Page 80 of Snowed In with her Mountain Men
I laughed. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
She slipped inside, closing the door behind her. Immediately I became distracted. My body, always eager for more of her, stirred in ways it hadn’t for years.
“What’s the matter?” she asked sweetly. “Can’t sleep?”
I shrugged. My pencil was moving again, though I hadn’t remembered telling it to.
“Drawing?”
“Sketching,” I grunted.
“Artwork? Or tattoo stuff?”
It was an innocent question, and one that probably required a simple answer. For a moment I considered giving her the more complicated, truthful one; that no matter when it happened or what I was doing, I always took advantage when inspiration struck.
In the end, I just gave another shrug.
“Never mind,” she murmured apologetically. Already she was slinking backwards. “I’ll leave you to—”
“No, please.”
I closed the book, and dropped the pencil. My other hand moved automatically, to pat the bed next to me.
Camryn approached with all the slowness of a baby deer, about to eat an apple from my hand. I smiled gently.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be like that,” I relented. “Sometimes when I draw, I get in the zone. Lost in some weird artist’s hypnosis.”
“Like Sarge,” she winked.
“No!” I coughed. “Not like Sarge at all!” I couldn’t help but return the smirk she was now giving me. “Although like him, I’ve been known to dazzle myself with my own bullshit.”
Camryn giggled adorably as she sat down. She nodded toward my book, with that perfect Disney princess nose. My eyeshowever, were drawn to those smooth, tan thighs, poking out from the bottom of her oversized sleep shirt.
“Is that your sketchbook?”
I nodded. “One of hundreds, yes.”
“Hundreds?” Her eyes lit up. “Holy shit, Jaxon.”
“I know.”
She picked it up. I didn’t stop her.
“You draw all the time?”
“Draw, sketch, paint. Sometimes I sculpt.” I reached my tired arms upward, stretching them until my shoulders popped. Shit, was it really one in the morning?
In the meantime, Camryn was glancing around the room. Her eyes flitted from easel to easel, from wall to wall. I’d never wanted to frame or hang my own work, but Sarge had insisted. When I wasn’t around, the asshole had taken his favorites and done it for me.
“I’ve never been in here when it wasn’t dark,” she chuckled. “We’re usually… you know.”
“Oh, I know,” I smirked.
She blushed adorably, flipping slowly through my sketchbook. I contented myself with just watching her. It was strange to me, how someone so strong could also be so delicate at the same time. Camryn was tougher than most women I’d known, and I’d been around quite a few she-badasses while on tour. Hers was a hidden strength, though. An inner resilience that flared in perfect time with her fiery temper; both of which were incredible to behold.
“Whoa…” she breathed. “Jaxon!”
