Page 54 of Wrangling a Wild Texan

When she’d lived in the trailer, she’d tucked her art supplies in every nook and cranny in case inspiration hit. So it didn’t take her long to find a sketchpad and pencils in the cabinet of an end table. Once she had them in hand, she grabbed a kitchen chair and hurried back to Reid’s room. He was still sound asleep and she wasted no time getting to work.

Worried the creative energy would disappear at any second, she worked feverishly, her pencil flying over the paper like it had a will of its own. Seconds later, Reid’s image took shape. Sleep-mussed hair falling like a ruffled raven’s wing over ahigh forehead. Thick eyelashes resting just above sleep-flushed cheekbones. Dark scruff covering an uneven top lip and angular jaw.

After sketching his face, she moved to his perfectly-sculptured shoulders and chest. She was so focused on getting the muscles around his collarbone just right that she didn’t realize Reid was awake until he shifted. She glanced to his face to find his pretty amber eyes on her.

She pointed the pencil at him. “Don’t you dare move another muscle.”

A smile tipped his mouth. “Or what?”

She thought for only a moment. “I’ll leave.”

The smile disappeared. “Can I keep my eyes open? I like watching you draw. Especially in my shirt.” His gaze lowered. “And the view would be even better if you opened your legs just a little bit.”

She bit back a smile. “Pervert. Now don’t move.” She went back to sketching . . . with her legs slightly wider than before. Reid kept his word and remained perfectly still until she was almost finished.

“I hate to mess with your creativity, sweetheart, but I need to go to the bathroom in a bad way.”

“Okay. Just let me?—”

“No time.” He threw back the sheet, jumped out of bed, and hurried out of the room. When offered such a delightful display of hard male virility, Sunny didn’t complain. Besides, the drawing was close to being done. And pretty good if she did say so herself. Still, she didn’t feel confident enough to share her work and quickly closed the sketchpad as soon as Reid stepped back into the room.

He lifted his eyebrows. “So I guess I don’t get to see it.”

“Nope.” She tucked the sketchpad and pencil under the chair.

He shrugged. “Okay. I guess I’ll have to live with you being shy about your work.” His gaze ran over her. “What I can’t live with is that shirt.”

She glanced down. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s still on you.”

She glanced up to see him smiling evilly. Smiling evilly with an impressive erection. Desire swelled up like sweet honey from a cracked-open hive. She rose to her feet, and slowly unsnapped the shirt and let it slip from her shoulders. Before it even hit the ground, Reid had her on the bed, her hands over her head and his hard, muscled body pressing into her.

He moved his lips along her throat, punctuating each word he spoke with a nibbling kiss. “I—was—doing—a—little—thinking—while—you—were—sketching.”

She pressed her hips against his erection. “I gathered that.”

He lifted his head and grinned. “Noticed that, did ya?”

“It’s hard not to notice. Pardon the pun.”

He laughed. She could get drunk on his laughter. It made her as giddy as Mimi’s elderberry wine.

She smoothed his hair off his forehead. “So what were you thinking about exactly, Reid Mitchell?”

“I was thinking about how fun it would be if you painted me.”

“You want me to paint you?”

“Not like a portrait. I want you to use my body like a canvas . . . for your angry art.”

Reid had done a lot of dirty talking in the last twelve hours, but this . . . this not only set her body aflame, it also caused a flame to flicker to life in her heart. For the first time in her life, she felt seen. Really seen. While she knew what to do about the fire burning low in her body, she didn’t have a clue what to do with the fire burning deep in her heart.

Reid misunderstood her hesitation. “What? Too kinky?”

“No . . . I just . . . would like that.” She smiled. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Then it’s a date.” He kissed her sweetly. “Tonight, I’m going to stretch out on that art table of yours and let you do your worst.” His eyes darkened. “But for now, I want to do a little painting of my own.” He bent his head and brushed his tongue along her neck in a heated trail of fire. “I think I’m going to call this . . . Sunshine art.”

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