Page 3 of Take Me Slowly, Part 1 (Aurora Hollow duet #1)

LEAH

"What are you doing here?"

I'd set up my easel on the edge of town, in the dappled light of a couple of tall oaks. My easel angled so I could paint and observe the town. People came and went from stores with white stucco and wood, stained dark, contrasting with bright awnings and buckets of late summer flowers.

No one passed anyone else without saying hello. Many stopped for a quick conversation before bustling on. Others lingered for a few minutes, enjoying the sunshine before they went on their way. The whole atmosphere was slower and friendlier than the city.

Aurora Hollow was a true little community. Like something out of a storybook. Hopefully not like those British shows where they solved a murder every episode.

No, the scene that unfolded on my canvas was warm and friendly. The opposite of the voice that spoke behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder to see Riley Crane leaning against his pickup, legs crossed at his ankles, arms over his burly chest. He looked just this side of hostile. I did my best to ignore the fact he was also this side of delicious.

"Never seen anyone paint?" I turned back to my easel.

"I've seen plenty of people paint." His shoes crunched on the ground as he stepped around to stand beside me. "I would have thought you left town by now."

"Why would you think that?" I added some shading in front of the café, deepening the shadows that surrounded the doorway. I wanted anyone who looked at the painting to wonder what was inside. Maybe they'd come out here to find out for themselves. If not, maybe they'd imagine.

That was one of my favourite things about art.

It inspired imagination. Everyone saw every piece in a different way.

They all brought their life experiences to that moment, interpreting based on what they knew to be true.

Which could, of course, be completely different to what the artist knew. Or intended.

"Connor wasn't very welcoming," Riley said, leaning in to take a closer look at my brush strokes. Close enough that his nose bumped against the canvas, leaving a dot of green on the tip. "Then I went and smudged your little painting."

Little painting?

I couldn't tell if he'd done it on purpose or not. It might have been an accident, and it might be an attempt to piss me off. As if somehow if he did something bad enough, I'd pack up and get out of town. I wanted to laugh. He'd have to try harder than that.

He raised his hand toward the canvas as though he could rub the mark away. Like it was nothing more than a smudge on a phone screen.

I dropped my brush and caught his wrist. "It's fine, I can fix it." I ignored the way his muscles flexed in his arm before I dropped my hand.

"Maybe you should wipe that off." I glanced up at his nose. "Just in case it's toxic."

He wiped at his nose with the sleeve of his dark grey Henley. "You wouldn't paint with toxic paint, would you, sweetheart?"

I cleaned my brush and fixed up the spot he smudged. "Of course not, but I try to keep it off my face." He didn't need to get that up close and personal with my painting.

"Oh yeah? Where do you like it?" He took a step back and looked me up and down. A small streak of paint still decorated the side of his nose.

I decided not to mention it.

"On my canvas." I dabbed at the spot until I was satisfied it was fixed. "Where else?"

Was he trying to flirt with me or get a rise out of me? Did it matter? He wasn't going to succeed with either. No more than he and Connor were going to chase me out of town.

"You know, you're pretty good," he said grudgingly. "Do you do nudes?"

"Sometimes," I said, not looking in his direction.

He gave off that 'I know I'm attractive' air already without me stroking his ego.

Dark hair, squared chin with a dimple, and blue eyes; no doubt he got more than his share of attention.

Did he flirt with people he took on adventure tours?

That seemed likely to me. He probably flirted with anyone who stayed still for long enough.

All the more reason for me to stay away from him.

Between his and Connor's frigid welcome, and this disingenuous bid for my attention, Riley Crane was trouble with a capital T.

"Will you paint me?" he asked.

"Why would I do that?" I dabbed my brush in the red and touched up the H on the front of Hollow Bites. It was a little too vibrant, where the actual letter was faded. Well loved.

"Why wouldn't you?" he countered.

"I'm sure you're too busy to stand still for a few hours," I said. "Not to mention, like you said, I might not be in town for long."

"You wouldn't stick around to paint me naked?" he asked. "Plenty of women would."

"Then you won't have any trouble finding someone who will," I said. If he thought he'd impress me with the suggestion of competition, he was barking up the wrong tree. I learned the hard way not to get involved with players.

"That's true," he agreed. "They're practically lining up."

"Yeah, I know, I painted them all." I gestured towards the canvas.

A whole two vague figures stood near the pub.

A man and a woman, leaning with their heads close, talking about something.

They weren't anyone I'd seen today, just figures I thought should be there.

Something to add a hint of mystery to the painting.

People could speculate who they were and what they were saying to each other. 'People' included me.

"You're missing a few," he said with a grunt.

I put down my brush and leaned back to appraise my work. "Looks perfect to me."

"How much?" he asked.

I glanced up at him in surprise.

"What?" Was this another attempt to get a response from me?

"How much for the painting?" He waved a hand at it. He'd pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, so the veins in his arms were visible, obscured here and there by tattoos.

"You want to buy my painting?" I forced myself to focus on his face, not his veins and not the way his biceps were pushing at the seams of his shirt. "What for?"

"What do you think I want it for?" He frowned. His brow slowly smoothed out and he smiled. "You think I want to put it on the front of my dartboard and take potshots?" He mimed doing just that, closing one eye as he aimed at a pretend target.

"Do you?" I asked.

"That would be a waste," he said. "I was thinking I could hang it over my fireplace. I'll be sure to leave room for my nude."

"I'm not painting you naked," I said.

Seeing himself through my eyes would only inflate his ego further. He was a pain in the ass, but he was too attractive for his own good. I'd bet he wasn't born with a humble bone in his body either. Or his vocabulary.

"I was thinking you could do a self-portrait," he said easily. "Then anytime anyone walks into my house, they can see your pretty little pussy." His gaze dropped to the apex of my thighs as though he could see straight through my jeans.

I could almost see him mentally stripping them off me. Tearing my panties away and pressing his fingers into me.

Heat crept up my face. "I don't do self portraits," I mumbled. Especially if he was planning to turn it into something dirty. Nudes were supposed to be artistic. A celebration of the human body. Not cheap porn.

"What about I paint you then?" he said.

"Can you paint?" I arched an eyebrow at him, trying to regain my composure.

"Only houses." He grinned. "But I'm willing to give it a try if you are."

"I think I'll pass." I started to pack up my things. It was almost time for lunch and I was starting to get stiff from sitting for so long. I should know better, but when I was caught up in something, it took up all my attention. When I used to be able to…

I forced myself not to head down that line of thought.

"Suit yourself," he said with a shrug. "You don't know what you're missing."

"I have a pretty good idea," I said, managing to sound suitably unimpressed.

"I think you just implied I'm a two pump chump who doesn't know how to find a clit." His frown was back.

"I didn't imply anything, but if that's where your mind went, maybe you should get some help," I said lightly.

He didn't look like the kind of man who couldn't find a clit. He looked like one who knew how to make a girl scream two or three times in quick succession. I carefully avoided looking in the direction of his groin. At half a glance, I could already tell he was packing.

"See, that's the problem with city girls," he said slowly.

"They think they know everything. I've got news for you, sweetheart, you don't know fucking anything .

" He was looking at me the way he was in the café on my first morning in town.

Like I was a waste of the clean air up here in the mountains.

"I don't think I know everything." I crossed my arms, pushing my breasts up in my tank top.

His gaze dropped down to them, widening slightly before he looked back at my face.

"You should get out of town while you can," he growled softly.

"Or what?" I asked. He was a few inches taller than me, and a lot wider, but I still wasn't intimidated. All I had to do was shout and half the town would come out to see what was going on.

He leaned in to speak in my ear. He smelled of leather and some kind of fuel. Earthy and heady. The men back home didn't smell like this. I was more accustomed to cologne and clean laundry. Pleasant, but not intoxicating like this.

When he spoke, he spoke slowly, barely breathing. "Or you'll find yourself on your knees, choking on my cock. I see the way you look at me. You think you don't want me, but you do. If you stick around town, you're going to be begging me to fuck you."

"In your dreams," I whispered. No way was I going to let him see he was getting to me. It was only because he was so close and it had been so long since I'd been intimate with anyone. A dry spell like that would make any girl lose herself for a few moments.

He brushed a dark curl off the side of my cheek. "I think you mean in yours, sweetheart. So, how much?"

I was taken aback for a moment before I realised he was asking about the painting again. Of course he was. He really had me on the back foot. Somewhere I wasn't used to being.

"I'm not sure if it's for sale," I said. "It may need to be touched up when it's dry. When it's ready, I'll have it available at the community market."

"I'm a patient guy. When I want something, I know how to wait." His gaze dipped toward my breasts again.

"You'll be waiting for a long time for that," I told him. "Approximately…forever."

His lips curved up, but the smug expression never wavered. "We'll see." He shoved his hands into his pockets and strode away like he owned the town and everything in it.

Including me.