Only the painting wasn’t to be of the blood bay stallion by himself. Miles insisted Anna be in the portrait too. She couldn’t refuse the request. Didn’t want to refuse it. Agreeing meant spending more time with Miles, and she always wanted more time with him.There was no doubt about it. Anna McKenna was in love. Thoroughly, completely, devastatingly in love. Did Miles have any idea how she felt about him? If he did, he didn’t let on.“That’s perfect,” he called to her from behind his easel. “Keep that expression. Try not to move.”It was much harder than it sounded, to hold any one particular expression, to stand like a statue. “Have you thought of asking Miss Carter to take a photograph and then paint from it? Everyone says her pictures are gorgeous. Then both me and Star would stand still for you and never change an expression or swat at a fly.” The idea appealed to Anna for more than one reason. If Miles was looking at a photograph while he painted, Anna would be free to move about and to gaze upon him with complete freedom.“Hold still.
