Page 46 of Sinful as They Come (Sinful Trilogy #1)

HOLLY

My breath caught in my throat a little when I saw Sawyer a week into the project. Light wash jeans, white tee, hair pushed back… Oh my God.

He hadn’t seen me yet, and it gave me a chance to stare at him some more.

His forehead was covered in the lightest layer of sweat, the white material of his tee covered in a rainbow of streaks.

His strong forearms were messy too, his skin layered in stripes of blue and red and green.

And he had his pink lips parted, letting out a long, almost tired sounding breath.

It was obvious he had been working hard.

That was when he finally looked up. I could have sworn he gave his lips the tiniest of licks when he got sight of me, his eyes running up and down my body in a way that made me blush.

I cleared my throat and tucked some hair behind my ear. I had been caught staring. “They wanted me to check in on you.” I broke the silence. “Just to see how you were going with everything. And if you needed anything.”

“They got you babysitting me now?” he asked with a warm chuckle. He picked up a cloth that had been hanging off the back of a chair, giving his hands a quick wipe.

“No,” I laughed. “Just wanna make sure you’ve got everything you need.” I suddenly remembered the ice-cold bottle of water in my hand and held it out to him. The room was pretty warm. “Oh, and to give you this.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled .

He took the bottle from me gently and I focused far too hard on the way he tilted his head back to drink up the cold, clear liquid.

My eyes zeroed in on his forearms, realizing then just how thick and muscular they looked.

Sawyer almost always had that leather jacket of his on.

It was a little odd to see him without it, but I wasn’t going to complain about the sight before me.

I shook my head, not wanting him to catch me staring again, and instead focused on the half-finished art behind him.

I could see mountains. A long line of them.

They were a deep hue, their surfaces cloaked in a gorgeous combination of purple and orange and pink thanks to the setting sun.

The bottom of the painting had yet to be completed, but I could see the beginning of what I assumed was grass.

Mixed in with the few green blades were some yellow and purple flowers.

I tilted my head, wanting to take in every single inch of Sawyer’s work.

His piece screamed quietness. Comfort. Close, silent beauty.

I wanted to reach out and touch it, just let my fingers gently graze the canvas.

“You like it?” Sawyer wondered behind me, his voice low.

“It’s so beautiful,” I whispered. “You are so talented. Seriously.”

Sawyer sighed a little. “You don’t hate it?”

“No. Not at all.” I kept staring at his painting. “People are gonna see this and want you to paint for them. And then you’ll be all famous and move to, like, New York City or something. And forget all about me.” I looked over my shoulder at him, sending him a teasing smile.

He laughed and took a few steps over to me, closing the small gap. “Trust me, Holly, you’re… painfully rememberable.” He grinned.

I laughed too, staring back at his work. “I wish I could paint. I don’t know how you do it. It’s, like, magic, or something.”

“Just need a steady hand, is all.”

“Oh, please. Some people are just born with it, I guess. Looks like you’re one of those people.”

“It takes some practice. You could paint too if you really wanted to.”

“Well, I don’t have that steady hand you talked about.” I waved my fingers at him .

“Nah, you do. Everyone does. Let me show you.”

I blushed when I felt Sawyer step behind me.

He was so close. We weren’t quite touching, but I was so aware of his presence that my heart began to race.

He smelled stupidly good. That woodsy cologne and cigarettes smell that was wildly addictive.

Why did I like it so much? I kept looking forward.

In the corner of my eye I could see Sawyer reach around me and pick up a paint brush, dabbing it in some dark green paint.

“Here. Take it.” He handed the brush to me.

Turning around, I stared at him, my eyes going from those too green eyes to his hand that was so much larger than mine.

It felt odd to be focusing on all of Sawyer’s small details.

The things that made him different. And handsome.

Holding back a long, drawn-out breath, I reached forward, letting the tips of my fingers graze Sawyer’s hand.

I held the thin end of the paint brush before turning back around to face the painting.

“If you want me to paint, I’ll tell you this right now: I’m going to ruin all of your hard work,” I said as I stared at the half-finished flowers. “And I don’t think you want that.”

“Can always cover it up, princess.”

Sawyer’s fingers were suddenly on my wrist. He moved them lower and lower, until his hand was right on top of mine.

I had to hold back a gulp. At least I hoped I was holding it back.

Sawyer pushed my hand forward just a tiny bit, bringing the green tip of the brush closer to the blank part of the canvas.

“Just give it soft, little strokes,” he instructed with a soft voice. “No need to rush.”

“I’m gonna mess it up.”

“You won’t,” he chuckled. “Just relax. I got you.”

Letting out a long breath, I inched the brush closer.

My hand shook a little. One, because I truly didn’t want to ruin Sawyer’s painting, and two, because he was right next to me.

He was just inches away, his big hand on mine, his masculine scent in the air.

Sawyer moved my hand just that little bit closer, and then the tip of the brush finally hit the canvas.

“Go up and down,” he said. “Slowly. Easy. Use gentle strokes. ”

I nodded and did as he said. I gave the blank canvas a few slow stripes, moving as gingerly as I could. I was so hyper focused on my surroundings, on Sawyer. He held my hand loosely, guiding me as I painted the tiniest, little stems.

“Did I mess it up? Does it look okay?” I asked with wide eyes.

“Looks good to me. But your strokes are a little patchy. You gotta press down just a little bit harder. Lemme show you. We’ll do the petals now.”

With that, I felt Sawyer move that little bit closer to me. I could feel him right behind me as he reached around, taking the brush out of my hand so he could clean it.

“We’ll use this purple.” Sawyer dipped the brush into some violet-colored paint. “You don’t have to hold the brush too tight or anything. Hold it loosely. Makes everything you paint look more natural.”

Doing my best to follow his instructions, I held the end of the brush with nervous fingers. Sawyer’s hand was back on top of mine as he adjusted my grip. Everything he did made my heart race.

“Alright, make the first petal,” he murmured. “Just copy the other ones. Move nice and slow, but don’t be afraid to press down harder.”

Unable to speak, I just nodded, doing my best to re-create the other flowers Sawyer had painted. His hand stayed on mine, guiding me slowly, not stopping until we had made a little, purple flower.

I was very much aware of the fact that I had never been so close to Sawyer Westbrook in my life. But I couldn’t help but be curious as I turned my head to the side to get a look at him.

He was focused on the painting before him, but his gaze slowly turned to me as he looked down. Had his eyes always been so damn green? I could see everything. His tussled hair. The faintest of scars above his eyebrow. I could see it all up close and it made my heart absolutely race.

Something made a clanking noise. It took me a second to realize that it was the sound of the brush hitting the floor. Sawyer lowered a hand, moving it so that it was on my hip, pulling me right up against him so that my back was to his chest. The gap was closed.

But there was still another one. Sawyer licked his lips and I licked at mine. All I could focus on was him. His scent, his eyes, his lips. The way he was reaching up with his other hand and holding my chin. The way he was leaning down, moving towards me inch by inch. The way…

The way he pressed his lips to mine. They felt deliciously cool thanks to the cold water I had given him earlier.

My lips parted, giving him permission to push his tongue into my mouth, and he did so a second later.

I let out the softest of whines at the feeling, and I almost let out another one when I heard Sawyer groan in response.

His lips were planted to mine, our tongues moving together so slowly.

It was perfect. It was long and drawn out and I hadn’t ever thought about what a good kisser Sawyer Westbrook might be.

His heavy hand that had been on my hip circled around my waist from behind.

I could feel my cheeks getting warmer and warmer with each and every second Sawyer kissed at me.

He tasted so good. And felt so good. And God, his hands on me felt just as good too.

But Sawyer pulled away from me slowly. My eyes fluttered open, coming face to face with those deep, green eyes of his.

I gasped, suddenly no longer lost in the moment.

I had just kissed Sawyer. Sawyer Westbrook.

I stepped away from him, needing some distance as my hands shook.

I felt like I was going to pass out from embarrassment.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” I managed to let out. My face felt hot. My whole body felt hot. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have… I… Bye!”

Sawyer frowned at me, looking as if he was about to say something, but I literally spun on my heels and ran away.

It was a pathetic thing to do, but my brain wouldn’t let me comprehend any other option.

I made a speedy exit, making my way through the halls until I finally got outside, greeted with the cool afternoon air.

Finally having a chance to let out a deep breath, I felt my heart booming in my chest.

I had just kissed Sawyer. Kissed him properly. It was different to that kiss on the cheek I had given him the other day. That had been a gentle moment between us – just something to solidify the fact that we had moved on from our stupid hatred of one another.

But a kiss on the lips was an entirely different scenario .

I kissed him. Kissed! Or did he kiss me? My eyebrows furrowed for a second, wondering who started it and if it even mattered at all.

The kiss had been so deep and intense. And Sawyer’s lips…

They were perfect. Then there was the way his big hands felt on me; the way he grabbed me and pulled me so close.

Our bodies had been pressed right up against each other.

And that groan he had let out… God, it was all so good and felt so right.

The kiss was perfect.

And if I was being honest with myself, it was the best kiss I had ever had in my life.

I wanted more. I needed more. Sawyer Westbrook of all people had me eager for another kiss.

But… just because we had apologized to one another didn’t mean a thing.

We had moved on from a mutual hatred of one another to some normalcy.

Not romance. Sawyer would never want me that way.

That kiss probably meant nothing to him.

It was some dumb, heat of the moment memory he would forget.

I sighed, suddenly feeling a little bit of heartache coming on. Maybe I liked Sawyer. Just a little. He was so much more than I ever could have known.

But the sinking feeling in my chest made me wonder if he could ever feel the same way.