Slow Heat

He shrugged. “You could fall off this platform. You ever think of that?”

She eyed the drop and felt her stomach quiver. “Not until now, thanks.”

He flashed a grin and she stared at his mouth.

His eyes heated. “You’re going to need to change the subject now,” he said, voice sexy and low, “or we’re going to risk the both of us falling off when I haul you over here and—”

“Your list,” she said quickly. “You make it yet?”

He pulled her small notebook from one of his cargo pockets, giving her a small smile. He’d kept it on him. That gave her more than a small thrill.

But the notebook was empty of new writing.

“Didn’t have time,” he said.

“How about now?”

He looked around. “Here?”

“Sure. Unless you’re the sort to get stage fright…” Which she knew damn well he was not… “How about I go up a level and give you some privacy.”

She’d been up there for five minutes before he spoke again, saying just her name. She was sitting facing the wall working on the tree, and had to twist and bend low to look beneath her.

He was sprawled out on his back, knees up, using a thigh as a surface for steadying the notepad. He looked extremely comfortable. Kind of like a big, lethal wildcat taking a rest before pouncing… He smiled up at her and her pulse kicked. “I’m ready,” he said.

Good God. So was she. She cleared her throat. “Let’s hear it.”

“Number one,” he read. “Have sex on scaffolding.”

She choked and nearly fell off.

He flashed that devastatingly sexy grin. “I was watching you work above me. I didn’t know that painting was so sensual. You move as you paint, your whole body moves, did you know that?”

And he’d had quite the view from below her… She suddenly felt like amending her own list to also include having sex on scaffolding…

“Number two,” he read. “Encourage our new muralist to wear a dress when she paints.”

Her legs actually quivered. “You’re awful.”

“Awful sexy, right?”

He was teasing her, and she rolled her eyes and went back to her work. “Since you’re not taking this seriously…” she trailed off, and vowed to forget he was there.

“Oh, I’m taking this very seriously.”

“Get a room,” someone yelled up to them.

They both peered over the edge and found Kenna below, hands on hips and looking irritated. “You’re making me remember how long it’s been since I got laid,” she snapped, and strode off.

“Number three,” Hud went on as if Kenna hadn’t just called them out on their sexual tension. “Experiment with paints.”

“I can teach you how to paint,” she said. “But not on my wall.”

“Your wall?”

She blushed. “Yes. For the duration.”

“No worries.” His bad-boy smile, naughty to the core, reappeared. “I wasn’t talking about painting on your wall.”

“On paper?”

“Nope,” he said.

She blinked. “You can’t mean… body painting?”

“I can’t?”

Her entire being trembled at the thought of him, paintbrush in hand, working it across her body.

Maybe they did need a room.

“Oh boy,” she whispered, and had to sit again, which she did with a thunk that made him laugh.

“Okay,” she said. “I get it. The list is silly.”

There was a beat of silence and then he climbed up to her level on the scaffolding. Crouching at her side, he put a hand on her belly to steady her but didn’t speak until she opened her eyes.

“The list isn’t silly,” he said. “Far from it. I didn’t mean to trivialize it. But any list I’d make would have to be fluid. It’d change all the time as I change. Some things would become not as important as they were and other things would take precedence as I went through life. And that’s the point of the list, right? To make sure you’re living your life?”

She stared up at him, shocked to the core that he’d taken her from sheer lust to deep thought in a single heartbeat. “Yes,” she said. “You’re right.”

And he was. She wasn’t the list and she was cheating herself out of exactly what she’d been trying to do—live her life—by limiting herself to the things she’d written. “I need the notebook back.”

He pulled it from his pocket and handed it to her. She flipped to the back page, where she had her own list, and added:

Be flexible.

He read it upside down and smiled his approval.

Their gazes met and Bailey realized that once this mural was done she wouldn’t have this with him. She’d be gone. Back to Denver. But one thing facing death up close and personal had done for her was teach her to live in the here and now.

And her here and now still had at least a month on the clock, and she was determined to enjoy every single moment of it, even knowing that eventually she would be walking away.

When she shivered, Hudson zipped her jacket up to her neck and pulled her hood up over her ski cap, making sure she was covered. “You wearing sunscreen?” he asked. “We’re at altitude and your skin is fair.”

“Pale.”

“Fair,” he repeated. “And beautiful.”

He didn’t see her as pale and sickly and she could’ve thrown herself at him for that alone. But there was the whole on-a-scaffolding thing, so throwing herself anywhere would be dangerous.

Still not nearly as dangerous as melting under his touch…

At the look on her face, he grinned, and she couldn’t stop the question that fell from her lips. “Are you reading my mind?”

“Don’t have to. Everything you think crosses your face for the whole world to see.”

“Dammit.” She put her hands on her cheeks and sighed. “So now we both know what I want to do.”

“Do we?”

He asked this with such faux innocence that she laughed and shook her head. “You need me to paint you a picture?” she asked.

He grinned. “Would you? I’m confused, very confused, so make sure it’s real clear. Best add instructions.”

She laughed.

“Oh, I’m not kidding,” he said. “And I want those instructions, Bailey. In great detail.”

“Uh-huh,” she said dryly. “Because you have no idea what you’re doing, right?”

He was still smiling but his eyes were suddenly very serious. “When it comes to you? Hell no,” he said. “With you, I’m so far out of my league I can’t even see the league.”

She stared at him, her body suddenly very still, like it couldn’t quite take this in. Her brain also struggled to keep up. “Are we still playing?” she whispered. “Cuz I’m not very good at games.”

“I’m not playing with you at all.”

She blinked, trying to process what this meant. “Then what are we doing?”

His gaze touched over her features and then came back to her eyes. “You need to put a label on it?”