“Duh.”
He points at the different brushes I set up in a perfect line, his thick fingers lingering over a paint tube. “You like painting?”
“I love it like a sordid affair. It’s a hidden secret, only known by a select few.”
“I love a good secret.” He pulls a finger to his lips, drawing my eyes to the fullness of them.
“You and everyone else. Care to share one of your own and make it even?” My mouth runs quicker than my brain, not caring enough to filter my words.
“I’m shit at secrets.” He shrugs.
“Then, I’m shit at talking.” My arms cross over my chest, making my boobs hike up an inch. Whoops.
His eyes lower as I uncross my arms. “You have a bite to you. Fine. I like to read at least a chapter of a book every night before going to bed. It’s a tradition I’ve had since childhood that I still keep, despite a busy schedule.” He says his admission like a dirty secret, something contrasting against his athletic image. Somehow it makes him sexier.
“What’s your favorite book?” Doubt colors my voice.
“If you have a favorite, I don’t trust you. Any book lover has at least five they can name off the top of their head.” His blue eyes hold mine.
Oh, wow. This guy actually likes reading. He grins when I roll my eyes with little effort, not putting much sass behind it.
“All right. Name your top author then since you’re such a scholar.” My voice rasps. I imagine him in bed, blonde hair ruffled while he rocks reading glasses and a thick paperback because he’d rather be practical than carry a heavy hardcover.
Sigh. Damn him and his nerdy secret.
“Brandon Sanderson. No questions asked.” His voice drops.
“A man who prefers to live in a fantasy. How cute.”
“I’d be your best fantasy, no book needed.”
A kid comes to my paint station and plops himself into the seat in front of me.
“Ciao, amico. Che cosa vuoi—” I turn toward the child.
“Shit. You’re hot and speak Italian.” He smiles wide at me before he turns toward the child. “Twenty euros. Leave.” The blonde-haired, blue-eyed man holds out a crisp euro straight from a designer wallet. The kid gets the meaning of his words as he grabs it and runs, leaving us alone yet again.
I laugh at the ridiculousness of the exchange. My new acquaintance catches me off guard by sitting and crossing his arms.
“Do your absolute dirtiest.” His wicked grin fills my chest with warmth. It’s a new sensation I can’t pin down, heat searing its way up toward my cheeks.
“If you say so. But I don’t think you can handle it, or me for that matter.” I offer him a playful grin of my own. If my heart wasn’t hammering in my chest, I’d gloat at my flirtatiousness.
“Please. Don’t insult my talents.” He presses a large hand against his heart while his lip wobbles on command. I like the way he drags out his vowels and emphasizes his Ts, his accent unplaceable yet distinct from my fused American-Italian one.
“All two of them?” I shake my head at him.
He drops his head back and lets out a deep laugh, not giving a damn about the staring parents around us.
“And what two talents do you think I have? Do tell.” He smiles at me, revealing straight white teeth. An idea pops into my head about mucking up his perfect face, wanting to take away his prettiness and remove some of his appeal.
I tap my chin with a paintbrush. “Bribing people and not taking a hint. Two very undesirable traits if I do say so myself.”
He shakes his head at me, his lips fighting a smile. I squeeze black paint out onto the palette and swirl my brush in the dark color.
My fingers raise his chin, revealing bright eyes and thick, dirty blonde lashes. “Now keep still. I don’t want to ruin the look before it starts.”
The stranger shudders when my fingers press against his face, my brush sweeping across his skin, black paint replacing tan skin. He smells clean and expensive, a mix of freshly showered with some fancy cologne. His blue eyes remain on my face the entire time except when I ask him to close them for me to paint his eyelids.