“Sharif!”
He looked up at her rail-thin form, wrapped in a towel, her shoulders, neck and face beaded with sweat, her face red as though with exertion or excessive heat.
“How about a few minutes with me while I cool off on the patio?” She waved the lower edge of the towel as though to fan herself.
He was sure the towel was all she wore. “Uh, yeah, I'll be done in a moment.”
Scrunched over another in an endless series of sketches, Sharif suddenly found his hand empty of stylus.
She stood next to his chair.
Thinking he'd dropped it, he looked at her feet.
Bare.
Her legs too.
“What happened to your towel?” He saw that her only item of clothing was the stylus in her hand.
* * *
“I'd heard you were working on another one.”
Sharif blinked at the figure standing in the doorway. The se
