Chapter 1
Elena's POV
I escaped the charity gala like a woman fleeing prison.
I ditched my $50,000 gown for a simple black sweater and shorts without even thinking. I let my long dark hair fall loose, and slipped into the rain-soaked streets of the city.
I didn't move with my driver, nor security. I was just too desperate to feel normal for one night.
I found that little art café, the one I had come to obsess over in the past weeks. The bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside, shaking rain from my hair.
Behind the counter, a man looked up from a canvas. Luca Moretti. I breathed out slowly through my parted lips and pressed my aching core together on instinct.
Luca's paint-splattered shirt stretched across broad shoulders, and his strong forearms were marked with charcoal smudges. His dark, observant eyes pinned me in place.
Fuck, he was stupidly handsome in that real... unpolished way billionaires could never buy.
"Late for coffee or running from something?" he asked, in a low voice. His untamed eyes trailed down my bare thighs.
My lips curved. "Both."
He poured me a black coffee without asking. When I tried to pay, he waved me off. "On the house. You look like you need it."
I began commenting on the half-finished portraits around the studio café. I was too eager to make conversation with this strange painter
"You paint the rich like they're poetry," I said, nodding at a large canvas of a wealthy socialite. "But they're usually just expensive voids."
Luca's eyes flashed as he stepped around the counter, moving closer to me than necessary. "And yet they pay my bills. Funny how the people who sneer at wealth the loudest are usually the ones drowning in it."
My pulse spiked. He had no idea who I was. "I work in an office," I lied smoothly. "Cubicle hell. Nothing glamorous."
"Liar," he murmured, studying my face like he was already painting it. "You carry yourself like someone who's used to owning rooms. But your eyes... they're exhausted."
His observation hit too deep. Heat flushed through my body and mixed with the wet mess in my panties. He hadn't noticed me stalking his cafe had he?
Before I could respond, Luca picked up a piece of charcoal. "Sit. Don't move." He sketched me right there at the small table.
He gulped as his eyes moved between my face and the paper. When he leaned in to adjust my chin with his paint-stained fingers, my breath caught. His touch was warm and I was already imagining that touch on other parts of my body that sinfully craved it.
"You're dangerous," I whispered.
Luca's mouth curved. "You have no idea."
Our eyes locked. I had no words to describe the feeling. It was... The chemistry was... instant and suffocating. I could see the muscle in his jaw flex. He was fighting the same pull.
When he finally showed me the sketch, it was breathtaking. He had captured the loneliness I so desperately tried to hide.
"Stay for a private session," he said, his voice lower now. "in my studio upstairs. Just you and me." He held my gaze and wet his lower lips with his tongues. "No distractions."
I knew I should walk away. Instead, I heard herself say, "When?"
"Tomorrow night. Nine o'clock." His gaze dropped to my mouth. "And Elena... wear something you don't mind getting paint on."
I nodded and left the café with my heart racing and my thighs pressed tight.
Outside, a paparazzi lens flashed once in the darkness. My stomach dropped.
I was playing with fire and for the first time in years, I didn't want to put it out...
