“I changed my mind.”
“Is this where you tell me you’re making me a bunny?” His pecs bobbed up and down every time she tried to paint over them. Her body tingled.
“Stop doing that.” She laughed. “And no, I’m making you more you.”
He looked down as she worked. “Well, I can promise you that the real me doesn’t wear glittery gray.”
“It’s chainmail. Is that manly enough for you?” She didn’t stop to hear his response. She just let her instincts take over. “Body painting is an artistic representation of the real person inside. It’s supposed to enhance all of the hidden qualities, as well as the obvious ones, to give a visual voice to the subject.”
“Do you believe that?”
Harper looked up at Adam, and given the vulnerability in his eyes, he wanted her to believe, because he wanted to believe. She hesitated, because when she finally put the brush down, and he realized how she saw him, there was going to be no more hiding. Art was about expression and truth, and maybe Shay was right. Maybe it was time for Harper to put herself out there.
Allow the hope of extraordinary to outweigh the fear of rejection.
Eyes locked on his, holding his gaze for what seemed like an eternity, she whispered, “I do.”
He thought about that for a long moment, watched her silently as she worked to cover his entire arm, before moving on to the rest of his body. She was lost in the work, highlighting every hard-won muscle he had and smoothing out a few to show the softness beneath the strength.
She tugged his pants lower on his hips, worked her brush in soft, sure strokes across every inch of his exposed skin. It was intimate and erotic, and she could feel his desire wrap around her and take hold.
She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, her putting out all of the respect, reverence, and sheer adoration she’d come to feel, and him silently watching. Giving in to the moment made her exposed and vulnerable, and yet she’d never felt so much power flow through her body.
Hands tired, body sweating, muse satisfied, Harper dusted him with a light powder to set the paint, then stepped back to admire her work. To admire the man she was pretty sure she was falling in love with.
“Can I look?” he asked quietly.
Heart in her throat, Harper nodded.
She watched Adam turn to look in the mirror. Watched him inspect her work, taking his time to see the piece and all its parts. His silence grew, took on a shape, until finally his eyes met hers in the mirror—and held.
“This is how you see me?” he asked, his voice husky, stripped down and raw. “As a gladiator?”
“Not just a gladiator.” She stepped up behind him and smoothed her hands down his shoulders. “Spartacus.”
His face went carefully blank. “As in one of the most badass rebels in history?”
She would have laughed if he hadn’t sounded so offended. “Yes, Spartacus was a badass.” She reached around him from behind, sliding her hands over his armor of paint. “Strong, loyal, a great warrior. But he was first a leader, determined to lead his men to safety.” Her hand came to rest on his heart. “Contrary to popular belief, and Hollywood interpretations, Spartacus never attempted to overthrow Rome. He just understood the power that came with freedom.”
Adam’s eyes never left hers, proving that rule number three, when combined with rule number one, equated an appeal powerful enough to win hearts and launch wars.
Without moving he said, “It’s my turn, sunshine—lose the shirt.”
You want to paint me?”
“Not want to, going to.” Adam turned around and picked up the brush. He dipped it in daffodil yellow and walked back over. “So unless you want that top of yours to get dirty, I suggest you lose it.”
Harper didn’t mind losing the top. After what they’d just shared, her body was already humming with anticipation. But painting her, seeing his true thoughts about how he saw her, that didn’t sound like something she was ready for yet. She was just coming to terms with her feelings for him, and if his didn’t match hers, she didn’t want to know just yet.
Cold paint seeped through her top, instantly hardening her nipple. “Hey. This is my favorite dress.”
“Mine too,” he said, then painted the other nipple. “And if you don’t move it fast, it’s going to be covered in paint, because I’m feeling a little impatient at the moment.”
He dipped the brush in purple, mixing the colors and—
“Okay.” Harper quickly removed her dress, and the second it hit the floor she heard Adam suck in a breath. Because she was in nothing but sandals and Honeysuckle.
“That’s what you had on under there all day?”
“It made me feel sexy,” she admitted, then realized it was another half truth. And they deserved better than half truths. “You make me feel sexy.” He looked down at her shoes and she kicked them off. “Better?”
His smile went wicked. “Almost there.”
Harper froze. She started to ask what that meant, but then he glanced at her Honeysuckle.
“Keep going,” he said.