Excerpt
“Let’s start with
something simple. How about a tree, in the fall, so you can play with color?”
She smiled. “That
sounds perfect.”
“Okay, we’re going
to use acrylic because if you make a mistake, you can paint over it as soon as
it dries.”
“Oh ye of little
faith,” she said, coming over to stand in front of me at the easel. She was so
close, I could feel her warmth even though we weren’t touching. The pale glow
that surrounded her now grazed me.
I squeezed out
green and white and showed her how to mix for the right shade.
Then I told her
to lay down short, staccato thrusts, but her swipes were, frankly, juvenile and
clunky.
“No, see, you are
trying to draw the tree. You just need to focus on the leaf, and then pull that
back to how the light hits the leaf because a leaf, even a leaf that you just
see as green, is many shades of green.”
“And this is why
I’m a dancer,” Bird said.
“Here,” I said,
grabbing some of the brush handle from behind, “let me guide you.”
It was a
mistake. Her lavender scent grew strong, and I could smell her fruity shampoo
on top of it, and the curves of her behind pressed against my pelvis. The heat
rolled down my neck, and to my fingertips. Even though I was touching wood, I
felt the warmth of the coziest blanket rubbing against them.
“Okay,” she said in
barely a whisper. Her voice moved in transparent cerulean and seafoam
wavelengths in my line of sight.
I slid my hands up
the edge of the brush, so my hand was over her delicate hand. And shit, I am
only a man and I just wanted her so bad. But, I focused on the empty sheet on
the easel.
“So you start soft,
tentative, until you find a rhythm.” My words were barely a breeze against her
ear. “Just relax.” I gently guided her hand and she let me take over. I used
the hand of my muse to fill the canvas with strokes of green. “This will be the
foundation, but soon we’ll fill it with browns and oranges, even pinks.”
“We? You’re doing
all the work, but I like it that way,” she said, almost woozily, as if she were
in the same trance as me. She leaned back, resting her head against the front
of my shoulder. My heart thudded so hard, I was afraid she would be able to
feel it. I guided her hand to a cup of water and she dropped the brush. But I
didn’t let go. I didn’t want to let go, and I don’t think she wanted me to
either.
“Let’s come back to
this, we can work on it a little each day,” she said, turning her palm up so
she could thread her fingers into mine. The heat was everywhere, like a warm
rush of water, lulling me to do whatever the hell she wanted.
“Now, I show you
how to dance.” She turned, using my hand, and then she was facing me. Her skin
radiated through tiny freckles on her cheeks and nose.
The next song on
the album played. “I love this song,” Bird said, pulling me to the open floor
in front of the record player as “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart” began to
play.
“There’s only one
way to dance to a song like this,” she said, stepping in close, guiding my
hands to her waist, as she wrapped hers around my neck.
There was too much.
A kaleidoscope of lilting colors, the strong scent of lavender, a sweet taste
like nectar, the blooming warmth rushing through my body.
I am only a
man.
Nina G. Jones is
the author of the bestselling novel DEBT, the Strapped Series and the erotic
romance, Gorgeous Rotten Scoundrel. She wants to say something clever here, but
all her good material goes into her characters. 
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