She’s chaos in human form, and somehow she’s making me remember what it feels like to be alive—to want laughter that hurts your sides. A woman who looks at you like she’s daring you to break every rule you’ve ever made.
I realize I’m still staring at her. And I’m still smiling so damn hard that my cheeks hurt. Shaking my head, I get back to my canvas. By now, it’s a half-decent attempt at her face, with eyes too big and a smile too wide, but it’s unmistakably her.
Because Sienna Harlow is abstract in every form, and she’s somehow still spectacular in everything she does.
“I’m done,” she announces, setting her brush on the table. “Are you?”
I nod and place mine beside hers. “Reveal on three?”
She gives a quick nod, and we count down together.
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
We flip our canvases toward each other at the same time. Her mouth falls open, eyes blinking rapidly as she stares at mine. “That’s… me?”
I nod. “It’s… impressionistic.”
She snorts, her lip twitching. “It looks like I got hit by a paint truck.”
A laugh rumbles out of me before I can stop it. “Hey, what happened to ‘abstract’ and ‘nothing is ever truly bad in art’?”
She rolls her eyes, but a playful glint lingers in them as she points to her canvas. “This is you.”
I study it, my expression softening. “You made my eyes too big.”
“They’re expressive,” she shoots back, then jabs a finger at my painting. “And you’re one to talk—why do my lips look like I was stung by a wasp?”
I press my lips together, fighting back a smirk. “I got… distracted.”
“By what?”
You.That mouth. The way you bite your lip when you concentrate.
“By a lizard running up the wall behind you.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “You’re a liar.”
“And you’ve got blue paint on your lip.” The words are out before I can think. I lean forward, my thumb brushing the streak of blue on her lower lip. Her skin is warm and soft under my touch. She doesn’t pull away. Instead, her breath catches as I let my thumb linger, then slowly drag it down the side of her throat. I feel her pulse jump hard against the pad of my finger.
Her lips part. “Milo…”
I lean in closer until our breaths mingle. “You started this.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth. “And you’re finishing it?”
“Not yet,” my voice comes out rough. “If I start something with you, Sienna, I’m not stopping halfway through.”
She swallows, the movement visible in her throat. Then she pulls back abruptly, stands, and breaks the heat between us. “Okay, I’m a disaster. Let’s take a photo, then I’m showering and heading to the pool before sunset yoga.”
I don’t respond. I can’t. My body still buzzes from the feel of her skin. I watch as she steps beside me, crouching until her face is level with mine. Her shoulders brush my arm as she props herphone against the easel. I hold up the painting of her while she lifts hers, and my mouth curves as the shutter clicks.
She grabs the phone, glances at the screen, then gives my shoulder a quick pat before disappearing into the villa. I lean back in the chair and exhale sharply. The deck suddenly feels too still, too empty without the warmth of her body beside mine.
I wanted to kiss her.
