Page 101 of Burning Daylight
And then I pack it up and head to where I know I’ll be able to see the piece from a good vantage point.
Upside Down Rock.
25
JULIETTE
“Fancy meeting you here, Trouble,” I say to Roman as I hike up to the cliffside.
I drink him in, heart stuttering because he looks likehimagain.There’s a stark difference between the man in a pressed suit on all the news outlets standing next to his father and the mussed-up, tattooed guy standing in front of me now.
Oddly, I’m more comfortable in his presence this way than I would be if he were dressed up like a mini-Marcus.
He’s in dark jeans and a zip-up hoodie, the fabric on his arms pushed up over his elbows so his sleeves of ink are on full display. He’s got a backward baseball cap on, small tufts of his dark hair peeking out the sides like they can’t be contained. He grins like seeing me is the best part of his day, and my stomach flips, pathetically hopeful that it is.
It’s the best part ofmyday, and a little piece of me hates that, but clearly not enough to keep me from coming here.
He’s perched against the trunk of a thick tree, and when I plop down beside him, he nudges my shoulder with his. “We have to stop meeting like this, Little Rose.”
“Well, I was promised a muse.”
A genuine smile breaks across his face, and it lights up a place somewhere deep inside of me to see it. I don’t know when it shifted from me disliking his presence to whateverthisis between us, but I can’t say I’m upset at the progression.
Wanting to make someone else feel good is…nice. It’s the rest of the emotions when it comes to him that I wish I could will away.
He chuckles, his fingers tapping against his black book, and my eyes travel over the rim of the pages, desperate to peer into his world and see what his talented hands decide to draw.
“What are you working on?” I ask.
He pulls the book to his chest and clicks his tongue. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
There’s a tone of innuendo in his words, and it sends heat flickering low in my stomach. I shift, clenching my thighs together. “That’s hardly fair.”
He shrugs and taps his temple. “Mutually assured destruction, Little Rose. You want access to my brain? I want access to yours.”
My fingers tighten around my own notebook. The thought of him reading my words and laughing—or worse, thinking it’s awful—makes my skin itch.
He nudges my shoulder with his again, tilting his head until our gazes lock. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll become evenmoreattractive when you realize how incredibly deep I am?”
I lift a brow. “More like, afraid I’ll have to pretend your stick figures are profound.”
He barks out a laugh. “Rich coming from the girl whodefinitelywrites love scenes and pretends they’re not about me.”
Scoffing, I roll my eyes. “You know wishing for it doesn’t make it reality, right?”
He leans back, his gaze flickering to my mouth and back. “I do wish for it. Every night.”
God, he’s impossible.
I pivot. “I saw theRosebrook Ragarticle on you.”
“Ah.” All hints of flirtation drop from his face.
Roman leans against the tree, his eyes skimming over the foliage, the picnic table, and then to the cliff, where the sun is starting to hit lower in the sky. His brows are drawn, and his blue eyes are piercing as he soaks in the view. He bends his legs, resting his arms on his knees, his thumb absentmindedly spinning the silver ring on his finger.
I squint, leaning forward to get a better look when I realize he has small specks of color on his wrist. Spray paint, if I had to guess.
He casts me a sideways glance. “What?”
