With an irritated huff, she carefully set the sculpture down and headed down the stairs. She swiped her hands on her shirt.
She yanked open the door. “What?”
Hunter stood on her doorstep. He was still in the suit pants and blue shirt from this morning, but his tie and holster were gone.
“I’m checking on you,” he said. “I saw your light on.”
She frowned.
“It’s midnight,” he added.
“It is?” Then she shook her head. “Come here.” She grabbed his shirt and yanked him inside.
She realized that her hands were still mostly covered in clay, which was now smeared on his shirt.
But she didn’t care about that right now. Her mind was whirling too much to be sorry she’d messed up his shirt. She needed to finish her sculpture.
“Savannah—”
“Shush. Just hurry up.” She bounded up the stairs.
She moved back to the plastic-covered dining table. She worked the clay again. She felt almost delirious. She had to finish it.
“Here.” She grabbed his hands—the real ones. Those big, strong hands that had inspired her. “Hold here. Don’t press too hard, or I’ll have to kill you.”
He made a sound. “I’m a detective, remember? You’d get caught.”
“I’d be justified, if you ruin this.”
She shifted, her body brushing his. Now that he was holding it, she could work on crafting the female hands clasped gently, but possessively, by those larger male ones.
She lost track of time again, following the vision in her head.
Then finally, it was done.
Savannah straightened, and felt how stiff her back and neck were.
“Can I let go?”
She blinked, Hunt’s deep voice bringing her fully back to reality. “Yes.”
He stared at the sculpture of the hands. “It’s incredible, Savannah. So lifelike.”
Did he recognize his own hands? She cleared her throat, and grinned. “It’s gorgeous. Just like I pictured it.”
He cocked his head. “Is that how it works? You have a picture in your head?”
She nodded. “Like a vision. But usually, I find nothing ever works out quite how you imagine it. That’s the struggle of an artist, having this vision, but not having the skills to realize it as perfectly as you want. But this one worked out.”
“Does it have a name?”
She met his gaze. “Strength. Ah, thanks for the help.”
“You didn’t give me much choice.”
Her smile widened. “And it looks like I owe you a shirt.”
He glanced down at the smears and grunted.
Savannah took a step, then swayed.
“Hey.” Strong arms slid around her.
“I’m fine. Just lightheaded.” The room spun a little.
He guided her to the couch. “When was the last time you ate?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Um, I’m not sure.”
“Did you eat dinner?”
“Um…”
“Lunch?” he asked more forcefully.
“Maybe?” She sagged against the cushions. She was pretty sure she’d grabbed a piece of bread and honey at some stage.
Hunt made an unhappy sound and strode to her kitchen. She noted that he always strode, like a man on a mission, a man with a purpose. No lazy stroll for Hunter Morgan.
He washed his hands, then opened her refrigerator. “You know you have one wilted tomato, some juice, butter, and a hunk of cheese?”
“Yep.”
He glanced her way. “That’s it.”
“What are you? The refrigerator police? I need to get some groceries. I have some bread from Mrs. Romero.”
Hunt brought her back a glass of water, and a healthy slice of sourdough slathered with butter. He also had a wet cloth.
He sat on the ottoman in front of her, and grabbed her hands. He then set about wiping the clay off them.
Unwelcome heat pooled in her belly. When was the last time someone had taken care of her like this?
Needing a distraction, she snatched up the bread and devoured it. “You’re a bit of a mother hen.”
A line formed on his brow. “Making sure you don’t collapse is just being nice.”
“Uh huh.” She licked her fingers.
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
A flicker of heat danced in Savannah’s belly. Okay, more than a flicker, but less than a raging inferno.
But she knew herself well enough, even if it had been a tragically long time since she’d been with a man, that this thing could grow into raging-inferno territory in a heartbeat, if she let it.
“I had to get the art done. It’s a compulsion. When I’m like that, I don’t eat, sleep… I just work.”
He turned his head to look at the sculpture. “It is impressive. I never considered my hands as artwork.”
Ah, so he had recognized them. She fought back the heat filling her cheeks. “I felt inspired. Thanks for the help. I was frustrated that I couldn’t get it finished. What time is it?”
“Nearly one in the morning.”
“Shit. Well, at least I didn’t stay up all night.” She eyed him. “You just got home from work?”
“No.”
Her stomach did a funny circle. “Date?”
“Dinner with my brothers.”
“Oh. Are they cops like you?” She instantly thought of her brother, Ezra, and missed him dreadfully. He’d been a smart-ass, funny, and so much fun. Her heart clenched.
“No. Ryder is a paramedic, and Camden just got out of the military. He’s working in private security.”
“A family of protectors.” Her gaze moved back to the sculpture. God, it was so good. She leaped up. “Look at this. It’s so gorgeous.”
He came up behind her. “I know nothing about art, but it’s amazing, Savannah. You’re very talented.”
Giddy, she spun, grabbed the collar of his shirt and kissed him.
He froze.
She was feeling too good to process the consequences, and pulled back, smiling. “Thanks again for the help, Detective.”
“Wait.” His hands clamped on her waist. Then he yanked her forward.
She registered a hard body, but then all she could think about was the firm, mobile mouth capturing hers.
And the deep, slightly bossy kiss he laid on her.
She clung to him, tasting him, her head spinning.
He lifted his head.
“Right. You’d better go. I need sleep.” She eyed the clay on his shirt. There was even more now. “Oops, I made it worse. I really owe you a shirt.”
“It’s fine.”
An image of Hunt, with no shirt, lodged in her head. He’d have a tough, muscular body, she could tell. Her throat went dry.
She had to get him out of there before she did something stupid.
Then she grabbed his hand, and towed him down the stairs.
Yes, she needed him gone, before she made a mistake of epic proportions.
He stayed quiet on the journey to her front door.
She yanked the door open. “Good night, Detective.”
“Simple woman, my ass.” He ran his thumb over her lip, gently moving over where it was cut. “Good night, Savannah.”