Page 8 of Posing for the Artist Wolf

CLAIRE

An electric, wild thrill shot through me at his words, his tone. I swallowed hard, suddenly aware of every inch of my body. I reached for my hair, fingers trembling, and slowly unbraided the silver and purple strands. Kai’s eyes darkened, tracking each movement with an intensity that made my skin tingle.

“Where do you want me?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, laden with unintended meaning. Heat flooded my cheeks as Kai’s eyes snapped to his bed, then back to my face.

“On the couch,” he said, his voice rough. He frowned at the clutter on the cushions and hurried to clear space. “Sorry. I, uh, haven’t been the neatest lately.”

My lips twitched into a teasing smile as I moved to settle into the cleared space. “Rowdy rescues, right?”

“Yeah,” he said with a low chuckle, then his expression sobered. “Listen, Claire. About the drawings?—”

I waved him off, busying my shaking hands by rearranging my hair. “You’re an artist. It’s what you do.”

Inspiration struck at will. The way the light hit this, how the shadow played off that. My sketchbook and pencil were always nearby for a reason.

A piece of me thrilled at the idea of being his muse. Of inspiring such passion and attention to detail.

Another part wondered why he never approached me. If he’d noticed the way I’d lingered too long over my tea when our paths crossed at the diner.

I settled onto the couch and began unlacing my boots, my fingers working deftly at the knots. Kai deposited the armful of clutter onto his desk with a muted clatter. The warmth from the crackling fire seeped into my damp jeans, gradually chasing away the chill from my earlier spill in the snow.

Then he was back in front of me, towering over where I sat. I struggled to swallow as my mouth went dry. My heart hammered in my chest. His gaze seemed to pin me in place, commanding and gentle and dangerous.

“Like this?” I stretched out on my side, propping my head on my fist and draping an arm over my torso. My voice came out breathier than I intended.

Kai’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenching as he reached for his sketchpad and pencil. He licked his lips, then nodded. “Perfect.”

He dragged a chair across from the couch, then sank down, his eyes never leaving mine. His grip tightened on the pencil. For a moment, he froze, a war of emotions playing out across his face. Then he seemed to come to a decision. He tore his gaze away, turning his attention to the blank page.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. I watched as he shifted in his seat, shoulders hunching. His hand flexed. Then he seemed to master himself and set to work, his hand moving furiously across the paper.

The seconds stretched into minutes. The fire crackled merrily, casting dancing shadows around the loft. My eyes traced the cracks in the walls, the gouges in the plaster. The tension in Kai’s shoulders, and the way his hair kept falling into his face.

“Tell me about your holidays growing up,” Kai said, his eyes flicking between me and his sketchpad. “Traditions and all that.”

I shifted, a sudden wave of homesickness for a childhood I never had washing over me. “Quiet, mostly. Tense. My parents couldn’t stand to be in the same room for more than a minute without arguing. Then after the divorce, Dad was busy with his replacement family and Mom with her latest fling.”

He frowned, but I shook my head. I didn’t want his pity.

“Grandpa made things better.” I smiled at the memories, letting them wash away the lingering hurt. “He was always full of stories and laughs, and he never failed to fly me and my brother, Derek, out for winter break. Gingerbread houses and tacky sweaters and drinking cocoa while watching terrible movies.”

“He sounds amazing,” Kai said softly, his pencil pausing for him to flex his hand.

“He was.” I’d give anything for just one more holiday with him. He’d gotten me through my parents’ split, and all the trouble with Derek that followed.

I glanced around the sparse loft. No tinsel here. No twinkling lights or baubles. Just bare walls and cluttered corners. Not that I could judge, with the double-fisting Santa balanced atop all of Grandpa’s boxed decorations.

Mine, now.

“What about you?” I asked through the wave of sadness. “Any decorating plans?”

His shoulders tensed. “Not really my thing.”

The fire crackled, filling the silence. I watched the flames dance, casting flickering shadows across Kai’s face. His jaw clenched, eyes dark with... something. Desire? Pain?

“Maddy and I,” he started, then swallowed hard. “When we were kids, the holidays were special. But she’s ma—married now, a baby on the way...”

He trailed off, his hand moving furiously across the paper as if he could scribble out the pain.

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