The Art of You

21 | Tease

"Were you watching me out of the window, Van Gogh?"

"I looked out once or twice," I said, resuming painting.

"See anything you like?" he teased.

"A lot of balls."

His deep belly laugh filled the room and my cheeks burned red. I couldn't hold in my laughter. "Well, you didn't like balls the first day we met. And speaking of, I haven't seen you here in a while."

"I wasn't working on any projects. Now I am."

He strode up behind me—like he always did when he observed my art—and stood so close; I felt his shirt grazing my back. I tried not to wriggle as he asked, "What is this going to be?"

"I'm going to paint an autumn landscape, with dying trees. There will be a cloud floating in the branches with a falling angel coming out and reaching for a starving human on the ground. Kind of loosely inspired by the Sistine Chapel ceiling." I pointed to the sketches as I spoke, so he understood the idea.

When I turned around, he was staring, a look I couldn't quite discern gleaming in his eyes. "You're incredible."

I looked at the brush in my hand and smiled, unable to conjure something to say. He leaned against the table behind him, legs crossed, his hands supporting his body weight on either side. "Come get food with me."

"Are you asking me out on a date, Eli?"

The corner of his mouth twisted into a sly grin. He regards me incredulously before pushing off the table and approaching me.

I looked at him through hooded lashes, his body towering over mine. He stood between my legs while I sat, tucking my hair behind my ear, and huskily murmured, "Say that again."

My entire body went rigid. "What? Eli?"

He dipped his head down, his breath hot over my lips as he hesitated to close the space between us. My eyes fluttered shut, waiting for the impact, and I fidgeted to set aside my paintbrush on the stool to my left.

"Did you think of me last night?"

My eyes opened. "No."

He tilted his head, an eyebrow lifted in doubt. "No? You didn't think about me kissing you?"

I shook my head, clearly lying, but I wanted to see what he'd say.

"I thought about you," he leaned closer, his mouth brushing against mine, but still not kissing me. I can both hear and feel him speak."Wanna know what I thought about?"

"Mhm." I nodded, snaking my hand around the back of his knee to pull him closer.

"I thought about you in your outfit, and that little noise you made when I kissed you."

Heat blossomed in my navel, which felt more like lava melting throughout my body. Oh, God. He thought about me, and not in the way someone appears in your mind before you drift off to sleep. He thought about me.

"What about it?" I whispered.

"I want to hear it again."

Needing him to endure how I felt last night, I stood—barely reaching his height—and picked up my brushes. Unable to wipe the smile from my face, I walked away from him and washed my brushes, my back toward him.

His footsteps thumped over the sound of running water and my body stiffened, exhilaration singing in my veins. His hands gripped my hips, and I almost dropped the brushes in the sink. That little shit. He knew I was trying to tease him, and now he was doing it back.