My excitement dims a little. Even though I found a lot to admire about Marshall’s physique, I’m not sure I’ll be able to recreate it from memory once I’m at my canvas again. Still, I must admit this is the closest I’ve gotten to studying a male body in quite some time. And not just any body. Marshall is a perfect example of one of Edwina’s heroes.
But is that enough to improve my skill?
“I hope so,” I say.
“How did you end up illustrating book covers for Edwina, anyway?”
My cheeks flush. “She found my secret sketchbook.”
“You had a secret sketchbook? Was it smutty?”
My cheeks heat. “Yeah.”
“And you never showed me?” He shifts, leaning his side against the balustrade so he can face me.
Like this morning, I get that strange sensation that nothing has changed. That we’re right back to the easy banter we had two years ago. “I never showed anyone. And she only saw my best sketch. If she saw any of the others…”
With a grimace, I tuck my free hand into my waistcoat pocket and extract the folded-up sketch I placed in there when I went to find Brad Folger. Before I can convince myself not to, I hand it to Monty.
He snorts a laugh as soon as he lays his eyes on it. Then he studies it closer and throws his head back for an even heartier laugh. I don’t know if I’ve seen his eyes crinkle at the corners like that. His cheeks dimple deeper than ever. “This is fucking terrifying,” he says, voice rich with mirth.
I snatch the sketch back, but there’s only wry humor in my tone when I say, “Now you know why I need a model.”
He gestures toward the stage, looking rather proud of himself. “Marshall was perfect, wasn’t he? Did you see those forearms?”
“Oh, I saw them.” My eyes unfocus as I picture Marshall as Alexander fromThe Governess and the Rake, the book I’m currently working on illustrating. I imagine him in some of my favorite scenes, the way he hoists his lover, Dolly, onto his desk. The way he pins her arms over her head as he thrusts into her, papers spilling to the ground. “He could pin me down so hard with those.”
“Could he, now?”
My cheeks blaze as I realize I said that out loud. That’s something I’d say to Edwina, not Monty. Then again…isn’t Monty supposed to be my friend? The same way Edwina is? Why should I get so flustered over what I say tohim?
I fight my urge to shrink down and meet his eyes with feigned confidence. “Yes, he certainly could.”
For a moment he simply stares at me, as if seeing me for the first time. I note that one of his palms is clenched around the railing, knuckles white, the veins on the back of his hand on full display. That’s the second time I’ve caught myself admiring his hands. They are very muchnotpaws. Come to think of it, Monty’s forearms aren’t too different from Marshall’s…
I tear my eyes away, desperate to change the subject. “How is your new job? And why were you at Fletcher-Wilson with a manuscript forAsk Gladys?”
“Well, you might not believe this, but I am?—”
The bell sounds again but less piercing this time, thanks to my candy, and the Master of Ceremonies returns to the ring, along with the kangaroo referee and his fishbowl. My excitement returns and I stuff an even bigger mouthful of candy between my lips. This enchanted boozy fluff sure is something. My stomach is warm, my head is light, and the riotous sounds around me are tolerable. Who knew spending an evening out in a crowded, sort-of-illegal venue could be so much fun?
“For our next bout, let’s welcome Grave Danger!” the announcer shouts. A slender male with scaly skin and pointed ears steps onto the stage.
Monty curses under his breath. “Damn. He always fights dirty.”
“As for his opponent…” The announcer snaps his fingers. Opens his folded paper. “Lucky Lovesbane!”
“What a boring name,” I say, peeling an enormous chunk of fluff from my treat.
“Shit,” Monty says. “I’m up!”
I frown, unsure what he means by that. I bite into my candy floss as I glance his way, only to find his face hidden behind his shirt.
The shirt he’s pulling over his head.
My mouth remains stuck open, blackberry cordial and whipped sugar melting over my tongue as my eyes rove over the expanse of skin displayed before me. I’ve always known Monty to be tall and I assumed he was slender. Which he is. But he’s also…
“Muscles,” I say, forgetting the candy floss I was in the process of eating, which now adheres to the front of my lips and dangles over my chin.
