Paint by Numbers: Erotic Romance

Romance, sex—and paint. How messy is life about to get?

The clacking rattle of the can always set my heart racing. A few moments of noise that could see me caught in the act. A moment before the creativity began to flow. I had a clear picture in my mind of the piece I was working on tonight. An explosion of eroticism and color that would brighten up the drab, boring, white-washed wall of the building I had chosen.

A laid down the base layer, color after color, building my canvas. The detail would come later. I looked up and down the alley and shifted my ladder along. My truck was parked a few feet away, ready for a quick getaway. I'd had to hightail it before finishing a piece many times before when a security guard had walked by the entrance to an alley and caught sight of me.

I tipped my head to one side.

I was not expecting the guy with a bulging, canvas carrier bag to come strolling down the alley toward me. A huge smile on his face.

"Like minds …" He lifted the flap of his bag. It was full of spray paint cans. "I've had my eye on this wall for a while."

It was dark so I could barely make out his features. He was wearing a beany like mine and was dressed for the hot summer night. Jeans and a black t-shirt that showed off the contoured muscles of his biceps. That much I could see. A light on the street offered some illumination. Enough that I could see what color I was pulling from the gym bag full of cans I was carrying.

"Well … I've claimed it." I ran my arm in a semi-circle, laying down a streak of black. The first of the detailed work. The piece was anime-inspired. Yaoi anime to be precise. Two men in the throes of passion, lips locked, shirts open, hands clutching—devouring one another.

It was going to be a masterpiece. It would likely be scrubbed out quick by the city but plenty of people would see it before that happened. And that was the thrill of it. Gorilla art installments. Shaking up the residents in the fine city of Seattle.

I grabbed a can of flesh-colored paint and started in on their faces and bare torsos.

"Yaoi?" my intruder asked.

Now, how on earth did he know that? I hadn't started filling in the detail yet.

"I've seen your work around town," he added.

Recognition.

I smiled, close to blushing. I had made enough of an impact in the city that other artists were starting to take notice. I stood a little straighter.

"Yeah. I've got a thing for it." I released the spray plunger and gave my arm and finger a rest. The light was falling on the stranger's face now. Black hair was peeking out from under his beanie, the polar opposite of my blond. His features were dark and broody.

Handsome in a rugged kind of way.

"You do great work," he said.

"Thank you." I reached out my hand. "Adam. And you are?"

"Liam." He took my hand and gave it a firm shake. I swallowed. The great Liam Shatsky. His work was renowned. He had even had his art displayed in a gallery once.

"Jeez." I was grinning like an idiot. "It's an honor."

"Yeah … yeah." Liam stepped closer to look at the conceptual drawing I had spent the past week working on. "Don't go all fangirl on me." He lifted the paper from the fold-down tray at the front of my ladder. "This is good."

"Glad you think so." Star artist aside, and anxious to return to my work, I went back to outlining the flesh of my characters. Completing the torso of one, I had to move on to the other. A bit further over. I stepped off the ladder and Liam shifted aside so I could squeeze past him.

He seemed awfully interested in what I was doing, making me somewhat nervous. An artist of his caliber examining my process. It was unnerving. I scurried back up the ladder.

Move along … please.

Liam must have sensed my distress because he laid a hand on my ankle then started walking away. "It was great meeting you." He slung his bag higher on his shoulder. "Best of luck."

"Yeah, you too," I called after him.

I was distracted after that, but the mural turned out perfectly. I was nothing if not a professional. Not even Liam bloody Shatsky could throw me off.

There was a method to buying supplies for graffiti art. Rule one: don't buy all your paint in one place. You did that and people started asking questions. I was in my third store of the morning when someone stepped up beside me. I had been trying to color coordinate two different greens.

"Fancy meeting you here." Liam grinned at me. He looked completely different in the bright lights of the hardware store. The broody look was still there but I could see now his eyes were a dusty gray green which I found fascinating. The fullness of his lips was another thing I had missed spotting three nights ago. I steadied my heart. Damn were they kissable.

Not that it matters.

Liam was straight. That much I knew about him for sure. His artwork was often of women, and he was notorious for his string of semi-famous girlfriends.

Slow your roll, Adam.

"Third haunt of the morning so far." I brought the two lids together to examine the colors. One was for shading; the other for the pale green shirt I was dressing one of my characters in. I had completed another mural concept. I just needed to find the wall to paint it on.

I peered into Liam's basket. The bottom was layered in an assortment of brushes. I met his eyes. The intensity of his gaze nearly knocked me off my feet. "What are those for?"

Liam shrugged. "I've been trying my hand at acrylics on canvas." He sifted through the brushes. "I get most of my tools at the art supply store—paint, detail brushes, and such. But these here …" He picked up a brush. "They are sufficient for the bolder strokes."

"Expensive hobby."

"Nah." Liam shook his head. "I'm hoping to get an exhibit of my work. Maybe sell a few pieces. Step into the mainstream a bit. I have a gallery waiting on what I turn out."

Lucky bastard.

I looked down at my paint cannisters. The one thing about graffiti art, although it was fulfilling, it didn't pay the bills. I caught his gaze. And again, it just about floored me.

Damn—his eyes were sex perched atop two rosy, angular cheeks.

Calm, Adam.

I needed to dive back into the conversation. "I would like to see what you've been working on some time." Say what? I clutched the spray cans. What on earth was I suggesting? Why would Liam Shatsky be interested in my opinion? I was an idiot for even bringing it up.

A smile stretched across Liam's face. It reached his sexy, incredible eyes. "I'd like that." He rummaged around in his pocket and produced his phone. He handed it to me. "Put your number in. I'll text you when I'm ready to share what I've been working on."

"Perfect." I reached for his phone and typed my number in using the name Yaoi Adam, just in case Liam was looking through his phone in a week and had no idea who Adam was. I couldn't help but suspect, I might be forgettable to someone so influential.

It was unlikely I would get a text.

I handed the phone back and Liam pocketed it. He moved the basket from one arm to the other. "Well, I better get going." He patted me on the shoulder. "See you around."

Right …sure.

I couldn't help but feel deflated. Liam Shatsky had asked for my number but likely had no intention of using it. He had felt obligated to take it after my offer to view his work.

Me.

Look at Liam's work. As if I had anything productive to add.

I dug around in my pocket and pulled out the last of the crumpled paper money I had in the world … to pay for the cannisters of paint that would be covered over in a matter of days.

Eating this week would be a luxury.

I rolled over in bed and looked at my phone. It was nearly one in the afternoon. My shift at the diner had run late. I ended up closing and it had been two in the morning before I got out of there.

I groaned as I tucked myself back into my bedding. The summer heat had long since gone and the rainy season had started. Not that it ever truly stopped in Seattle. Which made painting difficult at times. A rainy and cold November. The chill in my apartment crept into my bones.

I stared up at the ceiling. As I suspected, Liam hadn't texted me. Not that I expected he would. Every day, though, I had waited for that buzz of my phone.

I threw the blankets off and climbed out of bed. My feet immediately revolted against the cold floor. The damned heat wasn't working again. I flipped a light switch—nothing. Or I hadn't managed to pay the last electric bill. I would need to pick up a few extra shifts at the diner. Being a short-order cook wasn't glamourous, but it made it possible for me to live indoors. I had done a stint outside, homeless, for a while and swore I would never do that again.

I hauled on a sweater. I should have enough money to cover the electricity. I had just forgotten to pay for it. I pulled open the fridge door and peered around inside. Apparently, I had forgotten to buy groceries as well. Which turned out to be a good thing considering I didn't have power.

My phone buzzed from the far side of the room where my bed was located beneath a bank of old, worn warehouse windows. Terrible for letting the cold in.

It was a number I didn't recognize.

Unknown: "Finally have something to show you."

Me: "Who is this?"

Unknown: "Liam."

Me: "Oh, wow, okay."

Wow … really. I sounded like a school kid.

Liam: "Sorry it took me so long to get ahold of you. It's been a long haul getting anything together that I felt like sharing."

Me: "No worries."

Liam: "Can you come around sometime?"

Me: "Sure, yeah. When?"

Liam: "Are you free tonight?"

As luck would have it, I wasn't working tonight.

Me: "Yes. Not working tonight. TG."

Liam: "Where do you work?"

Me: "Just some crappy diner. What time tonight?"

Liam: "Maybe 7."

Me: "Sure. Send me your address. I'll pick up pizza."

And there went my electric bill money. I probably shouldn't have offered. But now that I had, I couldn't exactly take it back.

Liam: "Excellent. I'll chip in when you get here."

Me: "No need. I've got it."

A long pause. No answer, no address, nothing. I threw the phone down on my bed and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. I could hold off eating until tonight.

If Liam texted me back.

My phone buzzed. It was Liam's address. This was happening. I couldn't wait to see what he had been working on. My stomach churned. A part of me was nervous. Nervous I would say something stupid. Nervous that Liam's gaze would undo me, and I would do something even stupider. I had to remind myself he was straight. Straight and a renowned artist.

Completely out of my sphere.

It wasn't what I was suspecting—and yet it was. Liam's apartment was in a warehouse space like mine—but not like mine. His cost significantly more money. It was even possible the complex was owned not a rental. I stared around at the landscaping as I approached the door. Liam had his own entrance onto a patio along the front of the building. His place looked to be two stories.

That's because it's a townhouse, idiot.

I rang the doorbell and waited. It opened to reveal a face smeared with grey paint; overalls obliterated with it. The look of an artist. I was immediately enamored.

Liam looked adorable.

I cleared my throat.

Straight. The guy is straight.

I lifted the pizza up between us. "Dinner."

"Fabulous. I'm starving. I don't think I've eaten today."

I knew I hadn't eaten. My stomach was trying to devour me from the inside out. I followed Liam into the main living area. The space was stunning. White walls decorated with massive canvas versions of his street art. Marble countertops, stainless appliances. Sleek, black leather furniture in the living room adjoining the kitchen. The guy was rolling in dough.

I flipped open the lid of the pizza box as Liam set two plates on the countertop. I was pleased when he started eating straight out of the box. Sitting at a table didn't appeal to me. Seemed too formal. This felt comfortable. Two regular guys digging into a pepperoni and cheese pie.

"Can I grab you a beer?" Liam headed for the fridge.

"No." I shook my head. "I don't drink." I set my now third pizza slice down on a plate. "When I drink, I break out in assholes." Okay, that sounded dirtier than it should have. I wasn't referring to my hole—a hole that was showing rapt attention to Liam. My cock wasn't far behind. Liam had bent over to take a beer from the fridge, showing off his assets—if you know what I mean.

"Let me clarify. When I drink, I turn into an asshole. A violent one."

Liam turned to face me. "You in recovery?"

"Guilty." I bit into my slice. I didn't mind people knowing. It stopped friends from pushing alcohol on me every time we went out.

Liam lifted his beer. "Do you mind if I have one?"

I swatted my hand in his direction. "Not at all. I'm three years sober. You can drink around me. It doesn’t bother me."

Liam slid onto a stool that was tucked beneath the island we had been hovering over. He slid another piece of pizza onto his plate, then took a sip of his beer, his bicep flexing deliciously.

I couldn't take my eyes off him. Every movement he made was art.

He set the bottle down on the far side of his plate from me. An action I appreciated. I hated the smell of beer. Brought back memories.

"So, where is your studio?" I looked toward the stairs. The massive warehouse windows in the living room appeared to be split in half by the floor of the upper story. It should be an interesting space upstairs with the windows starting at the floor.

Liam brushed his hands off on a paper towel. He had washed them before eating but there was still paint beneath his nails. I inhaled the scent of him as he walked past me. He smelled of paint and Axe deodorant. The urge to touch him was nearly overpowering.

As I followed him up the stairs, I couldn't help but watch his ass as it propelled him forward. If his thighs matched the strong contours of his biceps, I would have been in for a treat if I had managed to get his clothing off him. I rolled my eyes as I ascended the stairs.

Cut it out.

I was stunned to see the entire upstairs was one room with a few support beams. There were canvasses everywhere. On one wall, stacks leaning against the wall—others in process on easels.

My gaze wandered over to the rumpled bed in one corner. It was just a mattress and box spring jammed against the wall; the bedding was strewn about as if someone had had trouble sleeping. I knew what that felt like.

I hadn't slept properly in weeks; my mind racing each time I laid down. Between my art, my terrible job, and my lack of money, my brain had a lot to process when my day was over.

Plus dreaming of Liam.

"Sorry about the mess." Liam wandered over and pulled the bed covers over the entire shambles beneath. It didn't really help. I had already pictured myself tangled up in those sheets with Liam. The warm material fragrant with our lovemaking.

I cleared my throat and headed for the canvas Liam was pointing to. It must be the piece he was working on because the paint looked fresh and the image of the nude, reclining woman was only partially completed. Liam picked up a brush and embellished some shading under one breast.

I crossed my arms to look at it properly. Subject aside, it was good work. Not the caliber I was used to seeing from Liam, though. I looked around the room. There were some abstract images I found far more appealing. I headed for one. It was at the front of a stack of ten leaning against the wall. I began flipping through them. Now, these—these were stunning.

"You like those?" Liam's voice was in my ear. "I got away from the abstract and started playing around with portraits last week. It doesn't have the same feel as when I'm doing these." He touched the front canvas. "Painting nudes feels a bit like paint by numbers. I already know where everything goes. It's just a matter of placing it all there."

I turned. The latest color Liam had been working with was streaked across his cheek. I reached up and tried to rub it off with my thumb. "You're wearing more than you're getting on the canvas." I lowered my hand. I couldn't believe I had done that. Reached out and bloody touched him. What was I thinking? I hadn't been thinking. I had been reacting. Reacting to my body's screams to throw caution to the wind and devour him. Every painty, broody bit of him.