And hers wouldn’t be the only heart broken when that happened. Baxter was perhaps, if it were possible, even more besotted with Travis than she was. Travis pretended to be a real tough dude, and he looked even more the part since he’d started wearing his Deacons cut again, but inside she knew he was a softie. A few times when he didn’t think she was looking, she’d caught him tossing Baxter bits of bacon or other treats under the table. It made her heart turn over in her chest. During the day while Travis worked at his computer in the kitchen, Baxter lay at his feet, only occasionally pottering out to check on Billie in the gallery. Part of her was jealous that her dog seemed to have transferred his affections to what he obviously saw as the alpha male, but she couldn’t really blame him.

Travis was simply that kind of guy. Even when he was acting all hard-ass, being a sarcastic, infuriating douchebag, you couldn’t spend any length of time in his charismatic company without losing your heart. When Saxon had tried to control her, it had made her want to throw knives, but when Travis went all tough guy, all she wanted to do was take off her clothes.

Sighing at that thought, she glanced down at her sketch pad, then across at his bike still taking pride of place in the gallery, and bit down on her charcoal pencil. The piece was almost finished—after days of trying to get it exactly how she wanted it—but she was still reluctant to show Travis. Partly because his approval meant more to her than anyone else’s ever had and partly because handing it over would feel like the first nail in the coffin of their fling. It felt symbolic. This would be her goodbye gift to him, but what would she have of him besides bittersweet memories and dreams of what could never be?

Amidst this dismal thought, her phone beeped. She put down her charcoal and dug the phone out of her pocket, glancing down to see a message from Lorna. Her heart clenched and she quickly glanced toward the house, where Travis was working. His mom had sent a few messages over the last few days, but Billie had ignored them, less able to bring herself to intervene in the mother–son relationship the more time she spent with Travis. She wanted to help, but she also respected his decision to leave the past where it was. In the end, reconnecting with Lorna had to be his decision; however, she couldn’t bring herself to tell the woman she’d changed her mind about her promise.

“Hey. How’s business?”

Billie startled at Travis’s voice as he emerged from the house into the gallery, Baxter’s furry shadow at his feet. She shoved her phone back into her pocket and summoned a smile. “Slow. I’ve sold a couple of hand-painted magnets this morning, but that’s it. You?”

He shrugged as he came to stand alongside her desk. As he loomed over her, every cell in her body melted, her hormones begging the question of when they could next get up close and personal with his. “What about my commission? Can I have a peek yet?”

“No!” She quickly turned her sketch pad over. Distracted by the phone message and his mere presence, she’d forgotten to hide her work, but no way was he seeing it yet. “Not long now,” she promised.

He frowned. “The suspense is killing me. You artists are cruel creatures, you know.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Says the man who teased and taunted me into bed.”

“If I recall, you were the one who made a move on me.”

She opened her mouth to refute this statement with the facts, but he leaned down and covered her mouth with his before she could. Thank God she was still sitting because his lips on hers, their tongues dancing, made her swoon like a Victorian romance heroine. Every. Single. Time.

When he finally broke their kiss, she took a moment to catch her breath and then asked, “What about you? How goes your progress?”

“Not real great, but you just made me feel a whole lot better. I’m heading out to get some lunch. Want me to grab you something?”

“Thanks.” She nodded. “That would be fab.” He’d attempted to cook her lunch on a couple of occasions, but cooking wasn’t his forte. He managed to mess up even the simplest of toasted sandwiches, but she forgave him because he was very good at other things.

“Okay.” He patted her on the butt, as he often did. If Saxon had done such a thing she’d have wanted to scream blue murder, but Travis didn’t make her feel like his pet, someone he could order around and train to do as he wanted. No, he made her feel sexy, and whenever he patted her on the bum she forgot about whatever it was she should be doing and simply wanted to throw herself at him. Luckily he spoke again before her newfound hussy tendencies reared their head. “Want to go for a ride later?”

“Uh…yes, please.” Until a few days ago, she’d thought riding on the back of a bike a reckless thing to do. But like Travis had reformed her thinking on so many things—tattoos, sex, her talents, to name but a few—he’d also changed her opinion on motorcycles. He’d found her an old helmet from somewhere deep inside The Priory and she adored the feeling of being pressed tightly against him, the wind buffeting them as he sped down highways and back alleys alike. His skill on the roads was akin to his skill in the bedroom. She often wondered if there was anything he wasn’t good at. Besides sandwich making, that was.

They’d only been able to go at night because of her gallery commitments, but she couldn’t get enough of it and wondered what it would be like to learn to ride herself. To have the freedom to get up and take to the road whenever she damn well pleased. When she was on the back of Travis’s bike she forgot about all her woes, forgot about the fact that this thing between them had a rapidly approaching use-by date, forgot about the whole gallery-losing-a-lease issue, and simply lived in the moment.

Every moment with Travis was an exciting adventure. The rush he gave her was similar only to the one she got whenever she was lost in her art. And he’d given her the confidence to take that up again.

She waved him goodbye and went back to her work, stopping to eat lunch when he returned with a seafood pizza and a box of beignets. The way to her heart truly was with this local fried dough delicacy.

“As much as I’d love to sit and chat,” Travis said, standing and grabbing their empty pizza box, “or better still, whisk you inside for another round of dessert, I have work to do, and I think you have company.”

Frowning, Billie turned her head in the direction of the gallery entrance to see Rolley strolling in, an uncharacteristic scowl in prime position on his face. Travis chuckled, bent over and planted a kiss on the top of her head and then went into the house, Baxter following closely behind. It was the most chaste kiss he’d ever given her, but the way Rolley reacted you’d think Travis had bent her over the piano and had his wicked way.

“Did I just see what I think I saw?” Rolley’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head.

Billie smiled sweetly as he approached. “That depends on what you just saw.”

“You really going to ask me to spell it out?”

Billie sighed. “Look, Rolley, I don’t want to argue with you, okay?”

“You can’t seriously tell me you’re dating that jerk.”

Dating? Was that what they were doing? She doubted Travis would use that definition, even though they went out together in public and slept together every night. Dating sounded like a relationship that actually had a future.

“No.” She forced a laugh and shook her head. “We’re just being a little more civil now. I can’t afford to make an enemy of my landlord now, can I?”

Rolley crossed his arms over his chest and glared in the direction Travis had headed. “Well, I hope that’s all it is, because you deserve a lot better than the likes of him, Billie. You deserve the world. Do you know what those dudes are like? They treat their motorbikes better than their women. They treat their women like toys. They…”