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Painting the Muse Into a Rainbow
How could I ever say no to her?
“Be gentle,” Lana said as she sucked in a breath. She wore just a white set of a camisole with pajama shorts as she lay back on the plastic sheet I’d put down for her in my studio. I pretended to keep my attention on mixing the paint I was going to use on her body, but I kept getting distracted by the way her chest heaved up and down.
I tore my gaze away from the way her camisole rode up to reveal a patch of bare skin. “Thanks for doing this,” I said, keeping my tone conversational. “I’ve never had a living canvas before.”
I tried to make the words teasing, but I saw the way her eyes fluttered shut as if I had struck a nerve. “A bet is a bet,” she said, “and I lost. It’s my fault for thinking I could beat you at Scrabble.”
I grinned. “My vocabulary may be better, but I can’t write poetry the way you can. I’m much better with hands-on stuff, you know?”
“Hands-on stuff,” she repeated back in a murmur. Heat began to crawl up my neck as I realized the unintentional innuendo I’d made. I ended up stirring the paint faster even though the color was the shade I was looking for. I needed to keep myself busy; otherwise, I’d probably try to seduce her. And that wouldn’t be good for either of us in the long run. She was too wild for me, I…
