Holding her breath, she slid out of Travis’s grasp and snuck out of bed, crossing the room and dressing as quickly and quietly as possible in her underwear, a denim skirt and a fitted T-shirt. She glanced back at Travis as she brushed her hair and almost drooled a little at his bare, bronzed skin and perfect body. He was an artist’s dream, but she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to do him justice.

“Come on, Baxter¸” she whispered, knowing she needed to drag herself away and start the day. With the threat of the possible sale of her building over her head, it was more vital than ever that she open the gallery. If Travis saw how much of a success it was, maybe she could get him to reconsider his determination to sell. Besides, he needed to get his strength up, because she very much hoped what they’d done in the early hours of the morning wasn’t going to be a one-off.

Yawning, Billie dragged herself down the corridor and into the kitchen, Baxter at her heels the whole time. She opened the door to let him into the courtyard and then made a beeline for the coffee machine. Until she’d downed at least one coffee, she never felt alive, and today she needed it more than usual. Three gallons might not even do the job. As the coffee brewed, Baxter trotted back inside and sat beneath his leash, which hung on a hook on the wall.

“Sorry, little guy, no walk this morning,” she told him as she shook some dog biscuits into his bowl. He gave her a puppy pout and then started on the bowl, while she made herself the coffee and then slumped at the table…both utterly fatigued and invigorated at the same time. She drank slowly, letting the caffeine seep into her bones as she drifted off into recollections of the night before. If she hadn’t just left Travis asleep in her bed, and if her muscles didn’t feel like she’d just run a marathon, she might have thought last night was nothing but a dream. An erotic, naughty dream starring herself and the kind of guy she’d never imagined being into.

Even at school she’d always crushed on the good boys—the debate team leaders, the guys that topped the class in math or science—the kind of boys her parents approved of. But the days of pleasing others before thinking about her own needs were over. And boy was she into Travis Sinclair. So damn into him that she didn’t even mind if he had a criminal past. He’d reformed, and it wasn’t like they were going to get married or anything—she’d already been there, done that, and realized she wasn’t wife material. No, they were simply going to enjoy each other’s bodies while they had the chance.

No harm in that, was there?

Billie decided not to answer that question, instead forcing herself to down the dregs of her coffee, dump the empty mug in the kitchen sink and head out into the gallery to open up. Although she didn’t have official opening hours, she always tried to be available for the eager, early-morning tourists who strolled down Bourbon Street while the revelers of the night before were still sleeping it off. With a final, wistful glance toward her bedroom, she puffed out a breath and headed into the courtyard.

Sunday mornings were always quiet, and today Billie was grateful for that. She sat back in her chair, keeping one eye on the entrance, half dozing, half daydreaming, with Baxter snoring gently at her feet. Eventually tired of waiting for a customer or, if she were honest, for Travis to surface from slumber, she picked up her sketch pad, which hadn’t been opened in months, and laid it on the desk in front of her. Her fingers shook a little as she chose a piece of charcoal and her heart rate kicked up a notch. Could she do this? She wanted to. She wanted to believe what Travis had said last night about doing what makes you happy, but the voices of Saxon and her family were still strong. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and tried to replace thoughts of the naysayers with thoughts of Travis. She started to smile as she remembered being in the shower with him, recalled tracing her fingers over his tattoos, and found they were as vivid in her mind as if he were standing before her like a naked life model.

Still grinning, she opened her eyes and started sketching. As she swept the charcoal over the paper, she felt her fingers loosening and her whole body relaxing. Who cared if what she drew was an accurate portrayal of the ink on Travis’s skin? She wasn’t obliged to show it to him or anyone else for that matter, but as the almost-forgotten rush of having charcoal between her fingers raced through her body, she couldn’t believe she’d neglected this for so long.

She didn’t mean to draw Travis, only meant to put her recollections of his tattoos down on paper, but she found herself sketching the curve of his shoulder, the taut, hard lines of his chest and lower to the arrow of dark hair that pointed down. She swallowed, heat flushing her cheeks, longing building up within her once again as she tried to recall exactly where each tattoo lived on his skin. So lost in her work, she didn’t notice one of her artists come into the gallery, didn’t even notice Baxter leap up to greet the older woman with the enthusiasm he showed almost everyone.

“Baxter, you sweet stud muffin, you,” were the words that jolted her from her zone.

Billie quickly covered over her sketching as she looked up and saw the woman walking toward her.

“Hi, Lorna.” She stood and went over to hug the older woman. They didn’t know each other that well, but most artists were touchy-feely types and they’d shared a little of their backgrounds with each other. Lorna was a tall, willowy woman who looked as if she might break if Billie held her too tightly, and Billie wondered if her years as a drug user had anything to do with this. Lorna had admitted to a not-so-pretty past in which she’d been an addict and a prostitute to support her habit, but she’d worked hard to turn her life around, and Billie admired that almost as much as she admired her magical mermaid paintings. “I’m so glad you stopped by. Did you get my messages?”

“Yes, sorry.” Lorna shook her head as if annoyed with herself, all the while rubbing her foot along Baxter’s back. The dog loved it. “I forgot to charge my phone again and the battery went dead, and then I couldn’t find it. So, you’ve sold some more of my paintings?”

Billie nodded. “They’re selling like hotcakes. Tourists can’t get enough of them, so I hope you’ve got some more for me.”

“Sure have. There’s another ten or so in the van. I’ll go get them.”

“Fabulous. Can I help?”

Lorna shook her head. “No. They’re small ones, so I can manage.”

“Okay. I’ll go get your money.” As Lorna walked back out of the gallery, Billie shoved her sketchbook in the bottom drawer of her desk and turned to head inside, only to see Travis emerging into the courtyard.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him in jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair all ruffled as if he’d just rolled out of bed. As he closed the distance between them, she forgot why she was going inside as anticipation thrummed within her. He had that determined look in his eyes, and after what they’d done last night, she thought she had an idea of what was on his mind.

Sure enough, the moment he stopped in front of her, he swept her into his arms and covered her mouth with his, then kissed her as if he hadn’t just spent most of the night ravishing her body. As if his desire for her was as strong as ever. Wanton heat flooded her body, happiness bursting within her at the confirmation that maybe last night hadn’t been a one-off.

“Good morning,” he said, finally pulling back, his hands still firmly holding her hips, the pressure igniting a yearning need within her.

“Yep.” She smiled up at him, fighting the urge to close up shop and lure him back into her bedroom. Probably there wouldn’t be much luring needed. “Sleep well?”