raised his arms and slipped his dark tee shirt over his head, revealing his heavily muscled chest. He was hairless, his skin a pale gold and beautifully smooth, other than a long scar over the left side of his ribs. Made her want to slide her hand over that wall of solid muscle, to stroke the flat nipples with her fingertips, to take them into her mouth and…
She grabbed two sheets of transfer paper and taped them together to get a large enough piece to cover him from shoulder to shoulder, and began to trace an outline. She tried not to breathe him in, but somehow his fresh scent invaded her nostrils. It was all she could do not to close her eyes and luxuriate in the way he smelled, the heat of his big body only inches from hers.
“I just want to be sure I have the exact space,” she murmured, “the curve of muscle…Do you have ideas about the background?”
“Hadn’t thought about it. Right now I’m thinking about the fact that your hands are on me.”
She was thinking about that, too. God, she was thinking about it—about where else she’d like to put her hands.
“Well, stop it, Finn.”
Stop it, Rosie!
“We have work to do,” she said. “Talk to me about background elements.”
“I thought I’d leave that up to you.”
She couldn’t help but glance up then. “Oh, really? Handing over the control?”
“You’re the artist. I’m just—”
“The Dom,” she cut in.
He arched a brow. “I thought we were leaving all that at The Bastille.”
“Oh, we are.”
“Hmm. I have a feeling there might be a little power play going on here right now.” He lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Just don’t think for a moment that I’m not the Dom, pretty girl.”
“We’ll see how you feel about that once I get my needle into your skin.”
“Won’t change a thing,” he said, leaning back in the chair, all smug confidence.
“We’ll see. Give me a few minutes to draw this up. Sassy will get you some more coffee if you want it.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
He raised his arms and clasped his hands behind his neck, giving her a view of his bulging biceps, the smooth line that ran along the tattooed underside. She’d always loved that area of a man’s arm—the tender skin there. Even more beautiful to her with the ink. Knowing how much it hurt to get tattooed there just made it hotter.
She had to swallow once more as she went back to Henry Lee’s office—now Christie’s office—to draw at the big wood desk in peace. The station with the light tables the artists often drew on was in view of her station, and Finn. Too hard to concentrate.
The minute she sat down Sassy came in.
“Jesus Christ on a popsicle stick! What the hell, Rosie? That guy looks like he wants to eat you alive.”
“He already has,” she muttered.
Sassy plopped down on the edge of the old desk. “Tell me everything.”
“There’s no time. I have to draw.” When she saw her friend wasn’t about to back down she relented. “Okay. So I played with him at The Bastille on New Year’s Eve.”
“And it was an intense night.”
“You are so holding out on me.”
“Sassy, he’s my client now and I need to get a grip. We’ll talk later.”
“Yes, we will. And I’m gonna want details.”
“Fine. Now go keep him entertained. I need a few minutes.”
As Sassy left, Rosie reached over to Christie’s iPod dock and slipped the headphones on, cranked up some Godsmack and let the art take over her hands and her mind.
The design came easily and twenty minutes later she thought she had something he’d like. She went back out to the main floor and handed Finn the drawing.
“What do you think?”
“To be honest, it looks perfect. It looks like…looks like Ken. I like it.”
“I’ll blend where the water and the smoke meet in the middle around the Kanji symbols—strength and power for the koi and the dragon. And there’ll be a lot more shading on your