She couldn’t describe what she was thinking right now. That he was too sinfully put together for words? That she wanted him to sprawl out on the grass so she could lick him from head to toe? That she wanted to strip out of her clothes and join him?
“Assume the pose you had before you undressed,” she said, grateful she’d snatched a blank canvas before leaving the house. She removed the painting she’d been working on from the easel and replaced it with the blank one.
Jamal lowered himself to the ground and stretched out again. For several moments Phil just stared at the picture he created. His abs were ripped like the proverbial washboard, those sinewy legs sculpted with powerful, lean muscles, his very generous male parts thick and resting against his inner thigh.
Lickable. So, so lickable.
“I’m not sure where to start,” Phil murmured.
“Start with whatever catches your eye,” Jamal said.
She looked at him over the canvas and couldn’t help but laugh. Reining in the nervous, giddy flutters floating around her stomach, she called on the serious artist she knew was hidden somewhere within her and got to work.
Looking at him through a painter’s eye, she caressed the canvas with the charcoal, mimicking the long lines of his torso. She captured their surroundings, sketching the base of the huge oak tree, imagining how she would bring the painting to life with the brilliant greens and soft browns.
Twenty minutes later, Phil had the sketch complete. “I think I’m done,” she said.
“Really? That was fast.” He pushed up from the ground and strode over to her. Coming around the easel, he said over her shoulder, “Yousureyou’re done?”
“It’s notfinishedfinished. It’s just the outline,” she said. She picked up the brush. “Now I have to flesh it out with the actual paint.”
A strong arm looped around her waist. “Speaking of flesh… I seem to be the only one showing some here,” Jamal murmured against her neck.
“Hey, you’re the one who offered to strip.”
“I think you should return the favor.”
“I know you don’t think you’re gonna get me to strip out here,” she said.
“You wanna bet?” he asked, and snaked a hand inside her shirt.
Phil disengaged from his hold and sidestepped him. “Keep back,” she warned, holding him off with her paintbrush.
“Or what?”
“Don’t try me,” she said.
He took a step forward, and she brandished the brush like a saber. When he took a second step, Phil lashed out with the brush, sweeping a stroke of green paint across his pectorals.
Jamal’s eyes darted down at his chest and then back up at her. “I can’t believe you did that,” he said.
“I warned you,” Phil said, a giggle bubbling up in her throat.
“Oh, you’re in for it.”
She let out a yelp as he dived for her. She scuttled around the meadow, still wielding her paintbrush in his direction. She made a full circle before Jamal caught up with her, back underneath the tree. He wrapped both arms around her, imprisoning her in his strong embrace.
“Stop it.” She laughed. “I told you to stay back.” She managed to swipe another swath of green, this time on his arm.
Jamal tightened his hold, locking her against his hard body. “If you wanted to use my body as a canvas, all you had to do was ask,” he whispered into her ear.
His suggestion shot a naughty tremor down her spine. Phil glanced back at him over her shoulder.
“Really?” she asked.
That sexier-than-sin smile curved up the corners of his mouth. Jamal released her and walked over to the easel. Retrieving the palette, he sauntered back to where she stood and held it out to her.
Phil took it from him and looked on in mute fascination as he reclined on the patch of flattened grass where he’d lounged earlier.
