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Bold and defined, her high cheekbones beg to be caressed, accentuating the alluring air around her.
Her curly hair is tamed into a bright yellow scarf matching her top. My eyes drop to the bee-stung lips and, Jesus… She’s a vision.
Her lean, long legs are tangled with mine. Shit, I’m pressing my thigh into her center. I should move, but I can’t let go. Not yet.
My hand itches to draw her. To paint her. To sculpt her. To depict the feeling she is spreading through my veins.
“You’re hurting me,” she croaks.
I shake my head, but it doesn’t bounce me back to reality. “You’re beautiful.”
Her eyes widen, and I realize the rhythm tapping against my chest is her heartbeat.
Some idiot grabs me again as several people try to help us up.
I don’t fucking need their help. I shake off the hold that belongs to my sister’s boyfriend.
I don’t want to lose the connection. This powerful moment. I want to remain frozen in time with the beautiful gazelle. I need to capture her essence.
She groans as she straightens up.
“Are you hurt?” Sydney disturbs the magnetic moment with her concern.
I should be concerned as well, but I’m too awestruck—and high—to act like a gentleman. Or kindly. Or like a human.
“I’m okay.” She keeps staring at me with those shining eyes, and only now do I notice the innocence in them.
“I’m sorry.” I finally find the appropriate words.
She smiles, and it hits me straight in my chest. She must be a dream.
“I must go.” She turns, moving with grace and fluidity, commanding the attention of the room without even knowing it.
Without trying. Long and slender, her body disappears into the next room.
I’m rooted to the floor.
“You’re such an idiot, Andrea. What were you thinking?” Sydney’s voice drags me from my stupor.
“Who was she?” I rasp.
“Who? The girl?” Sydney looks toward the arch that separates the rooms.
“Who was she?” I demand again.
“I don’t know. You invited all these people.” Sydney sighs.
“I have to go.” I push around my sister and pursue the illusion. The living work of art. Completely captivated, I roam the rooms, looking for her, but she’s gone.
My muse.
Mine.
Well, well, well, has Andrea Cassinetti just met a woman who will heal him?
