She’d just finished that when there was a knock on her studio door. It was after ten o’clock and she didn’t have to look to know that it was Flint who was standing outside of that door. She willed him to go away, but then she heard his deep voice say ever so softly, “It’s me, Jess,” and she knew that wasn’t going to happen. She was aware that he could see the lights and would know that no one else would be using the studio at that time of night. So she didn’t have a choice but to open that door to him. And nearly wilt at that first close-up glimpse of him in days. Tall and lean and muscular. His hair shiny clean and carelessly disheveled. His face clean-shaven and so handsome that it made her just want to stare at him for hours. Wearing a pair of low-slung jeans and a black T-shirt that hugged every inch of that sculpted body. And looking at her with those coffee-colored eyes that seemed to convey confusion and hopefulness at once. How was she supposed to resist all that?
