Page 19 of Outside the Lines
“I—I’m bad at flirting.” The words tumbled from my mouth. I was screwing up horribly.
“Liar,” he whispered. His lips replaced his fingers and I clung to the table, and tried not to moan. “The things I want to do to you.”
I was rock-hard and he could’ve convinced me to bend over right there—if we hadn’t been in the middle of my shop. “The things I want you to do.” I swallowed. “In private.”
He sighed and stepped back. “I know. And if I don’t get this set done, Anna will eat me, and not in the pleasant way.”
I’d heard about Anna Maxwell, theWolf’s Landingdirector. “So, these good?”
“They’re fantastic. Keep going.”
I did, all while trying to get my dick back down. Hell, I couldn’t wait to tumble into bed with him.
Ian got out some kind of clay and started patching the tree bark together. At first, it looked like shit, and I bit my tongue. But as he worked and sculpted, the bark took on a life of its own. Even without the paint, the trees went from pathetic to realistic. I couldn’t help staring at his hands as he pushed and prodded with a tiny sculpting tool.
“Where did you learn to do that?”
He paused and glanced over, all smile and light. “I took sculpture and pottery in college to get the basics, but most of this, you learn on the job. All the tricks and shortcuts and shit like that.”
“Do you do any art outside ofWolf’s Landing?”
Ian straightened slowly. “You’re the first person to ask me that.”
“Really?”
Something grim appeared in his face. “Guys I’ve dated from the show mostly wanna fuck and not talk about anything vaguely related. Guys outside the show only want to knowaboutthe show.”
“Groupies.”
Ian rolled his eyes. “I mean, I appreciate the fans. They’re why I have a job—but I don’t want someone sleeping with me to get on set, you know?”
A pang for my earlier thoughts. I wanted Ian. I also wanted on set . . . but no. I wouldn’t ever use him for that. “So, art outside of the show?”
He nodded, his smile wistful. “Dragons,” he said. “And gryphons. Used to do wolves, but I stopped when I got this gig.” He set down his tool. “Wait, I have a few photos on my phone.” After he pulled his phone out, he played with it for a second, and handed it over.
The photo was of a sculpture of a gold, red, and black dragon, launching itself into the air. Detailed and beautiful. I wanted to reach through the tiny screen and touch it. “That’s amazing. That’s . . . holy shit.”
He reddened and put the phone back into his pocket. “The few friends I’ve shown keep telling me I should sell them.”
“You should.” Hell, we could move them in a heartbeat.
“Yeah, but . . .” Trepidation seeped into his voice. “This is going to sound strange, but I want to make sure they go to the right homes.”
Beautiful works of art like that? Understandable. “Someone who’d appreciate them and not waste them?”
A croak of a laugh. “That desire is hubris, though. People are free to do what they want with ’em . . . but I put so much time into creating them.”
“I get it.” Without thinking, I took his hand. “You pour out your heart and soul.” I gazed up into his eyes.
His lips parted and we stood like that for what felt like hours, but was likely a second. He squeezed my hand back, then disengaged. “I think you do that too.” He nodded at the table, but I got the distinct impression he wasn’t talking about my model painting.
“Sometimes. Maybe.” Certainly with Lydia. I wanted that with Ian as well. I was an incurable romantic.
His smile was everything I needed to breathe. He shuffled his legs. “I should—” He pointed at the set.
“Yeah.” When I turned back to my work, I spied the altar with the bit of the base missing. “Hey, Ian?”
“Yeah?”
