Zoya Hart has been eluding her gold-digging stepmother for the last few years. Knowing that this woman will do anything to gain control of her and her late father's company, Zoya finds herself hiding out on a farm. Now, with a PI on her trail, Zoya'...
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Standing at the window, phone in hand, Zoya watched the gardener trim shrubs. Garrett came each Thursday, quickly removed his shirt, and tied a bandanna around his head like a warrior. More than once, Delphine had tried to get her tenant interested in the guy, and he was nice to look at. Lean planes, hard muscles, and a light dusting of hair on his tanned chest. From an artist's standpoint, Zoya wanted to capture his image on canvas but figured she'd come across creepy if she asked him to pose.
A photo would be enough. She waited until he fired up the hedge trimmer again, then framed his body within the screen, and clicked several times. Zoya chuckled. Across the way, Delphine had binoculars. The artist in her couldn't resist a beautiful body.
There was something about the male form that fascinated Zoya. Powerful hips. Bulging biceps. Defined abs—and his manhood. She found it most beautiful. Sculptors and artists had admired the human physique since time began. It just so happened she concentrated on the male species. Not that she couldn't appreciate females, she did, but right now they didn't captivate her in the same way.
She strolled back inside and finished the bowl of grapes and strawberries she'd brought home from breakfast with Delphine. Funny. Breakfast with Delphine, sounded like a movie title. She popped a grape into her mouth.
She'd needed a distraction and Garrett was that. She smiled. He was just the sort of guy Roman thought she belonged with.
She'd called Mariana to let her know everything was fine, but that had been months ago. Mariana had caught her up on all the Arcadia news. She and Flynn's wedding was set early next year. He was working during the week but came back to the country on weekends. Ophelia had gone home, so Roman was alone.
Zoya had wanted to ask questions. A million of them. Was Roman drinking and smoking again? Bringing women home? Taking care of Homer? Missing her at all? But she was afraid of the answers.
Hard to believe it was almost the end of July. She painted every day, most times into the night, and other than two portraits of Homer and one of Mariana, Tommy, and Flynn, she'd been obsessed with Roman.
Canvas after canvas leaned against the walls of her bedroom, all in different phases, but none completed. Hands. Torso. Chest. Backside. Frontal view. Half-naked. Totally nude. She drew a deep breath. She should toss them out. Build a bonfire. See if she could burn out her burning desire.
Funny.
Not funny.
Looking at his image and thinking about him was torture. She didn't understand why she did it. Maybe that's why she'd skipped adding his face to any of the paintings. Just couldn't bring herself to look him eye to eye. She'd tried, but each time, pain squeezed the air from her lungs.
She waited for the day that stopped. Then she'd know she was over him. But today wasn't that day.
The motor on the hedge trimmer died and Zoya stepped back to the porch. Delphine came across the courtyard. Dressed in white slacks with a hot pink silk blouse, two turquoise cuff bracelets adorned each wrist, and a matching oversized dragonfly pin rested at her throat. Her shoes were orange with sequin owls on the toes. The woman was a palette of color and design. Zoya wished she could get away with that style, but she'd feel like a clown. Probably look like one, too.
