That is, of course, before I turn around.
And see Jake.
Shirtless.
It’s no lie. I’ve always found him attractive, and his face is just the tip of the hot-man iceberg. A well-defined, chiseled chest with a smattering of hair leads down to six-pack abs, which I’ve written about many times yet never touched in the flesh. His arms are strong with each muscle outlined to perfection.
Tall, big, handsome, athletic, broad, powerful … I need to up my adjectives when I describe a man.
There is definitely a reason I remembered that seafoam-green towel.
Our eyes meet, and it’s obvious he knows the sight of him just caught me off guard for all the wrong reasons, so I grab a bottle and pour paint onto my plate.
Rex begins the class by instructing us to coat our partners with a base color. When deciding on which color to choose, I take my time to really look at Jake. I see the way his eyes are brown, but they have a dark circle that lines them entirely. His jaw is straight, and his right eyebrow has a scar that runs through the length of it. He’s definitely not Tom Hardy, yet he’d be a damn good hero to explain in every detail.
I reach for the green paint for the base color. I dip the paintbrush, coating it on both sides to get the most coverage before sliding my stool closer to him.
“I’m letting you paint me first, but I have one rule.” He points his finger at me. “Nothing on my sides.”
Smashing my lips together, I try to hold back my laughter. “Are you ticklish?”
His brow quirks and I can tell he doesn’t want to admit it. He points at me instead. “No sides. Deal?”
Lifting my brush, I hold it up for him to see. “Okay, ticklish man, you got a deal. I won’t paint your very delicate skin.”
“Trust me, there is nothing delicate about me.”
He raises his chin slightly as he sits taller and opens his arms just a little bit, giving me full access to his chest.
As I make the first stroke on his body, I feel his breath hitch before he takes a deeper inhale. I move the brush down his pecs and back up, surrounding the area with a magnificent, rich green that complements his skin tone perfectly.
Once the base is finished, Rex instructs us to choose what flower we have in mind, and I instantly think of the peony he gave me earlier. As I swirl red and white together to get the pink I’m looking for, I keep glancing over at Jake, who never takes his eyes off of mine.
“Your mom seems pretty adamant about marrying you off.” I try to use conversation as a distraction.
“She certainly has her mind set as to what I need.” It’s easy to sense the morose tone in his voice.
“So, a strong-willed woman isn’t your type?” I lift the paintbrush and make a small stroke right over his pectoral.
His chest rises with the touch. I’m leaning forward, making the petals, using the folding table to keep my balance. It’s a little awkward.
“I don’t want a shrinking violet,” he says, taking my hand that’s wrapped around the edge of the table and placing it on his thigh. It’s hard beneath my palm. I blink as my hand flexes over the chiseled muscle and look up at him. “But I don’t mind a woman who is willing to learn from me. With me.”
The warmth he radiates sends chills to places I should not be feeling right now. I have to close my eyes for a brief second, so I can gather my wits.
I scoot closer while trying to steady my breathing. “That doesn’t sound so bad. What other attributes would you want in a woman?”
My hand brushes against his skin again, and the smoothness that encases his toned abs makes me want to lick my lips. I take a deep inhale and glance up at him. When I notice he’s staring at me, my heart pounds even more.
I had no idea this would be so intense.
“I like the give and take of a relationship. Someone who complements me but also challenges me. I value a woman who is well put together.” His eyes skim over my perfectly lined eyes. “Sophisticated, bright, socially curious.” His brows rise, and I laugh lightly. “Fair-minded, an excellent conversationalist, and above all else”—he pauses, and I still my brush, waiting for his words—“honest. That…is what I want.”
Here I am, in a room full of people I don’t know, yet if I close my eyes, I feel like I’m only with him.
Seeing him.
Feeling him.
The way his breath tickles my neck. The way I can smell his cologne even though the scent has faded some, making it obvious he put it on hours ago. His manly scent comes through the added one, and it only reminds me of the times I lay with a man, woke up with him by my side, and felt comfortable, wrapped in his arms.
It’s been too long …
I want so badly to drop the brush and paint with my hands. I’m dying to feel his skin under my fingertips, not just by the side of my hand resting against him.
I swallow as I sit back, getting green paint on my brush. I swirl the tip of the brush down the ridges of his stomach. His body jolts when I get too close to the side.
“Sorry, I tried to tell you I was ticklish,” he says.
I grin before moving back in and finishing the flower. Before I make my final stroke, he places his finger on the side of my face, tucking a stray hair that fell. The simple gesture feels familiar.
“I like seeing your face as you paint.”
I clear my throat and sit back. “I’m finished. What do you think?”
He looks down at his chest and gives a smirk
