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“And?”
“What if I asked her to plant a little bug?”
“That wouldn’t get my dad’s shop back. Hell, it wouldn’t even get my name back.” He crossed his beefy arms. “Why are you so concerned about revenge?”
“I’ve been reading about Benson and Towers since they were finally caught. I think prison isn’t enough. They’ve been living in luxury for years while those they stole from have been struggling and miserable.”
“This isn’t some cool movie where the good guys always win. In real life, the criminals get away more than we like to think.”
“I guess you’re right.” She settled back in her place on the couch and watched part of the movie. She had no idea what was going on, so she picked up her pencil again instead.
“What are you working on?”
“Just some sketches.”
“Of?”
She glanced at him again and mumbled, “You.”
“Did you say me?”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Yes, you. I’ve been sketching your fucking arms for days. I can’t get them out of my mind.”
“Can I see?”
She turned the pad to face him. It wasn’t much to look at yet, just simple outlines of his head and chest, but there was no mistaking the bulky arms crossed over his chest.
“Is that all I am? Arms?”
She lifted a brow. “They’re pretty great arms.”
He reached over and held a hand out for the pad. She hesitated but gave it to him. She’d already admitted to being obsessed with his arms. Not much could be more embarrassing.
Ezra flipped through the pages, so she focused on the TV. She stared at the screen and forced herself not to look over as she heard pages flip.
“You’re really good.”
“Thanks.”
“What’s this a picture of?” He’d turned to a page where she’d been sketching the Leach painting before moving on to canvas.
“Sometimes, I like to practice my skills by copying famous art. You know, like when you go to the Art Institute and see people copying Monet?”
He nodded in understanding. She reached for her sketchbook. He held it out, but when her fingers curled over the edge of the pages, he tugged her closer. Shock had her eyes widening, but she didn’t even consider pulling back.
He met her halfway. “What is it about my arms?” he asked in a near whisper, his voice rough.
ChapterTen
Even as he made the move, Ezra knew he had lost his fucking mind. She came willingly across the couch to him and he reached over and cradled her jaw, waiting for an answer about his arms. Without breaking eye contact, she stroked her fingers up and down his forearm.
“They’re muscular and strong. When you’re working with glass and they flex and bulge...” She gave a little shiver. “But looking at your arms leads to your as strong hands. Then my imagination starts to play with the possibilities of what you could do with those hands.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want to feel you.”
“Then come here.”
