With the open concept kitchen, I watched Leo walk around the living room as I rinsed the dishes. When he picked up my sketch book I’d discarded on the table, I dropped the plate in my hand, sending water cascading over the front of my t-shirt.
At what must’ve been my gasp, Leo whirled around with the most endearingly guilty look on his face. “I’m sorry. I probably should’ve asked.”
“No, no. It’s fine.”
After cracking open the book, Leo dipped his head and began intently studying my sketches. I stood frozen at the sink, totally transfixed by the expression on his face.
“These are amazing, Drea.”
“They’re not great, but they’re pretty good.”
Leo shook his head. “I’m not bullshitting you when I say these are fucking amazing.”
Heat warmed my cheeks. No one in my family besides Vittoria or the twins ever complimented my art. It meant so much to hear someone outside of my family appreciate it.
Abandoning the dishes, I grabbed a hand towel as I went to join him in the living room. When I stood beside him, I peered over his arm to see which one he was looking at.
“Oh,” I murmured as mortification rocketed through me.
We’d been asked to do a self-portrait in one of the introductory art classes I’d taken this year. I’d sat before a mirror and sketched what I saw. Once my face had been done, I added myself into crashing waves. Instead of being swept under, I was rising above.
“It’s like looking right at you, and you’re so fucking stunning.”
Turning to Leo, I stared at his handsome profile. If I’d sketched my self-portrait now, it would’ve inserted me playing with fire because that was exactly what I was about to do with my next request.
“Let me draw you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE: LEO
Let me draw you.
Drea’s request echoed through my mind. Although her sketchbook showed how she’d drawn many people and many things, there was something inherently intimate about her asking to sketch me.
We’d been tiptoeing around the fire since our identities had been made known on the dance floor. While we couldn’t fault our actions when we’d been in the dark, our actions since then were asking to get burned.
Trying to lighten the mood, I teased, “I don’t do nudes.”
Drea laughed. “Sorry, Mr. Egomaniac, that wasn’t what I was suggesting.” She jerked her chin at me. “While it might not be captured in art, I’m sure there’s photographic evidence of your junk.”
“Guilty,” I mused.
After easing the sketch pad out of my hands, Drea said, “It was just a suggestion. We don’t have to do it.”
I shook my head. “No. I want to see you in action.”
A shy smile curved on her lips. “Okay then.”
Glancing around the living room, I asked, “Where do you want me?”
Without answering, Drea walked over to an overstuffed chair. After pushing it back towards the large floor-to-ceiling windows, she nodded. When she turned around with a pencil in her teeth and a sauce-stained t-shirt, she’d never been more beautiful. “I think the muted light will work.”
“If you say so, boss.”
I closed the distance between us and dropped down in the chair. Gazing up at her, I wagged my brows. “Are you going to paint me like one of your French girls?”
Drea threw her head back with a laugh. “Can’t you be serious for five minutes?”
“My personal best is probably two and a half.”
