Page 13 of Hard to Love
Complex or not, he was talented. Damn talented.
And sexy. Damn sexy.
Standing far enough behind him to remain out of sight, Greer watched him. He was wearing the same clothes from earlier, and one of the tiny hoops in his ear flashed. Even though full sunshine was beating down on him, he hadn’t rolled up his sleeves. Why would he be so deliberate about keeping his ink covered? That made no sense in a day and age where so many people had tattoos.
His head was bent over the sketchpad in his lap, his brow scrunched in concentration, and he was making long, sinuous strokes with his left hand.
Heat kindled in Greer’s chest and traveled down to warm up places that had no business getting hot over a man’s drawing ability. But oh, Lord. She’d had a thing for southpaw guys since her crush on Cooper Crowe, the star Little League pitcher in fifth grade.
Some women were ass gals. Others shoulders. Or abs.
But Greer loved the angles of a man’s wrist and the bulge of his forearms. She’d bet Alex had fantastic forearms.
Seeing as she wasn’t half bad with a pad and a charcoal pencil herself, maybe she could talk him into posing for her. Buck naked, if at all possible. In the name of art only, of course.
She approached the bench and leaned over the back so she could check out his sketch. “Already hard at work, I see.”
Before she could take a half step back, Alex lunged out of his seat and turned on her, his pad raised as though he meant to attack her with it.
“Gonna take me down with a paper cut, Villanueva?”
“Jesus, haven’t you ever learned not to sneak up on a man?” He let his pad drop to the bench with a flutter of pages. “You could get hurt that way.”
“We don’t have many people in Prophecy who’re quite as…reactionary…as you are.” Then again, Cal had been a little jumpy from time to time after leaving his position as staff sergeant in the Army. Not full-blown PTSD, but he’d certainly flinched a few times at loud noises or sudden movements. “Were you in the military?”
Alex’s laugh carried a dash of amusement with ahealthy helping of cynicism. “Not in this lifetime.”
One glance down at his sketch, and Greer snatched it up, her insides going nuclear with more than physical attraction. “These aren’t your normal acorns and flowers and leaves.” After all, she’d hand her hands all over his oak leaves this morning, and although they’d been compelling…compelling? Greer chuckled inside. She’d been about ready to propose marriage to his piece of leather. But this design was both sexy and fun. He’d drawn aDia de los Muertosscene complete with skeletons—one wearing a tiered skirt and the other a sombrero—dancing what looked like a bony cancan. Flowers sprinkled the design, but they grew on bare branches with thorns as long as Greer’s pinkie nail and snaked up to twine their way between the dancers’ bones.
“Pretty detailed. You can tool it?”
“Why would I draw it if I couldn’t deliver?”
“What about the colors?”
“I can stain it too.”
She rounded the bench and sat, studying the design. At a closer look, it was clear the thorns weren’t thorns at all, but rather crosses sharpened to a lethal point. “What colors are you thinking?”
“I like the drama of a black boot.” Not surprising based on his dark good looks. He sat beside her and traced the outline of the female skeleton’s puffy, multilayered skirt. “Then you use bright colors on the actual design—ruby, maize, violet, emerald.”
His arm brushed hers as he spoke, and his scent drifted toward her. Slight sweet tang of grease. A cottony soap. And…bananas.
“What did she feed you?”
“Huh?”
“Raylene. What did she feed you?”
He grimaced, and his head fell back against the bench. “Can’t we just talk about leather instead?”
“Are you saying she served you something you didn’t like?” That would be a first. Because it was possible that Raylene was a better cook than she was a B&B keeper.
“Strangely enough, it was good. And I’m not one for a ladies’ salad trio.”
“Yum. I love her pimento cheese.” She leaned closer and sniffed, double checking the banana scent.
“You got dessert too.”
