he the only artist you know?”
