“I want to see what your shoes look like today.”
“Why?” Elissa narrowed her eyes at him, brows drawn down in an adorable frown. Could this woman do anything that wasn’t adorable?
“To confirm my hypothesis.”
“And what is your hypothesis?” Her tone was suspicious.
“That you’re wearing a full-body mask. That under the cool, calm accountant persona is a passionate artist just dying for someone to ask her about her shoes.” He graced her with the full DeMarco smile no woman had ever been able to turn down. He’d seen his grandfather, his father, and his brother use it countless times. So had he, but rarely for such a simple request. Usually, his goal was much more carnal.
“I am an accountant. It’s not a persona.”
“But are you also an artist?” His words were gentle. He genuinely wanted to know.
“It’s a craft, not an art.”
“Bullsh—baloney. There’s not much difference, but if you’re going to get all technical, let’s call it creative.”
She stared at him for a moment, evaluating him. Coming to a conclusion, she pushed away from the table, crossed one leg over the other, and pulled off a shoe. Elissa tossed it to him over the table, and he caught it, still surprised his challenge had worked. Dragging his gaze from her, he examined the shoe in hand.
It was a simple ballet flat, but instead of the Van Gogh-style sunflowers, the background colors bled into each other yet still gave the impression of green leaves. Painted on top, in clear lines, was a white butterfly with golden stripes. The effect was nearly photorealistic with the subject in crystal-clear detail and the background out of focus. Beautiful.
“Thank you,” she said.
Shit, he must’ve said it out loud. He looked up and his heart stopped. She was biting her lip, and the simple gesture sent a shock straight to his cock. Damn, she was going to be the death of him.
The silence stretched, and she held out a hand.
“Can I have my shoe?”
The little imp on his shoulder got the better of him. “I don’t know. What will happen if I don’t give it back?”
She couldn’t stop the smile from curving her pink lips. “I’m a good shot. I’ll throw the other one.”
“And then I’ll have both.”
“Oh, you think so?”
Elissa rose out of the chair and limped around the table, only one shoe on. The look on her face, half exasperation, half playful, all flirtation, left him sitting in his own chair still as a statue. By the time he’d thought to move, she was standing in front of him, hands on her hips. He couldn’t help himself. His eyes traveled down her body, tracing the curves of her breasts, the flare of her hips, her shapely legs, and her cute little foot, toes painted a pink to match her earrings.
He returned his eyes to her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes sparkled like the summer lake they reminded him of, and her full lips curled into an authentic smile. All he wanted to do was look at her, possibly forever.
Elissa licked her lips, and his gaze traced the movement of her tongue.
“Mr. DeMarco, may I please have my shoe?” Elissa asked breathlessly, and for a solid second, Ryan was tempted to kiss her until she could only ask questions breathlessly. Or no questions at all.
Voices in the hall brought him to his senses.
“Of course,” he said, a tad breathless himself.
Their fingers brushed as he handed back her shoe, sending an electric charge up his arm. He tried not to examine them for scorch marks as she dropped the shoe to the floor and slipped her foot into it. As the voices moved closer, she walked around the table and settled herself onto the chair. Ryan cleared his throat and scooted his chair back to the table.
They studiously avoided looking at each other for the rest of the afternoon.
seventeen
maybe five
It had been both the shortest and longest afternoon of her entire life.
