with his mind empty and his hands free, he found himself bent over his sketchbook and the image taking place wasn’t anything he could ever put on anybody.
It was Abby.
The way she’d been in that last portrait. Her gaze locked on him, eyes dark and full of love. Need. Like she was staring into the very soul of him.
The curve of her lip. The line of her jaw.
Her hair, the way it glinted in the light . . . even though it was just a pencil sketch, he could see the dark, rich auburn and his hands itched to feel the softness of it again.
The door opened and he kept his gaze on the portrait. “Did the guy decide on which design he wanted?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
Dropping the pencil, he lifted his head.
Abby stood in the door, her head cocked to the side, arms folded over her chest. It was a dangerous pose, because in that dress, her breasts looked like . . . whoa. Yeah. He thought that summed it up pretty much.
As a matter of fact, the entire package was just whoa. She was wearing one of those pinup girl–styled dresses again: a formfitting black sheath that fit her form oh so nicely, all the way down to her knees. Against the black, her skin glowed like ivory and he was about ready to fall down and worship her.
She had on a pair of red heels . . . fuck. Red heels. Had he ever seen her in a pair of red heels?
He didn’t know, but now it was his life’s ambition to see her in just those heels . . . and nothing else. Assuming she wasn’t going to kick his ass to the curb. If she tried, his life’s ambition was going to be getting her to forgive him. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t wanted Keelie to kiss him. It had happened and . . .
Focus, Zach. He dragged a hand over his face and swallowed the knot in his throat. “Abby.”
And his voice cracked.
This was going to go just fantastic. Clearing his throat, he pushed back from the desk, although he thought it might be wise to keep his distance for a minute, especially judging by the glint in her eyes.
“Ah . . . I’ve been trying to call,” he said softly, eyeing her nervously as she came inside. He dodged a look at her hands. No sharp objects. No wooden bats. That was good . . . right? Very few people understood just how hot her temper burned. Zach was one of them and he respected that temper of hers.
Abby lifted a brow. “Yes,” she murmured. “About fifty times. I noticed.” A smirk curved her lips and he swallowed back a groan as he realized she wasn’t just wearing a pair of red fuck me shoes. She’d slicked that pretty mouth of hers down with the same shade of red.
Abby rarely wore makeup anymore, but she’d gone all out tonight, it seemed. He wasn’t quite certain he understood the reasoning. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he stared at her for a minute, trying to read the look on her face but he couldn’t.
The glint in her eyes had him confused.
She looked pissed. Very pissed. But then he thought about the pictures . . . shit, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d just painted that tattoo on her, he’d almost think she’d done those before the mess with Keelie.
But that wasn’t the case. He knew it.
“Saturday night wasn’t what it looked like,” he said, forcing the words out in a rush. “Keelie was the one behind that and I was pulling away even as she did it. I know it didn’t look like that but I don’t have any feelings for Keelie. I—”
He stopped, clamping those words shut behind his teeth just in time. Abby arched a brow, that smirking little smile on her lips. She turned away and sauntered over to the door and despite his best intentions, his gaze zoomed down to lock on her ass. That dress . . . damn it, it ought to be illegal when the woman had a body like Abby’s.
The door clicked shut and he jerked his head up just in time to see her lock it.
“You what?” Abby said quietly, turning around to face him.
He stared at her.
She leaned back against the door and waited.
“I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t what it looked like. I swear.”