Color invaded her cheeks, making her skin rosy. She had fair skin, just barely kissed by the sun, but with her hair and those gorgeous aquamarine eyes, it looked beautiful. She was beautiful. And evidently very talented.
She’d drawn him perfectly. He’d had no difficulty in recognizing himself in the pencil drawing. His thoughtful expression, the distant look in his eyes. She’d drawn him as he’d stood there, hands shoved into his pockets. That moment of self-reflection, and clearly that was evident in the drawing. It made him feel awkwardly vulnerable that a complete stranger had been able to capture his mood in just a few moments. That she’d seen him in that vulnerable moment and had picked up on what he hid from everyone else in the world.
“It was just an impulse,” she defended. “I draw a lot of people. Things. Whatever captures my attention.”
He smiled, never dropping his gaze from hers. Her eyes were so expressive, capable of swallowing a man whole. And that damn choker stared back at him, taunting him with the possibilities.
“So you’re saying I caught your attention.”
She flushed again. It was a guilty flush, but also one that was telling. She was checking him out every bit as much as he was checking her out. Perhaps more subtly, but then subtlety had never been one of his strong points.
“You seemed out of place,” she blurted. “You have very strong features. I was itching to get them down on paper. You have an interesting face and it was obvious you had a lot on your mind. I find people are a lot more open when they think no one is watching them. If you’d been posing, the picture wouldn’t have been the same.”
“It’s very good,” he said slowly as he dropped his gaze to once more take in the drawing. “You have a lot of talent.”
“Can I have it back now?” she asked. “I’m late.”
He looked back up, lifting his eyebrow in question. “You didn’t appear to be leaving until you saw me coming toward you.”
“That was several minutes ago, and I wasn’t late then. Now I am.”
“What are you late for?”
Her brows drew together in consternation and then her eyes flashed in annoyance. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“Ash,” he said at her pause at the end. “My name is Ash.”
She nodded but didn’t say his name. And right then he’d have given anything to hear his name on her lips.
He reached forward, brushing his fingers over the collar at her throat. “This have anything to do with what you’re late for?”
She took a step back, her frown deepening.
“Your Dom waiting for you?”
Her eyes widened and her fingers automatically went to the collar where his fingers had been just seconds before.
“What’s your name?” he asked, when she remained silent. “I gave you mine. The polite thing to do is return the favor.”
“Josie,” she said barely above a whisper. “Josie Carlysle.”
“And who owns you, Josie?”
Her eyes narrowed then and she clutched her bag, shoving the remainder of her pencils into it. “Nobody owns me.”
“Then did I misunderstand the significance of that collar you’re wearing?”
Her fingers brushed over it again, and it made him itchy. He wanted to remove it. It wasn’t right for her. A collar should be carefully chosen for a submissive. Something that matched her personality. Something made especially for her. And not just any woman.
“You didn’t misunderstand,” she said in a husky voice that sent shivers down his spine. Her voice alone would seduce a man in a matter of seconds. “But nobody owns me, Ash.”
And there it was. His name on her lips. It hit him deep, filling him with inexplicable satisfaction. He wanted to hear it again. When he was pleasuring her. When he had his hands and mouth on her body, drawing whispery sighs of contentment from her.
He lifted one eyebrow. “Then do you misunderstand the significance of that collar?”