an air-kiss over her shoulder. “I promise not to tell Paul. Thanks for the mocha.”
Mackenzie had just enough time to gather a few things for the still life they’d be working on. Most of the students had arrived and the low hum of conversation filled the room. She cleared her throat and moved to a spot where everyone could see her.
“Hello and welcome to City Art School. I’m Mackenzie Foster-Shaw and I see a few familiar faces.” She waggled her fingers at them as she looked around the circle of easels.
She opened her mouth to continue her standard introduction, but when she looked toward the doorway, she forgot how to speak. She had to grab the edge of the table behind her to steady herself.
With a black leather coat draped over his arm, Dom sauntered in like he owned the place.
“Dom.” She managed to choke out his name after her mouth hung open for a moment. Everyone turned to the door.
She glanced around the room but wasn’t sure what she was looking for. What in the hell was he doing here? All moisture inside her mouth evaporated as the temperature in the room skyrocketed. With one eyebrow raised, he looked as if he were waiting for an answer. Had he just asked her something? If so, she hadn’t heard anything but the ringing in her ears.
“Can I help you?”
“I’ll wait till you’re free. Mind if I watch?”
Not trusting her voice, she nodded. Was this beginning drawing or watercolor? Everyone’s eyes were on her, including Dom’s, as they waited for her to continue.
She looked at the class list, unable to keep the paper from rattling. Beginning drawing. How did she normally start? Discuss composition? Art supplies? Her expectations?
Somehow she figured out what to say and limped through a few demonstrations. Soon everyone was focused on their drawing exercises. She walked over to where he sat near the door. His cologne had a rugged smell, like leather and sandalwood, reminding her of his condo when he’d just climbed out of the shower.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, keeping her voice low. The room was as quiet as a library.
“You left this.” He tossed her tape measure onto the table. “Figured you’d be missing it. Can’t find a Hello Kitty tape measure just anywhere. Mind if I stay and observe?”
She snatched it up. “Suit yourself.”
Now that the initial shock of seeing him had worn off, she was just plain irritated. What did he think he was doing coming in like this? Her hands shook as she assembled the still life in the center of the room. She fiddled with a piece of white silk until she was satisfied with how it draped over a box, then, after arranging a few pieces of fruit, a blue glass and a book, she stepped back to see how it all looked.
Did he want to tease her again since he’d obviously gotten so much enjoyment out of it the last time?
With her hands on her hips, she appraised the still life. Way too ordered, too predictable. The elements were situated with too much purpose. She shifted the book, moved the fruit and messed up the fabric. Much better.
She walked around the room, answering questions and making suggestions. When she got to Dom, she expected to meander casually past him, but she found herself stopping. He’d been doodling on a spare drawing pad she kept near the door in case someone forgot their art supplies. She was stunned to find his approach to the assignment energetic and almost whimsical.
His apple didn’t quite look like an apple with its irregular shape, and yet it was. The shading was dark and unabashedly bold. His book wasn’t a realistic interpretation of the still life book as it looked more like a trapezoid, but the shape was exuberant and she liked how he positioned it haphazardly on the paper. The style and composition were fabulous and she had to keep herself from putting an encouraging hand on his shoulder the way she did with her other students.
“How am I doing, teacher?”
His words yanked her back to reality. Impudent bastard.
With his back to her, his thick dark hair moved almost of its own volition as he blended a charcoal mark with his finger.
That hair. That thick, wavy hair. It wasn’t pulled back in the leather thong this time. Instead, it grazed the top of his collar, the ends tousled and curled, almost wind-blown. Would her fingers glide through easily or get caught