Janie lugged three canvas bags from her car and muscled them across the apartment complex and up her stairs. She’d had a good amount of supplies left after the excursion to Arizona, but there’d been some gaps in her inventory. Then, when she got into the art store with a bank account full of money…

She paused outside of her door with her loot, trying to shift in such a way that she could get her hand free to grab the handle.

“I got it.” Tim from next door made a show of jogging over, though the speed was no faster than walking. The light shone off his bald head and diffused completely within his big, bushy black beard.

“Thanks.” Janie waited for him to turn the handle and push the door wide.

“Groceries?” he asked, loitering in the doorway after she’d walked in.

“No. Supplies.”

“Cool. Hey.” He took a step into her space and took a quick look at the bare walls. “Oh. I thought Joe said you had a bunch more art. Dude. Girl. Yo!” He paused with his hand out, lending gravity to his nonsense exclamation. “That painting of the desert was awesome. I mean, I’ve been to the desert, you know. I’ve been on ’shrooms in the desert. But it still didn’t look as cool as that. Check out where we put it. C’mon.” He gestured her out of the apartment.

“On the wall?” She dropped the bags near the couch. She wasn’t sure where she’d put them. There was barely enough space to move in her room, and her closet was full.

“Yeah. But like… Seriously, you have to come see.”

“No, thanks.”

“No. Ser-iously.”

“Can I help you with something?”

Shivers washed over Janie’s skin. That voice was deep and rough and masculine. Although it was much too protective for dealing with a stoned neighbor at two o’clock in the afternoon. Dave needed to dial it way back.

“Hey, bro.” Tim backed out of the doorway to let him through. “Did you see that painting she did?”

“I did, yeah. Why are you in my way?”

“Because Lady Fate is a tricky bitch. Here. I’ll interrupt her grand plan.” Tim stepped to the side. “I’m trying to get her to come look at where we put it. We took the TV down, too. We’re moving it. That painting needs space. We might not even need a TV. That’s how awesome that painting is.”

“Or that’s how high you are.” Dave crossed the threshold, his perfectly sculpted bare chest glistening with sweat. His sweats clung to him in deliciously obscene places.

“Yeah, probably.” Tim filed back into the doorway. “But seriously, it would do you proud. It is on full display.”

Dave glanced at her, nodded in hello, then scanned the canvas bags next to the couch.

“I just brought those in. I can move them.” She went to the island and sat down instead. There would be plenty of time to clean up. Tomorrow.

“I have to work tonight.” Dave stopped near the beginning of the hallway, half obscured by the corner. “I won’t be back until early in the morning.”

“Wait, do you live here now?” Tim edged into the apartment.

Dave glanced back at him, his expression unreadable.

“Are you eating dinner?” Janie asked. “And by eating, I really mean cooking it for me to eat, because I’m hungry.”

A small smile surfaced on Dave’s face. He looked toward his bedroom but didn’t start walking.

Before she could say, “I’m kidding,” Tim jumped in. “Can I stay? I am also hungry.”

Dave sighed, his mood turning on a dime, and stalked toward the door. Tim backed away quickly. Dave grabbed it and swung it shut.

“Okay, then,” Janie heard, muffled through the wood. “Talk to you later.”

“That wasn’t very nice.” Janie hopped off the stool and followed Dave down the hall. “He’s on the neighborhood watch. Not that he does much watching.”

“He’s a clown.” Dave sauntered into his bedroom.

“Yes, he is. Which is why he’s so fun to have around.” Janie stopped in the doorway in time to catch Dave throwing the balled-up fabric he had been carrying into the hamper in the corner. Without turning to shut the door behind him, he pushed down his sweats, exposing the tight boxer briefs she’d seen earlier in the day. This time, however, they were the worse for wear—sweat stained the area at the top of his butt cheeks.

That should be a whole lot grosser than it is.

“What’s your gig for tonight?” Janie asked, curious despite it being none of her business. She folded her arms and leaned against the door frame.

“A forty-year-old divorcée. It’s a good gig because she’ll be easy to please, and she won’t be used to cuddling. She just wants to explore her new liberation.”

“You’re not a cuddler, then?”

“Not with strangers, no.”

“Hmm.” All that wasn’t nearly as interesting as Janie had hoped.

Which raised the question, why was it interesting at all?

But it was, in some strange way. She was drawn to the taboo, after all.

She turned away as Dave stripped down his underwear. The man clearly had no qualms about nudity. When she heard the shower come on, she skirted to just outside the bathroom. She had no qualms about disturbing his privacy.

“Hey,” she said. “Just so you know—in case you care, or whatever—I called Madison today about helping me get something going with my art.”

“What?” he shouted.

She edged in closer, glancing through the billowing steam at the flawless male form under the stream of water. He really had something special where that body was concerned. She knew he worked hard on it, and man oh man did that hard work pay off.

“I swallowed my pride and made the call. I asked Madison for help.” She tried to focus on picking at a divot in the wooden frame to keep from staring in at him like a Peeping Tom. “She said she would. Elatedly, I might add. I think she hopes it’ll give me purpose or direction or something.”

“It will.” The water slapped the floor of the bathtub, the unit a combined bathtub/shower situation with a hard-water-stained sliding glass door. Janie glanced in to see him running his hands down the front of his chest. Suds glided over his bumpy stomach muscles.

She jerked her gaze away again. “She did a quick Google search while we were on the phone—she was at work—and said that galleries tend to choose artists based on relationships. So they either know the artist’s work, or they know the artist in some way. That lines up with what my douche ex-boyfriend used to say. He’d always claim he never got placement because he didn’t know anyone.”

Something resembling a snort sounded from the shower. “So you need to make friends.” His deep voice echoed around the bathroom.

“Basically, yeah. The big money is going to be in New York or Paris or somewhere. But I was thinking…” The water shut off. The glass door rumbled along the track, opening up. Just like that, a naked man stood before her with droplets of water sprinting down his big body. His large package hung amid groomed hair, drawing her gaze before she was able to rip it away yet again. “Do you need a towel? Or, like, a blanket?”

“A blanket? Oh. Because of the toddler thing?” He rubbed his fingers through his dark hair, shedding water.

“That sounds gross when you say it.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Fine. Because of my giant cock. That better?” He grinned as he rubbed water out of his eyes. “But no, thanks. I’ve got one. What were you thinking?”

Well, his cock, basically. Somehow, though, she didn’t think that’s what he was referring to.

She tapped the doorjamb for something to focus on other than his body. “Maybe I can try to get into a smaller place in Sacramento, just to get started. When I see how that’s received, I can tweak the collection or maybe just learn how to pimp myself a little better. If I can develop a bit of a buzz in Sacramento, maybe I can expand to larger cities. If I’m good enough, maybe—eventually—I can get a show in New York. I mean, that’s everyone’s dream, right? So that’s a far cry from possible, but we have to reach for some—”

“You’ll get there.” He stopped in front of her, his towel hugging his hips. “That isn’t a dream for you. It’s inevitable.” His voice was filled with conviction. “But that’s a good plan.”

She cleared out of the way. “But, of course, I need to get into one of those galleries first.”

In his room, he pulled off the towel and dabbed his body, exposing a muscular butt as perfect as the rest of him. Good gracious, the man was fine.

“Heavens,” she muttered, abruptly turning and heading to the door. This was her friend and her roommate—she should not be turned on. That was a no-no.

“Heavens?” He laughed, a carefree, uninhibited sound. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve gotten so used to stripping down while living alone that I keep forgetting to censor myself here.”

“It’s fine. Really.” She wiped sweat off her forehead and squeezed her upper thighs together. The pounding in her lady bits was more than a little distracting. “But to even get in a gallery here, I need to know someone. So I guess it’s time to do a little stalking and try to throw myself in front of someone like Gonzo.”

“Like Gonzo? Oh, from the Muppets. I’m dressed. You can come back in.”

He was buttoning a pair of black slacks, his upper body still bare. His stomach muscles flexed, once again drawing her gaze.

That didn’t really count as dressed. As far as her staring was concerned, anyway. Although it turned out her eyes had an equal-opportunity policy when it came to Dave’s body. Any body part hanging out, whether it be a bulging bicep or a large, strong hand, drew her notice. She needed to work harder on eye contact. That was the key. That would keep her honest.

His gaze came up, catching hers. Those beautiful, deep eyes drew her in, velvety brown and shining with intelligence and humor. That handsome face with the strong jaw and tiny cleft in the chin made her stomach flip.

Right. So maybe just wear a blindfold while at home. That was the only way to escape his handsomeness. Blindness.

“Are you going to use the paintings you came back from Arizona with as examples?” He pulled a white dress shirt out of his closet.

“No. They aren’t inspired. They’re not much more than doodles that stoned guys rave over.” Janie laughed, shaking her head. The guys next door were a trip. She planned to do something else for them just to see their reaction. A light bulb went off. “Would doing something small for a stoner crowd go over well, do you think? Maybe start there?”

“No.” He buttoned up his shirt. “I think you should start how you mean to end. If you eventually want to play to a more upscale crowd, do something they would understand. Do something they’d pay for. You need a wow factor.”

She nodded, because that was smart. She’d need to keep her eye on the prize, rather than get distracted and paint whatever popped into her head, like normal.

“Do artists use pen names, do you think? Like writers?” she asked.

He shrugged. “You probably can. I was able to in my trade.”

“Blaze?”

“No. Not my whore name.” He flashed her a boyishly charming grin. “I have a fitness model name. And it isn’t Dave.”

“Is it Dan the Wonder Man?”

He grabbed out a swanky watch from his dresser, one of three.

“Phil the Fitness Thrill?” she tried.

Chuckles shook his body.

“Give me a hint.” She wandered closer, checking out the other watches. Her eyes widened when she saw one stamped Rolex. “Are you serious with that watch?” She pursed her lips. “It better be a knockoff.”

“It’s not, why?”

“Did you seriously pay— Never mind. You have the money; why wouldn’t you spend it?” She looked it over.

“I bought that in my going nuts phase. A poor kid that all of a sudden gets a windfall of money?”

“That kid buys stupid shit.”

“He does indeed.”

“Haven’t you only been in your profession for a few years?”

“I didn’t say that kid had grown up yet. Girls mature faster than boys. I got time.”

She thought back to all the extra stuff she’d bought at the art store. Girls might mature faster, but that didn’t mean they were any better with money.

After Dave had slipped on his shoes, he paused in front of a line of colognes arranged on the dresser.

“Need help?” She turned toward the selections.

“Sure. I always overthink this part.”

“Why?” She picked up the first bottle and sniffed the top.

“Different women like different fragrances. Those women are paying for an idea. They’re paying for the perfect date. What I wear, how I act—it all matters. Including what I smell like.”

Janie sniffed the next. “I don’t agree. As far as smell goes, I mean. I think you should pick the fragrance that works best with your whole”—she moved her hands in front of him—“thing. That works with you. Women will go for it regardless of whether they would’ve picked that particular smell or not.” She sniffed the rest. “For example.” She sprayed the one that read Chanel on herself. “I like this one the best.” She grabbed another with a muskier, manlier scent. “And for you, I like this one.”

She squirted his chest, then stepped closer, reaching up to his neck. He bent slowly to make it easier on her, or maybe he was afraid he’d get shot in the face. His eyes locked on to hers. “You chose my favorite scent,” he said.

“I know. It fits you.”

“No. I mean, to spray on yourself. I like the smell of that one the best. I choose that when I go out. When I’m not working.”

“Oh.” She did a one-shoulder shrug, embarrassed and not sure why. It wasn’t like it really mattered. It was the best scent, after all. Just not the best one to display the sheer masculinity he oozed without even trying.

The spray had wet the skin over his pulsing vein, showing how quickly his heart was beating.

She exhaled as heat rolled through her, reacting to his proximity. “Fragrances change as they react with a person’s skin,” she said softly. “With their heat.” She let the bottle of cologne drop slowly onto the dresser, meeting his eyes again. “You’ll be irresistible.”

His hand came up. With his finger, he lightly tapped the other side of his neck.

Breathing laboriously, she reached up, her movements slow. Her chest tight.

“Do you think so?” His words were a low hum, vibrating through her body.

Her soft moan turned into a throat clearing. She sprayed the place where his finger had touched, watching that vein throb.

“Yes,” she whispered, meaning to move back—but she couldn’t.

“Where will you paint?”

The question was out of the blue, but it didn’t take her out of the moment. Far from it. She closed her eyes, internalizing her various feelings. Letting the emotion surge up and dictate her actions, like she did right before she started painting.

Her hand found his chest. His heart. It beat strong and sure under her palm. The energy of it, the force, sizzled through the contact and all the way up her arm. She paused, soaking it in. Relishing in the pleasant hum igniting deep in her middle.

She let out another breath. Her body trembled; she was anxious to step closer and let his arms fall around her. Let his lips close the distance and claim hers. Equally as powerful was the desire to step back. To close herself down in defense, protecting herself from potential pain should he take her heart and mistreat it.

Fear and longing. Wanting to be close, while wanting distance.

“I’ll be painting at Lionel and Madison’s house.” She flickered her eyes open. His gaze burned brightly with desire and something else. Something deeper. Solider. It fluttered her heart and rolled her stomach in nervousness. Fear and longing.

His lips tweaked into a lopsided grin. “Lionel?”

A laugh burst out of Janie unexpectedly. The moment shattered.

Half relieved, she stepped back and pulled her hand away. Only then did she realize she’d dropped the bottle of cologne.

“Shoot. My bad.” She bent to it. “Don’t worry. It’s made of strong stuff.”

When she straightened, she was already turning away. She needed air. Space. She’d never let herself go so deeply into her “painting place” with another person. And while it felt strangely comfortable, something she hadn’t expected, it left her feeling vulnerable. That was a no-fly zone.

“Lionel is Zeus’s forgotten brother. Well, according to Madison. She drank too much and let slip that she called Colton that on their first date.” She laughed and returned the cologne to its place. She sniffed the air. “Yeah. I definitely chose correctly.” After flashing him a smile, she headed out of the bedroom.