They moved together, as if drawn by an invisible line traced across the floor. The gallery’s low lighting made every glance, every brush of a hand, feel amplified. Maya’s pulse quickened as Ethan reached out, his fingers grazing the curve of her jaw, then tracing the delicate line of her neck. The touch was light, a promise more than a claim, sending shivers that seemed to echo through the room.
“Do you ever feel like a painting can talk?” Maya asked, her voice low, almost a whisper against the distant hum of jazz spilling from the speakers. fc2ppv4574684 hot