white sheet of paper. The waves in his shoulder-length, midnight-black hair would look amazing against a bright background. And that stubble that stretched up his deeply tanned jaw? She could capture that with a pointillism technique, then shade it ever so carefully to emphasize his strong bone structure.
Her fingers itched with the desire to slide over his sculpted biceps not covered by his ebony, chest-hugging T-shirt. The curves of those muscles were perfect, gorgeous, the way God meant them to be. And his lips...they were sensual, yet strong, and far too serious. She would want to draw them smiling. Otherwise, the black-and-white sketch would be too severe, intimidating. Yes, definitely smiling.
She tapped her chin and studied the narrowing of his waist where his dark T-shirt hung over his jeans. Did he have one of those sexy V’s where the abdominal muscles tapered past his hips? She’d bet he did. And his thick, muscular thighs filled out his faded jeans as if they’d been tailored—which maybe they had. A man like him, so tall and perfectly proportioned, probably couldn’t buy off-the-rack.
Scuffed brown boots peeked out from the ragged hem of his pants, making her smile. A cowboy in the Glades. That might be a fun way to draw him, maybe with a lasso thrown around that big stuffed gator Buddy had recently put in his store, Swamp Buggy Outfitters, to draw in tourists. She’d have to add a hat, of course. Or she could change those boots to snakeskin and draw him—
“Ma’am? Hello?”
She blinked and focused on his face. He must have been talking to her for a moment, but she hadn’t heard him. No surprise there. Happened all the time. He stood a few feet away, his thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets, watching her with a curious expression.
As she fully met his gaze for the first time, something inside her shifted beneath an avalanche of shock and pleasure. His eyes...they were the exact shade of cobalt blue as the vase. They were, quite simply, amazing. Beautiful. Incredibly intriguing. Her fingers twitched against her palms as if she were already grasping a pencil. Or maybe a paintbrush.
His eyes widened, and she realized she still hadn’t said anything. “Sorry, hello,” she said. “I tend to stare at people or things and zone out.”
The almost-grin that curved his sensual lips seemed to be a mix of amusement and confusion—an unfortunate combination of emotions that she was quite used to people feeling around her. When she was a child, it had hurt her feelings. As an adult, she felt like telling people to just grow up and deal with it. So she was different. So what? Everyone was different in one way or another. That was what made the world interesting.
He motioned toward the inn. “Yours?”
“Yep. You looking for a place to stay?”
“What makes you think I’m not a local?”
She laughed. “Not only are you not a local, you’ve never been here before or you’d know that was a silly question. There are only a few hundred residents in Mystic Glades. And there’s not a stranger in the bunch. We all know each other.”
“What about that young man I saw go inside a minute ago? You know him, too?”
Her smile faded. Was this one of the men Eddie was mixed up with? This man, as ruggedly gorgeous as he was—looked like the wrong crowd, dangerous even. She crossed her arms. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “Just testing your theory—that you know everyone. Maybe he’s a tourist like me. Doesn’t matter.” He held out his hand. “I’m Colton Graham. And if you’ve got a room available tonight, I’d appreciate a place to stay.”
She reluctantly shook his hand, not quite ready to trust his claim of being a tourist. “Silver Westbrook.”
Still, if he was a tourist, then his interest in Eddie was probably just harmless curiosity, nothing she really needed to worry about. And that meant that she didn’t have to feel guilty for wanting to enjoy the play of light across the interesting planes of his face. She rarely painted anymore, preferring to sketch with pencil or charcoal, sometimes pen, without all the mess or work involved with setting up her paints and then cleaning up afterward. But the best way to capture him might be with paint, perhaps watercolors.
“Ma’am?”
She blinked. “Sorry. Spaced out again, didn’t I?”
The almost-grin was back. “Yeah, you did. Is something wrong? You seem preoccupied.”
“No, no. Everything’s fine.” She waved her hand impatiently, tired of having to explain her unfortunate quirks to everyone she met.
At his uncertain look she sighed. “I get lost in shapes, textures, colors. I can’t help it.”
“Ah. You’re an artist. I know the type. My sister does that a lot.” He smiled, a full-out grin this time that reached his incredible blue eyes. And completely transformed him, just as she’d thought it would. Smiling, he looked approachable, warm, perfect. She had to put him on canvas. It would be a sin not to. And she wouldn’t use watercolors. They were too muted for this vibrant man. No, acrylics...that was what she’d use to capture every detail in vivid color.
Her gaze dropped to his narrow waist. “Have you ever modeled?” she asked. “I’d love to paint you nude. I would pay a sitting fee, of course. I’m a bit strapped for cash right now, but I could let you stay a night without charge and call it even.”
He made a strangled sound in his throat and coughed. “Um, no, thanks. That’s not really my thing.” He waved toward the inn again. “But I would like to rent a room for the night, if you have a vacancy.”
Swallowing her disappointment, she glanced around, suddenly very much aware of how alone the two of them were and how separated the inn was from the other businesses. The street was deserted, with most of the residents out of town at their day jobs or inside the local businesses. The idea of taking this man, this complete stranger, into her home had her feeling unsettled.
“You don’t have any vacancies, then,” he said, interpreting her silence as a no.
“It’s not that. Actually, the grand opening is tomorrow. I hadn’t really planned on renting out any rooms tonight.”
He waited, quietly watching her.
Why was she hesitating? This wariness was silly. If she was going to run a bed-and-breakfast, she’d have to get used to renting rooms to people she didn’t know. And drop-ins were bound to happen. It certainly wouldn’t be nice to turn him away when she was fully capable of offering him a place for the night. And the extra income was always welcome.
“Okay, why not?” she said. “But don’t expect me to cook for you today. That starts tomorrow, when my help arrives.”
“I’m sure I’ll figure something out so I don’t starve.”
His smile was infectious, and she couldn’t help smiling, too. “Just one night, then?”
He glanced toward the front doors, then in the direction of the airboat dock about fifty yards away, which was barely visible from here. Or maybe he was looking at the church with its old-fashioned steeple and bell that the ushers rang by pulling on a rope every Sunday morning at precisely nine o’clock.
“Just tonight,” he said.
His rich baritone
