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She wanted to purr as her belly tightened. “I’ll slink to the ground if you keep that up.”
“Later,” he told her with a grin and an easy final caress, her LED illuminating the handsome planes of his face.
“Deal. Let’s open up the paint cans. Then I’ll tag the colors for the lower shapes and you can get going while I work on the details. When I finish, I’ll help you with the upper shapes. Cool?”
“Supercool.”
He was already striding to the neat rows of paint they’d lined up according to the color spectrum, from white to black. The softpopof paint cans being pried open by a screwdriver filled her ears. She rubbed her hands together and went to work behind him, hauling cans and the appropriate brush to start the first shapes. She’d adjusted her design to fit the wall, making the shapes bigger.
She glanced over her shoulder, watching Liam crouch from one paint can to the next, moving with the efficiency and focus of someone used to working on large house projects. Somehow, she knew he would find his own rhythm for how he wanted to do what she needed. She had only to point him in the right direction. And try not to keep admiring him while he worked.
She unloaded her bag of empty spray cans from her backpack into the portable freestanding trash bin he’d set up, wincing at the noise.
“It’s fine, Taylor,” he called in a low voice from a few feet away. “No one out here but us and some nearby sheep.”
Still, her heart was pounding. Was his? They couldn’t be caught for trespassing, but she wanted to be out of sight before anyone was the wiser.
Repacking her bag with the next batch of supplies, she headed for the left extension ladder. “Keep working,” she called out in a loud whisper. “I don’t need you to spot me. I’ve been up on ladders millions of times.”
His work on the paint cans paused for a few moments, as if he was weighing the wisdom of letting her be up at those heights without him holding the ladder. The ground was damp, something he said was common in Ireland with the rain. But they worked with damp ground and ladders all the time, he’d told her, so she could trust he’d secured it well. And she did. Which was why she didn’t think twice about climbing the runs of the ladder to the top and starting on Malcolm’s big face.
He was going to be a grotesque cartoony figure in her depiction, with a portly body and giant gold diamond rings on his swollen fingers. His head, although close enough to reality that no one could question it was him, was proportionally smaller. He would be looming over her, of course, positioning her in the center of the painting. Her figure would be something of a Joan of Arc representation, standing tall and defiant but much smaller in size than him while his goons circled her, their faces eerie depictions of greedy malevolence, as dark water swirled around her.
Behind her figure would be other people he’d threatened. Sophie would be the immediate one, and then the remaining figures would be indistinct, becoming smaller and smaller until they were Thumbelina size. Since she was a child, she’d loved that book, and it had informed her street art.
She finished Malcolm’s face, adding a touch of green spray paint to his eyes and cheekbones to symbolize the greed coming through his very pores. Yes, she thought, looking at that large, round face. She had captured the essence of him. The arrogance. The cruelty. The lust for power and dominance over others.
Descending the left ladder, she found Liam waiting for her, extending his water bottle to her. “I can’t see it, but I can feel how delighted you are. I’m glad I’m here to share this with you.”
She was aware of the intimacy of drinking from the same bottle, but she was more aware of him watching her. Putting her hand on his fleece jacket, she could feel his heat. Yeah, they were both keyed up, from each other as much as the work. “I am too, Liam. I’m heading up to the middle. How are you doing?”
“I’ve got the lower shapes done except for the scene you didn’t mark in the right corner.”
Right. She had a plan for that. “You’re done?” She reluctantly dropped her hand from his chest and walked over to inspect. “Wow! You work fast. And good. Nice strokes. No visible lines.”
His amused snort carried. “I’m a professional, remember?”
She walked back to him and fingered the collar of his fleece, teasing the hot skin there. “So it seems. Okay, let me tag the next shapes for you.”
He gave her cheek an answering stroke. “It’s like paint by numbers,” he joked, following her to the line of paint cans.
She could already see where he’d discarded the gallons he’d used. “One of my favorite moments is when all the paint cans I’ve lined up are gone.”
“Mine too. You can see the progress as you toss the used ones out. Come. Show me what’s next.”
And so she did, tagging the shapes quickly as he set up the portable scaffolding. “I think it will be easier if it’s ready for me to use.”
He was right. She would glance his way from time to time as she worked on the next batch of details, starting with herself and then working down to the goons and Sophie and the smaller indistinct figures. He went from being below her to joining her in the center, working on filling in the dark water threatening to envelop her and the others.
When his light touched her, she looked over to find him some five feet away. “It looks incredible from here, Taylor. Powerful. You do as well, by the way. I’ll be coming around your left side now.”
Man, he was fast and seeing him like this, working beside her, made her want him even more. “Perfect. I’m almost done with this part, and then I’ll be going to the right corner.”
She resumed her focus and worked on painting her descending figures as time-honored carrot shapes before descending the ladder.
“There’s some more bottled water to the left of the paint,” he called in a loud whisper. “And coffee in the blue thermos.”
When had he made coffee? When she was in the zone, she didn’t register what was happening around her sometimes. “Seriously?”
