“How so?”
Later, much later, they lay in a tangle of sweat-soaked sheets. He was drawing lazy circles on her stomach. She was staring at the ceiling, a small, satisfied smile on her face. x art gianna morning tryst
She traced the scar near his eyebrow. “Make me breakfast first.” “How so
“I was painting you in my head,” he murmured. “The light on your shoulder. The way your hair fell across the pillow.” She traced the scar near his eyebrow
“You took the warmth with you.”
The first thing Gianna became aware of was the warmth. It pooled through the sheer linen curtains, turning the white sheets into a river of liquid gold. The second thing was the weight of an arm draped across her waist, possessive even in sleep.
Gianna turned her head, looking at him. The artist. The morning light. The promise in his dark eyes.