The Lottery Winner by Emilie Rose Read Free Book Online Page A

his suntan lotion. The air turned thick and humid, making it hard to breathe. She shuffled backward, putting space between them, then wished she hadn’t when the distance widened her view, making it impossible to miss that he had those little dents disappearing beneath the front waistband of his trunks. Seeing those hollows up close and in person on someone you knew was a lot different than sketching them from a distance in a nude art class. The inclination to trace them came out of nowhere and was totally foreign. Her stubby nails bit into her palms.
    Aaron had been a dedicated gym rat, but despite the hours he’d put in, her ex-fiancé hadn’t had a body like Logan’s.
    Logan shoved up his glasses once more. “You’re an artist?”
    â€œOh. No. I’m an art—” Teacher. She bit her tongue on the word. “Dabbler.”
    â€œThis is really good, Jessie. You must make a lot of money selling your dabbles.”
    She blinked in surprise. “Oh, I don’t sell them. Painting’s...just a hobby.”
    A line creased his forehead, and his narrowed gaze focused on her. He jerked a thumb, indicating the canvas. “Do you have more of these?”
    â€œYes. Why?”
    â€œMay I see them?”
    She pressed her bare toes against the warm dock. She didn’t share her art with anyone except her family, and these days she rarely showed them her efforts.
    â€œMaybe some other time. I need to get dressed for work.”
    â€œThe restaurant doesn’t open until four today. You can spare five minutes. I’ll even help you carry your stuff inside so you can do it in one trip and save time.”
    She didn’t want him in her house. “That’s nice of you, but I don’t think—”
    â€œIf the rest of your work is as good as this I might have a profitable proposition.”
    Intrigued despite her aversion to him, she wrestled with her conscience. In the end, she caved because she didn’t know how to politely refuse. “A quick look.”
    Carefully grabbing the still-wet cormorant and her paint palette, she turned and made her way to the house. He grabbed the easel and followed. Inside, she propped the canvas against the sunroom wall beside the other pieces, set the palette on the newspaper she’d left on the table and automatically reached to remove her sunglasses. Then she remembered her lack of contacts and left her shades in place. She paused to let her eyes adjust, but even then the lenses were too dark to wear inside. As much as she hated leaving Logan unsupervised in her house, she had to get her contact lenses or risk tripping over something. She ran a mental checklist. There shouldn’t be anything left in plain sight that he couldn’t see.
    â€œSet that over there and have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
    She hustled into her bedroom, shut and locked the door, then entered the bathroom and did the same. That had been too close a call. She whipped off the sunglasses and hat and checked the mirror. Familiar blue eyes stared back at her—not the cobalt blue of Logan’s. She’d inherited her daddy’s pale, silvery-blue irises. She quickly inserted the nonprescription colored contacts, then she shoved the box of dark chocolate-macchiato semipermanent hair coloring beneath the sink. Covering her blond roots would have to wait until Logan was gone. She took a moment to don a cover-up then plopped her hat back on her head and checked her image again. Her brown-eyed disguise was back in place. Even her mother wouldn’t recognize her.
    She went to find then get rid of Logan. He wasn’t in the sunroom. Panic welled within her. Where was he? And what was he doing? She raced into the kitchen. Empty. Through the dining room. No Logan. She found him in the living room. He stood, fist to chin, studying the paintings and drawings she had scattered about.
    He didn’t acknowledge her arrival, and his