Page 74 of Unravelling The Hitman: A BWWM Romance

Reid nodded and then kept on painting. I was pretty sure my scolding had gone through one ear and come out the other.

Deacon gazed at me, his eyes devouring my face.

I pulled at the collar of my T-shirt, trying to cool down. He was too beautiful and I was too confused right now and who the heck was Rhia?

“Teaching him manners has been an uphill battle. I think I gave up after a few days,” he said.

Reid. I could talk about Reid and be professional.

Just act like he’s any one of your students’ parents.

“It’s about gentle reminders and repetition. He’s smart, even if he’s only two.” I smiled at Reid’s laser-focus.

Deacon stood suddenly, walked over and plopped into the sand beside me. “Your turn.”

“What?”

“Let me help you with your painting.”

“There’s no need—”

Before I could stave him, Deacon reached over and snagged the bag. He stole the paper I’d crumpled and smoothed it out, clipping it securely to the easel.

My cheeks heated as he observed the drawing. Mortified, I defended myself. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“It looks like me.”

“It’s… Miguel.”

“Miguel has green eyes?” Brows rising, Deacon smiled. Just a curl of his lips devastated me.

For a moment, I lost the ability to breathe.

Deacon scooted closer. His bronze arms, exposed in the short-sleeved T-shirt, brushed against mine. Green eyes popping against his tan complexion, he studied my face.

I ducked my head. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t move.” His voice was as brusque as always but humor crackled beneath the tone. He cupped my chin, keeping my head steady.

Electricity skittered down to my chest from where he touched me.

Deacon slid the paintbrush from the easel and dipped it into brown paint. The resemblance between him and Reid intensified as I noticed how seriously they both took their tasks.

What is he doing?

My eyes veered to the painting, but Deacon swooped in, diverting my gaze to his. Our noses bumped. My heart stuttered, tripping all over itself like a dancer with two-left feet.

“Stay still,” he ordered quietly. His breath whispered over my cheek, minty. The upward tilt of his lips told me he was amused. “Just watch me, Angel.”

Deacon had given me permission and so I savored the view as much as I could. His hair had grown out a bit and it curled, like Reid’s.

I liked the style.

It made him seem more approachable and less… scary.

Long lashes bounced up and down. Green eyes crackled with an inner light. His teeth caught on his bottom lip as he concentrated. Every so often, his head swung between the canvas and me. His scent, a spicy cologne that was as bold and commanding as its owner, tempted me to inhale deeply.

“Done.”

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