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I’d been so caught up in him that his declaration caught me by surprise. “Huh?”
“Look.” He pointed his chin at the easel.
I shifted in the sand and studied the canvas. It was crinkled, but I could still make out Deacon’s stick image. Beside him was an equally horrible rendition.
The drawing had brown skin, brown eyes, full pink lips and black, straw hair. Deacon looked like he’d put extra efforts into that mouth but not much else could be said about it.
I snorted.
“What?” He smiled and the light burst through his green irises like a sunrise. “You don’t like it?”
“Is that supposed to be me?”
“Yes.”
I laughed loudly. “You made such a fuss. I thought you knew how to paint.”
His lips twitched. “If I had a little more time, I could have added more details.”
“Man,” I looked at it again and started tearing up, “that’s awful.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Me. Me.” Reid barged over and planted himself in my lap.
“Reid, honey, you could do a better job,” I said, patting his leg. To Deacon, I teased, “Give the better artist the paintbrush.”
“It sounds like you’re jealous.”
“Please. I know what my strengths are.”
“Me.” Reid took his paintbrush and moved it all over the drawing.
I smiled and glanced at Deacon.
He was looking straight at me.
Something inside my chest melted. It would be so easy to give in to these feelings, to surrender myself to the current that thickened in the air whenever he so much as flashed those green eyes my way.
But I couldn’t.
There was no use starting something that would only end in pain.
24
Deacon
Angel scooted back like a scared puppy. Perhaps I’d let my desire shine in my gaze again.
“We should probably head inside,” she said.
“Probably,” I said but didn’t move.
Angel jumped to her feet. Slender hands whisking over her pants, she dislodged the sand that clung to her clothes and skin. A long curtain of dark hair slid over her shoulder and fell over her face, shielding her expression from view.
I shouldn’t be this excited to see her, yet I was. If I could convince her to stay seated, beside me, breathing her air, I would have no complaints.
But Angel seemed hell-bent on scrambling away, putting distance between us. I was bound by my contract and by my word. She was off-limits as a woman.
