Page 7 of Cougar Chronicles

Drawing the human body fascinated Holly. She’d learned as much about anatomy as she had about technique in this class. She used her knowledge not only in her artwork, but also at the gym, where she was hard at work on another artistic endeavor—reshaping her own physique.

“Good evening.”

Holly looked up to see Professor Fleming in front of the class. Professor Fleming was an amazing artist and his praise meant the world to Holly. He liked her work and thought she had potential. Had she started down this path twenty years ago, who knw where she could have gone?

Determined not to berate herself, she looked back up at Professor Fleming.

“Tonight, as you know, we’ll be working with a male model. He’s waiting outside.” He cleared his throat. “I have a special surprise for you all. For the first time, we’ll be working with nudes.”

Childish chuckles echoed from the back of the room. At forty, Holly was easily the oldest person in this class. Most of the students were straight out of high school.

“Get your jollies out now,” Professor Fleming said, “so you don’t embarrass our model when he comes in.”

Even Holly had to stifle a giggle. Jollies?

When the room quieted, Professor Fleming walked to the door of the classroom. Holly leaned down to grab her bottle of water out of her backpack and then cursed under her breath when she brushed against her charcoal pencils and they tumbled to the floor. She gathered them quickly and decided to leave her water where it was. She could live with a parched throat for an hour. Better that than accidentally spilling water on her art work.

She sighed and looked up just as an emerald silk robe fell from a glorious male body. She glanced at the long perfectly sculpted legs, a back carved of hard muscle, a firm, tight ass. Staring at this for an hour wouldn’t be a hardship.

He turned toward the class.

Holly’s blood ran cold. Before her was a chest she’d caressed, sinewy arms she’d gripped.

A cock she’d sucked.

Her gaze traveled down the beautiful legs, back up, over the torso dusted with dark hair, the golden shoulders that had tantalized her fingertips to his face of raw male beauty. Cheeks she had cupped, lips she had kissed, sucked on. She wanted to look at his eyes—those eyes that had burned into her soul that night.

That wonderful, terrible, fateful night.

But she couldn’t. He might recognize her.

What the hell was a cowboy doing working as a nude model?

Of course, she hadn’t asked what he did for a living, because she hadn’t wanted to know.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. He wouldn’t remember a one-night stand with a needy older woman anyway. He’d no doubt been glad she was gone when he awoke.

She took a deep breath and raised her gaze to his dark eyes.

He was staring straight at her. Daggers shot from his eyes and speared into her.

He wasn’t happy.

Holly’s skin prickled. Did he remember her? She couldn’t think about that now. She had to draw him.

God, she could draw that body from memory—every line, curve, mass of muscle. She closed her eyes and inhaled, and then opened them and began to sketch. This was class, after all, and she wanted to learn to create art more than anything in the world. She wouldn’t let an awkward situation keep her from her goal.

That gorgeous chiseled face… Her pencil stopped moving. He was staring at her again. Damn, those lips were lethal weapons. Her nipples tightened against her bra as she remembered him kissing them, sucking them.

Time to get a grip, Holly. This was art class, and when would she have the chance to draw such a perfect specimen of masculine beauty again?

She sat back and attempted to steady her breathing.In and out, in and out. Slow down, pulse. He’s just a model.

* * *

Holly stared at her sketch. It was cowboy, all right. Problem was, he was entwined around a curvy female who bore a distinct resemblance to Holly herself. How had this happened? She’d been in the zone, hadn’t thought about what she was doing, and before she knew what was happening, her hands had gone off on their own and drawn cowboy, naked, making love to her.

She couldn’t turn this in to Professor Fleming.

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