Chapter Seventeen
The scratch scratch of pencil on parchment woke me. Zane sat in the hotel room’s solitary office chair with his bare feet kicked up on the bed. A sketchpad was in his lap, his pencil sailing across the paper.
“Don’t move, ma petite nova,” he whispered. “The afternoon light is casting the perfect amount of illumination on your flawless cheekbones.”
I inhaled and let out a soft sigh at his tone of reverence. Under the cover, my toes curled as the lead in his pencil continued to play my favorite tune. My inner thighs felt a slight twinge at the rigors we’d been through last night. And then, finally, my mind processed the words he’d said.
I sat bolt upright in the bed. “Afternoon?”
“Ah.” He groaned. His pencil halted and scratched the paper like the needle on a record pl
