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other night.

    The first stroke across the cloth released something inside Keir that he’d never felt before, at least not since he had finger-painted his first geometric rainbow in preschool.
    He took a deep breath and shuddered as an electric tingle of exhilaration coursed through him, reaffirming and relentless. The sensations made him know he was alive, made him know that his passion was still intact and wonder just how he had stayed away from it for so long.
    Keir painted Patryk’s face from memory and stayed at his task for a solid half-hour before he finally stopped breathless and perspiring as if he had just finished a marathon session between the sheets, not painted a simple portrait of a man he barely knew.
    He sat still and stared at what he had done, knew he could do better, but for a first try in three years, it wasn’t bad.
    What Keir hadn’t seen well, he instinctively filled in, catching the subtle shade of Patryk’s olive-toned face beneath the lights of the club, the full lips tilted up in a shy grin, the jade eyes sparkling with awe after he had downed that drink.
    Damn, the way his mouth had looked wrapped around that glass, all wide and accommodating, so inviting.
    Keir would love to get Patryk over to model for him, but knew convincing him that he was serious about his art and subject, not just out to get into Patryk’s pants—though that would be a nice windfall—would be a major challenge. He was sure of it.
    Beneath the shyness and sincerity, Keir sensed wariness too, as if Patryk had been violently thrown by a horse and was afraid to get back on. It all made 36
    Gracie C. McKeever
    him wonder who had hurt Patryk and if he really could be the one to make him all better.
    Keir picked up his cordless and dialed Patryk’s number.
    He knew Patryk would never agree to come to his loft nor invite him to his place, not for a first—or second in their case—meeting. Patryk was too cautious for that. He seemed like the type to wear a bicycle helmet on an exercise bike.
    Keir smiled at the image and quickly cleared his throat as someone picked up on the other end of the line. “Hello, Patryk?”
    “Who’s calling?”
    “Keir Monroe. We met two nights ago at Zara’s .”
    “This is Patryk speaking.”
    Keir heard him deepen his natural tenor, could almost picture Patryk squaring his shoulders as if he were about to face a firing squad.
    Don’t worry. I won’t shoot. Not unless you want me to. “Aren’t you going to ask how I got your number?”
    “I have a feeling I already know.”
    “Care to share?”
    “Not at the moment. Maybe when I get to know you bet…”
    “You were going to say get to know me better, weren’t you?” Keir prompted, getting queasy, his heart stuttering with first-date jitters. It had been so long since he’d flirted and teased someone with intent like he had the other night.
    He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to a guy on the phone fully prepared to come at the slightest provocation.
    “I was going to say that,” Patryk murmured. “But I don’t know why.”
    “How about because you want to know me better?”
    “I barely know you.”
    “Hence, the getting-to-know-me-better part.” Keir chuckled and listened to Patryk sigh on the other end of the line. He wished he were there with him, could look into those jade eyes just because he had never seen such a vivid shade of green before. He wanted that thrill again.
    “I’m not very good at this.”

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    “You’re doing fine. And what you don’t know, I’ll talk you through it.”
    “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Patryk mumbled and Keir laughed, loving his naked honesty and quick wit.
    “You don’t need to be afraid of me, Patryk.” He waited a long moment for him to respond, but realized he was either dealing with a very patient man and master tactician, or maybe Patryk was just speechless. “Patryk, are you still there?”
    “I’m here.”
    “I’d like