AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What’s your plan for that?” I ask, setting my brush down.
“The big finale.” Mischief swims in her eyes. “It’s your turn to count me off, Mr. Hudson,” she says in a playful tone. Her posture is that of an Olympic diver.
“One, two…” She drags the tub over her head and, in one fell swoop, tosses it to the canvas. “Three.”
Bright crimson paint splashes everywhere, seeping into the canvas, staining the plastic, and drenching my shirt.
Molly turns to me, and her eyes widen. Her laughter ceases. “Oh no. I’m so, so, so, sorry!” She speeds over to me, swiping at the paint on my chest.
“Hey, it’s okay.” I guide her hands into mine. The paint is tacky between our fingers. “We’re making a mess, remember?” I tap her nose, leaving behind a splotch of color. “Now we match.”
“Well, in that case.” She pushes up onto her tiptoes and trails her paint-covered touch along my brow. Then she bolts for a brush.
“You’re not getting off so easily.” I sprint after her, but she’s quicker, darting around the room.
“I’m not sure if you can keep up with me,” she teases. Blue paint from the brush she’s holding drips down her legs.
I dip my finger into a vat of yellow and flick it at her. Molly shrieks, swatting her own brush in retaliation. Blue paint hits my arm. My button-down clings to me.
“Alright, that’s how we’re gonna do this?” I yank off my shirt. Molly halts, her eyes glued to my chest.
She notices me watching her and then whisks her brush again. Sticky paint coats my torso.
I snatch my brush and run toward her.
“No, no, no!” Molly yelps and rushes behind the table, leaving paint in her wake.
“Playing dirty, huh?” I dip the brush into the pink. When I dart left, she speeds right. “Really, darling, you’re going to make me chase you?”
We move like pieces on a chessboard, soaking each other in colors.
“Only if you can keep up.” She laughs. “Are you having fun?”
“Molly.” I land a shot on her exposed shoulder. “I never want this day to end.”
“Me either.” She stills behind the table and pops her hip, holding the brush out nonchalantly. “But maybe we should call a truce?”
“I didn’t realize you were ready to give up so easily.”
I stroll around the table. Molly doesn’t try to run.
“I’m beginning to feel bad for you,” she says, nodding toward my chest. My torso looks like a Pollock painting.
“You’ve got quite an arm.”
“It’s all the yoga we’ve been doing.” She flashes her paint-splattered biceps.
In a breath, I’m beside her.
Her skin is a canvas of colors, from shades of pink to bright bursts of orange. And her lips—damn, her lips. Plush and aching to be kissed, tasted, loved. I tower over her, wanting nothing more than to lean down and claim her.
“Our masterpiece is missing one small thing.” We’re so close. A brief movement of my fingers, and I could be beneath the hem of her dress.
“What’s that?”
She grips my hand. My heart thuds. With a few swift flicks, she paintsM.G.onto my palm. “A painting is not complete without a monogram.”
“May I?”
