HIS FORBIDDEN MASTERPIECE
He’s already backing out, already gone.
I stand there a moment longer than necessary, towel back around my waist, anger flooding through me… what the hell was that? And why was I imagining such things about him? I must be crazy and sex starved.
I dress too fast, movements too sharp, and try to place his name. Lucian. Anastasia’s artist. The one she’d been laughing with earlier tonight.
By the time I get downstairs, he’s already gathering his things, cheeks still faintly pink, apologizing about a call he forgot he has to make. I watch him go the retreat of him, the line of his shoulders, the way he moves and he’s ass doing a little bounce