“I’m not going to steal them.” She turned in my arms. She smelled of sunshine and ripe peaches today. With her hair scraped back in a braid, there was nothing but full throttle Dahlia. Her elven chin that made me itch for my charcoals, and those huge dark eyes that saw too damn much. “When I was in that room, I couldn’t stop looking at that ceiling piece. And here it is. You did that.”
My heart was slamming in my chest. “It’s just a study, Hellcat.”
“It’s not. If that’s all you wanted, you could have taken a photo on your phone. You drew this because it moved you, same as me.” She tipped up her chin to meet my gaze.
“I’ll send you photos.”
“I like this interpretation more. Would you let me scan them in for a tin or glass reproduction?”
“No.” My work didn’t deserve to be in here. I would find real artists who would do a better job.
“Why not?”
“I just don’t want to.”
“There are tons of walls to decorate in here. Those are beautiful.”
“They’re not—” I cut myself off before I said they weren’t worthy. “That’s not the direction I want to go in.”
She sighed. “All right. I’m really happy you want to keep important pieces of the history of this house intact, at least.”
“Why buy a Victorian if you don’t want to embrace the history?”
“You would be surprised how many stupid things are done when people have more money than sense. Just ask Shelby’s fiancé. His house looked like a child had been let loose in a SkyMall catalog.”
“And she still wants to marry him?”
Tension broken, she laughed and rested her hand on my chest. “He’s learning the difference between spending to get a dopamine hit and creating a home.”
I didn’t know what a home was, or what it meant. But this house was more than a big art project for me. Its history and character spoke to something inside of me that I was still trying to figure out.
Similarly, I was trying to figure out this woman and why she made me yearn for things I had no business wanting.
I took the notebook away from her. “These drawings will hopefully entice Charlie Tarrow to work on the house.”
Her mouth dropped open. “The Charlie Tarrow?”
“He lives in the area. Kind of.”
“I know. Not that I’ve ever worked with him, but I know the name. Question is, how do you?”
“Not many stained-glass artists around these days. I’m just hoping this house is interesting enough to get him to take me on.”
“When you go in, you go all in.”
I brushed my hand along her hip to the hem of her shorts. “That’s a fact.” She swallowed and I couldn’t drag my attention away from her throat, or the softness I knew I’d find there.
My phone blared from my pocket and jerked us apart.
Only a handful of people had my number. I stepped away from her and pulled it out to see Archer Baldwin’s name on the readout. I immediately picked up. “Finally.”
“Nice to talk to you too, jackass.” Archer’s dry as dust voice came through the line with a side of static.
“Where are you?”
“Leaving Turks.”
“I thought you were in Aruba.”
“I got bored. Followed a stewardess to her next location. Spent a lovely week with the incredible Celeste.”
I snorted. “Why does this not surprise me?”
“She has a very interesting life, as well as a tattoo on her—”
“Okay, I’m good without the details.”
Archer chuckled. “Since when?”
I glanced over my shoulder. Since her, which was also a problem. She snaked her hand around me and snatched my notebook again. “Hey!”
“Hey what?” Archer asked.
“Not you.”
“Am I interrupting? Oh my God, you finally got laid!”
“Shut up. Did you listen to my message or check your email?”
