Read an Excerpt
After two hours, of which very little was spent painting, she announced solemnly that she was finished with the portrait.
Mick came around the easel, and stood next to her. "It's wonderful, Ruth. But--"
"What? What's wrong? You don't like it?"
"Whoa, sweetheart." He placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "I said it's wonderful. I just don't think I really look like that. That's all," he said with a shrug.
"Oh." She grinned sheepishly, then slowly, hesitantly, her smile slipped into one of pure devilment. "I'm afraid you definitely look like that, Mick. All scruffy and gritty. It's not a very attractive look, mind you."
He cut off her words with a deliciously playful kiss. "Are you trying to tell me you don't find me the least bit attractive?"
Ruth nipped at his lips and he responded with a low moan. "I never said that."
"You're going to be the death of me, woman."
"Oh, I hope not." She stroked his scruffy beard. "I haven't been kissed nearly enough."
He held her face in his hands and took her mouth with a fiery possession.
No, she definitely hadn't been kissed enough and she never would.
