Page 74 of Art of Sin

“That wasn’t nearly as satisfying as I imagined.”

Reaching up, I push my hand into the glob of paint on his pectoral and smear bright orange over his shoulder and up his neck.

Seconds later, I gasp as he scoops purple from my shirt and plants it on the top of my head.

“Son of a bitch!”

Smirking, he tilts his head. “Now what?”

I glance at the nearest weapons-cache—a crate full of assorted tubes about six feet away. Gideon shifts toward it. I shift, too, until we’re walking sideways together in ridiculous slow-motion.

“I’m going to cover you in paint,” he whispers darkly, the threatening tone belied by the twinkle in his eye, “and make sweet love to you on that tarp over there.”

I wrinkle my nose. “That doesn’t sound nice at all. You know this floor is cement, right?”

“Oh ye of little faith! Don’t you know by now that anything we do together is magic?”

And it is.

Magic.

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