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“I’m ready if you are. What…?”
Her throat closed over when she caught him just starting to remove his dress shirt, a precise action that took care not to wrinkle the cloth. Inch upon inch of pale skin was revealed, the lanky image of him gone as she was presented with muscles that rippled at his stretching. When the dress shirt was off, he folded it and placed it on top of a box, then returned it to the center. Fingers unbuttoned his slacks, then made a move to slide them down.
“The slacks will do,” she blurted out, stopping him in his tracks. He straightened but didn’t bother to button it back.
“Okay.”
He kicked the block of chair to the side, sauntered to another corner, and picked up a Victorian couch with one hand as if it weighed nothing. Then he sat in the center…waited.
“Where’s your shirt? Don’t you have glittery or fancy ones?”
“My skin’s brighter. It showcases your point perfectly.”
She gaped. His lashes fluttered. She gritted her teeth, wondering if he was teasing or being serious, but the point still stood that he wasn’t going to put a shirt on.
“I see.”
“Unless you are affected by the sight of half-naked men.”
Just like that, pride took over.
“Artists couldn’t care less about nudity. It serves its purpose when it’s needed.”
“I agree. You were saying earlier?” he prompted.
It felt like she had just been navigated to where he wanted, but she stifled her grumbling.
“I was going to ask what medium you prefer.”
“You are the artist at this moment. You get to decide.”
If he could be accommodating, so could she. Alexa slunk back to what she now considered was her spot, adjusting it until she was at a distance where she didn’t have to crane her neck. That put her closer to him than she would have liked, but she rode out the internal protest and just…sat.
“You can move on the couch. Assume any pose you like until I find the one that I like the most.”
Amusement colored his features before he lifted his legs and pushed his torso onto one end of the couch. He crossed his legs, changed his mind, and splayed them open, stretching the slacks and allowing her a view of more muscles encased beneath. Edmund rested an arm on his knee and placed the other on his neck, massaging the back portion.
“Long day?”
He continued massaging and spared her a glance. “Kind of. It’s more a series of failed attempts at doing…things.”
“Hmm.”
“Hold on.” He blurred before her eyes. A second later, he was in a side-lying position but with the extra flair of a knee up and his elbow supporting his upper weight, and his hand supporting his head. His other hand rested on his stomach, fingers drumming as a small smile escaped him. “I think this is nice. Comfortable, too. What do you think?”
He was magnificent passed through her reverie, a specimen so fine and sheltered from scars. It matched that equally flawless face capable of solemn promises and charming wit, a far cry from the burst of power that had duped and kicked vampire ass left and right to get her out of trouble. To be fair, she had been expecting a sap of a man and couldn’t figure out why Isabella would leave him for—
“It’s fine,” she lied, cutting the rest of her ruminations off before they could fully form. Mortified, she hastened her attention to the canvas, brush poised.
“Do you want to talk until you are ready?” he offered. “Truth or dare.”
She glanced at him, then away. “Sure. Truth.”
“Did you ever miss creating?”
“I was too busy to miss it…” At his clearing of throat, she shrugged. “But I suppose. I always had fun when I created.”
“And you don’t find it fun now?”
