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Though he shrugged, his eyes, usually gray, had softened to silver, and she knew he was pleased by her comment.
“It must be subliminal,” she had to note. “It must be what you really want to do. Relax.”
“It’s nothing more than the last word you said to me. I couldn’t think of anything else to paint.”
She folded her arms and shot him a look. “I don’t believe you.”
He pointed at her painting. “Even though ‘believe’ was the word you sprayed on the wall?”
She glanced at her word art, which she’d done in simple blue and white. “I like what I did. I’ll even probably put a picture of it online. Hashtag HavingFuninLondon and all that. But I was thinking while I put it up there.” She pointed at his art. “You were feeling.”
Something flared in his eyes. He almost seemed to sway into her for one brief moment.
Then, just as quickly, he stepped back. Almost as if he’d been about to commit a crime.
Chapter Six
Relax.
Didn’t she know that song was about sex?
Looking at his crazy, mixed-up piece of the wall, it somehow symbolized all his crazy, mixed-up feelings about her.
“It’s garbage.” He was embarrassed by how he’d let himself go. Bending down, he grabbed the first can of paint he could reach. Orange.
Lyssa, guessing his intention, threw herself in front of the wall. “You are not going to paint over that.”
Seeing her spread-eagled against the wall, all he could think about was that song again. And sex. And Lyssa in that position, in a bed, naked.
Damn it! He needed to erase that vision from his brain and never, ever think anything like it again.
“If you don’t get out of the way,” he said, “I’ll have to paint over you too.”
Laughter bubbled out of her. “I dare you.”
Again, he didn’t think before acting, even though that kept getting him into trouble with Lyssa. Before she could leap away, he aimed for her stomach and painted her white T-shirt orange.
She looked down at herself, clearly stunned. “I can’t believe you did that.”
Despite his inner war over his completely unauthorized feelings for her, he couldn’t hold back his grin. “I warned you.”
Then she grabbed a paint can and sprayed his T-shirt before he could react. She was covered in orange, he was splashed in teal. He grabbed for the can she was holding, but she darted away. And he took aim at his wall.
Again, she jumped in front of it at the last moment, so he covered her back in paint instead.
“Now you match back and front,” he teased.
Laughing, she turned on him to try to grab his can. As he held it out of her reach, she stretched for the spray paint in his hand, her body plastered to his. She squirmed against him, pulling his arm, trying to get the can.
Just that quickly, everything shifted inside him, making him forget all the things he shouldn’t do. Everything he’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t even think about, let alone act on.
But one touch was all it took, her heat against his wet shirt, spreading through him. His arm snaked around her as if it had a mind of its own, anchoring her to him. The scent of her hair, some fruity shampoo, stronger than the smell of paint, mesmerized him.
Relax.
And he felt himself relaxing into her, wanting her.
Delic’s booming voice broke the spell. “Hey, you two, no spray-paint fights.”
Cal loosened his grip.
Even as he wanted to hold on to her forever.
* * *
They took the Tube back to the hotel. No taxi driver would allow their paint-splattered bodies on his seats.
“If we put ultraviolet light on you, you’d be psychedelic,” she said with a laugh.
Cal’s hair and face where he hadn’t been covered by the goggles and mask were a spray of color, as was his T-shirt.
He put a hand to her forehead, leaving a streak of heat from his touch. “You look like a blue-and-white fairy. Except for the orange.” Smiling, he laid his palm against her stomach.
She almost gasped at the contact. She was right back there on the street, her body plastered against his as she struggled to get the paint can, the feel of his arm across her back like a brand. Right back at the moment where she’d been unable to think about anything except kissing him. Right back at that moment when she’d forgotten all the reasons why she shouldn’t, even if his touch had been purely accidental.
All too soon, he held up his hand. “You’re already dry.”
She put her hand on the teal splotch she’d sprayed on his chest. She could feel his heart thundering. “You’re dry too.” Her voice was too husky, too sultry, and she broke the tension with a smile. “You look like a kid with those goggle marks.”
He traced the goggle lines around her eyes. “So do you.”
