Page 66 of Fresh Canvas
“Will. You. Stop. Talking,” Val panted in response. Feigningannoyance at the disruption, he reached behind his neck and pulled his shirt over his head. It landed on the floor.
I was momentarily stunned. My gaze slid over his bare torso, which had been carved either by the gods or a billion sit-ups. His tanned, olive-toned muscles flexed and rippled from his movement. Catching my obvious admiration, a cocky smile tipped the corner of his mouth, fire burning in his eyes.
“Can I help you?” Val aimed a sinister smile down at me, saying the words he used when he caught me checking him out during Stirling’s pottery class a lifetime ago.
“Get over yourself,Russo.”
He devoured my breathy laugh with his kiss.
Our passion eventually dimmed to embers, radiating a slow, intense heat as we each tried to catch our breath.
Val flopped onto his back beside me on the pillow, chest heaving. His glassy eyes rested on the ceiling with a wide smile. I touched my swollen lips with trembling fingers. Adrenaline and astonishment burst out of me in a laugh.
Rolling onto my side, I rested my head on the sleeve of my Vikings jersey. Val’s rugged profile was a feast for the eyes. Impossibly, the man had become evenmoreirresistible.
His vulnerable side attracted me like a moth to a flame—a flame I felt would continue to keep me warm if I let it.
Tentatively, I tiptoed my fingertips up Val’s muscular torso, marveling at the scorching heat of his skin.
Val let out a soft groan. “You don’t even know how crazy that makes me.” His blazing eyes caught mine, roaming over my face just like I was doing to him.
I grinned, suddenly daring to trace a path down his bicep. The mysterious tattoo finally revealed itself as a flourishing script in Italian.
I didn’t know what the words meant, nor was I willing to interrupt this moment by asking one of the million questions bouncing around my brain. Val arrested my wrist, stopping my wandering fingers.
“Just,” he panted, “give me a second.” Rolling over, hemirrored my position and propped his head up with his hand. “You’re trouble, aren’t you.”
Not a question—a statement.
I batted my eyelashes. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.” Val continued to catch his breath, a sly grin curving his swollen bottom lip. “Sexy socks, by the way.”
“Shut up, Russo.” I yanked the fluffy socks off, tossing them next to Val’s shirt. My Vikings jersey had twisted around, so I straightened it before lying back down.
Val’s head turned from side to side across my bed, as if just now taking it all in. “You know, I wasn’t going to say anything before, but I think you don’t have enough throw pillows, Adams.”
I rolled my eyes with a laugh.
Val’s smile widened into my favorite lopsided one, eye crinkles and all. Our banter dissolved into a delicious, intimate silence.
“That,” I whispered, brushing my fingertips over the ridges lining his eyes.
“What?”
“That smile is my favorite. You should do it more often.” I finally indulged in tracing the curve of Val’s lower lip. It felt firm, though it yielded under my touch.
He caught my hand, kissing my palm and threading his fingers through mine. “Then I’ll make sure to do just that.” His thumb swept circles over my knuckles, leaving tiny trails of sparking electricity.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hold your hand,” Val whispered.
“Really?”
“Much longer than I care to admit.” He grinned sheepishly.
“I think it’s been much longer for me, too.”
Val’s expression seemed to darken at my words, a hungry expression flitting over his face. Without warning, his arm snaked around the small of my back, pinning me against hischest. My heart hammered against his until his mouth crashed over mine. For the rest of the night, Val kissed me so passionately until I couldn’t remember my own stupid name.
