I love those make-up scenes…

Bills paid.

That ate up an hour.

Supplies ordered.

That ate up another hour.

He sketched out a couple of designs for a client who lived over at the army base. That took up forty-two minutes. The client was still debating out in the shop. Zach wished he’d make up his mind, because if he wanted the work, doing the tattoo would take up the next couple of hours and then he could go home.

But now, with his mind empty and his hands free, he found himself bent over his sketchbook and the image taking place wasn’t anything he could ever put on anybody.

It was Abby.

The way she’d been in that last portrait. Her gaze locked on him, eyes dark and full of love. Need. Like she was staring into the very soul of him.

The curve of her lip. The line of her jaw.

Her hair, the way it glinted in the light . . . even though it was just a pencil sketch, he could see the dark, rich auburn and his hands itched to feel the softness of it again.

The door opened and he kept his gaze on the portrait. “Did the guy decide on which design he wanted?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

Dropping the pencil, he lifted his head.

Abby stood in the door, her head cocked to the side, arms folded over her chest. It was a dangerous pose, because in that dress, her breasts looked like . . . whoa. Yeah. He thought that summed it up pretty much.

As a matter of fact, the entire package was just whoa. She was wearing one of those pinup girl‑ styled dresses again: a formfitting black sheath that fit her form oh so nicely, all the way down her to her knees. Against the black, her skin glowed like ivory and he was about ready to fall down and worship her.

She had on a pair of red heels . . . fuck. Red heels. Had he ever seen her in a pair of red heels?

He didn’t know, but now it was his life’s ambition to see her in just those heels . . . and nothing else. Assuming she wasn’t going to kick his ass to the curb. If she tried, his life’s ambition was going to be getting her to forgive him….

Focus, Zach. He dragged a hand over his face and swallowed the ache in his throat.

“Abby.”

And his voice cracked.

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