Fully dressed, Willow was a sight to behold.Naked, she could bring a man to his knees in a slobbering mess.She very nearly did that to him a year ago, and then again today.He’d spent many, many nights dreaming about those long, silky legs, about her luscious breasts, the slope of her shoulders, her tiny, tipsy smile.
Seeing her rising out of the water like a river goddess, was one of the most profound experiences he’d ever have.
She’d been angry, but for a millisecond, before she could manage her usual derisive look in his direction there had been something in those blue Irish eyes he’d never seen before.
Whether she’d ever care to admit it, she was as aware of him as he was of her.
Annoyed with himself, he rubbed his neck.Why was he still thinking about her?Willow Weston was beautiful, yes, but she was not for him.
It was time to talk to Hayden and put his plan to return to Colorado in action.Nothing could ever come of this craziness inside of him.
Chapter Two
Stunned, Willow staredat the painting she’d just finished.The plan had been to paint one more winter landscape, so how did this happen?
This morning she’d woken up around four with an overwhelming urge to paint.She was still in her pajamas; she hadn’t even changed.She remembered picking up her brush, staring at the different tubes of paint, deciding what she would use.After that, everything was a blur.And now this was the end result.
The style of painting she was known for was called Open Impressionism.The landscapes she created were vibrant, done with oil paint and a brush.This particular style of painting relied on color to portray emotion and thick oil paint strokes to create movement.Separated brush strokes gave her paintings the stained-glass effect she preferred.
So where on earth did this painting come from?Not only was it not her usually subject matter, but she’d somehow also changed her style.The hues she’d used were much softer, the bold strokes replaced by lighter strokes of her brush, creating something much more ethereal than she’d ever done before.
Slowly inhaling and exhaling, she tried to calm the storm inside her.She stepped back, tried a different perspective.Okay, maybe she was overreacting.The background was still a beautiful winter Montana landscape.The only difference was it wasn’t the focus point of the painting.Yet.
Well, she simply couldn’t have it.It shouldn’t be difficult to change the cowboy on his horse dominating the painting at the moment, though.
Groaning, she rubbed her face.The problem was, it wasn’t just any cowboy, it was a very particular cowboy—Hunter-freaking-Grant, no less.
It was probably all those freaking photos she’d taken of him without realizing it.The man was constantly on her mind, damn it.
Her phone bleeped and she quickly turned the easel around.Nobody was going to see this before she’d changed it.Ever.
For the first time she noticed the time.Oh goodness, the stroll, her mom!Groaning, she opened Cooper’s text.She’d completely forgotten to talk to her brothers about getting a lift into Marietta to attend the stroll.Frowning, she read Cooper message.
“We’re ready to leave.You?”
Look at her—paint stains everywhere, her hair in a messy bun and not like those sexy ones you saw online.Just really, really messy and covered in paint.Sprinting to her room, she texted Cooper.
“I’ll come on my own.”
Throwing down the phone on the bed, she rushed to the bathroom.Her mom would have a fit if she was late, but that couldn’t be helped.
In the shower, she lifted her face toward the falling water.Maybe it wasn’t Hunter and his horse she’d painted, maybe it was just her imagination because he was constantly on her mind.
Okay, the horse she’d painted was a grey but just because Hunter’s horse was the same color, it didn’t mean she’d painted him.Besides you couldn’t really make out the face beneath the big cowboy hat, could you?Even though the hat was similar to Hunter’s it wasn’t to say…
Groaning, she quickly washed her paint-streaked hair.She didn’t have time to dry it, but at least it would be clean.
*
Hunter waited inhis truck, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.Why the hell had he agreed to pick up Willow?He remembered he’d opened his mouth with the distinct notion to refuse Cooper’s request to bring Willow to the stroll tonight, but somehow, the words that had left his mouth were something totally different, and he’d found himself agreeing to do just that.
Hadn’t he told himself just the previous morning to stay as far away from her as far as possible?Yet here he was, waiting for her, his heart hammering away.
The front door opened.He got out of his truck.Willow ran down the steps before she saw him.
“What are you doing here?”she snapped.
“Cooper asked me.He texted you, he said.”He turned around and walked to the other side of his truck.“Come on, we’re wasting time.”
