Black Hearts (Sins Duet #1)

Tall. At least six feet.

Lean but packed with muscle, the kind that looks effortless, as if he’s got good genes and gets his rounded shoulders, wide chest, big biceps and forearms from manual labor. Even in his thermal Henley shirt—mustard yellow, a surprising color—his muscles are taut underneath the material.

Then there’s his skin color. A gorgeous tawny gold, the perfect summer bronze that sets off his dark hair and the low set of arched brows that frame his face.

God, I hope all of that took two seconds to observe and I haven’t been gawking at him like a fool. I immediately feel my cheeks start to go hot, my palms sweaty.

This is not like me at all.

I clear my throat. “Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you. I just had a question. You’re in photography, right?” He nods his head to the door of the building. It’s then that I notice the sweet photography bag with him. It’s a brand I wanted to get, only I didn’t have the money. “Do you know if they’re still accepting students?”

His shy smile gets wider and he straightens up off the wall.

Those teeth. That face.

I can’t place his age but he seems both young and wise at the same time, his eyes shining with years of experience and a strange naivety. They’re the color of amber—rich, glowing, and clear all at once. I feel like if I peered at him close enough I might see ancient life preserved inside of them.

I blink a few times, remembering how to speak. “You mean Anderson’s class?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m here scoping out the schools in the area.” His accent is American with a Hispanic lilt that makes me think he hasn’t lived here all his life. His voice is smooth and rich and seems to fill every part of me. “I know it’s late in the semester, but…it would mean everything if I could get in.”

I have a million questions for this guy, and yet when my mouth opens, I say, “I saw you earlier. In the coffee shop.”

He looks momentarily startled before his brow smooths. “You’re very observant.”

I shrug. “You have to be if you’re a photographer.”

“Touché,” he says. “So, did you like what you saw?”

My eyes widen. “What?”

“When you were looking at me. Did you like what you saw?”

Okay, a little bit forward. I normally would back off but there’s something keeping me in my place, preventing me from walking away, and it’s not that he’s giving me a smirk that’s just innocent enough to let him off the hook.

It reminds me of an old lyric.

Everyone told me love was blind. Then I saw your face and you blew my mind.

Maybe not the deepest lyric but I’m certainly humming it now.

“I’m just joking,” he says lightly.

“Oh,” I say, wishing I didn’t sound so stupid. I fumble for the right words to say. Anything really. “I could introduce you.”

He raises a brow, seeming as surprised as I am at this new development. “To your teacher. Are you sure?”

“Why not?” I try and sound breezy but the moment I turn around and open the door to head back into the building, my eyes are wide and I’m mouthing, Oh my god, what are you doing? to myself.

Suffice it to say, the climb up the stairs is pretty awkward and I curse myself for wearing my curve-hugging dress, knowing my ass is totally shoved in his face.

I give the guy an anxious smile as I knock on Anderson’s door for the second time since class had finished.

“Forget something else?” Anderson asks when I open the door.

“Actually, no. This guy had a question for you about the program. I hope you don’t mind.”

I step inside the room while the golden god of a guy saunters right over to Anderson, his hand outstretched. “Vicente. Vicente Cortez,” he says to him.

I’m struck by how much I love that name. I’m also struck by the feeling that I should probably go on my way now since my job is done—I introduced Vicente to Anderson and that’s that. Yet I hover by the row of desks, watching them.

“So sorry to just walk in like this,” Vicente continues, “this girl was kind enough to let me introduce myself.”

“Not a problem,” Anderson says, pushing his glasses up on his nose and crossing his arms. “How can I help you?”

“Well,” Vicente says, “I’m in San Francisco for a year or so and have been thinking about getting serious about my photography, and figured now is as great a time as any. Only I realize classes started earlier this month.”

“They did.” Anderson briefly glances at me. “And I’m teaching second year students like Violet who have already done their first.”

“Violet,” Vicente repeats, looking at me as he learns my name. The sound of it on his lips sends a cascade of warmth down my spine. I swallow hard, wishing he wasn’t having this kind of reaction on me.

“We could maybe get you into the first year, but even so,” Anderson says, taking Vicente’s attention away from me, “I’m not sure if any students have dropped out to fit you in.”

“And what about this year? Anyone drop out?” Vicente is just as bold with Anderson as he was with me.

Anderson gives him a discerning look. “We did. Last week. Do you have any transfer papers from another school or…?”

“Do the papers matter or does money matter?”

Anderson lets out a nervous laugh. “I assure you they both do. This school has very high standards and, Mr. Cortez, though you might be very capable, I’m not sure this is going to work out. You must understand.”

For some reason I expect Vicente to make a fuss and demand they take him, maybe toss a wad of cash on the desk, but of course he doesn’t. “I understand completely,” he says. “Thank you so much for your time. Have a good day.”