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“Done,” I close my eyes, tracing her hips with my hands. She’s still naked and it’s a very pleasant way to wake up, even if I have only gotten a few hours of sleep.
I feel her fall back to sleep right on my chest, her hands resting on my biceps. I look down. I love the way her hands look on any part of my body. I’m covered in tattoos and muscles and she’s this complete contrast to me.
With my other hand, I gather up her hair, but I don’t pull, I gently lay it over my chest, then run my hand down the silky length. Then I pull the covers up over her, tucking her in so she’s warm and comfortable.
I can’t remember another time I felt this…still.
No dark emotions pulsing through me, just contentment. I close my eyes, relaxing back into the bed.
That’s when a knock sounds on the door.
“Chloe?” a female calls out.
I open my eyes again, rumbling a protest. Her hands flutter down my arms in this soothing stroke. “Yeah, Daff?”
“Can I borrow your curling iron?”
“Do any of you people sleep?” I ask even as the door swings open.
A girl appears in the doorway, her eyes going wide. “Oh sorry, I didn’t realize you still had company.”
“The curling iron is on the bureau,” Chloe says, not opening her eyes.
Daff’s eyes are all over us as I pull the covers tighter around Chloe. “How long have the two of you been seeing each other?”
“Not long,” Chloe answers in that sleepy voice.
“I’m just surprised,” Daff says, curling iron in hand. “You never date and?—”
“Not now, Daff,” I rumble out with a healthy glare. Daff’s eyes get really big and then she scrambles out of the room. The second the door closes, I say, loud enough for Daff to hear. “You’ve got too many roommates.”
“Trust me, I know,” Chloe answers, rubbing her nose against my pec. “But this is honestly the best I could afford. My last place, I didn’t even have my own room.”
Chloe falls back to sleep, but I’m wide awake now. I just watch her sleep, wondering when I became the guy who enjoys listening to her breathe.
She wakes an hour later, and we take a quick shower, where I touch as much of her as possible, and then we’re back in her room to get dressed.
Which is when I realize I ripped my shirt in half last night. With a laugh, she goes out to the kitchen and returns with two chip clips. Turning the shirt backwards, she clips it on my body. I look into the mirror, the garment even more fitted for being clipped and I wink at her in the reflection. “I look good, right?”
“You are too much,” she rolls her eyes as we head off to the studio.
Chloe’s painting stuff fits into a small cubby, a roll of brushes and seven or eight tubes of oil paint. She does grab an easel, which I take from her, and a canvas that’s about a three-foot square that she can just tuck under her arm.
“You’re not already working on something?” I ask her, thinking of the paintings I saw in her room.
She shrugs. “I’ve got a new idea.”
With all the stuff under our arms, I open my Uber app and request a car. Within fifteen minutes, we reach my loft.
I’m not really much for furniture so the space is pretty open, a few stools at the island, a big couch, a big bed. The place is west-facing with floor-to-ceiling windows and a wide-open view of the Las Vegas skyline.
I’m not really a fan of Vegas, I liked London better. But Vegas is good for a guy like me. So much shit goes down here and it’s so transient with tourists coming in and out, it’s an easy city to hide any shit.
Chloe sets up the easel near the windows, placing the canvas on the stand, and then squirts some paint onto a palette.
Her eyes lift to mine as I lounge back on the couch. “Mind taking off your shirt?”
My brows lift. I never mind taking off my clothes and so I shrug off the T-shirt, the chip clips flying as I do.