LITMIR.BIZ

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again. “I see the late hour doesn’t make you any less feisty.”

      Feisty? He thought she was feisty? That was very close to sexy. She told herself not to think about her braless state. She was wearing an incredibly baggy sweatshirt. He would never notice. Still, it was nice to pretend, even for a second. Although after the conversation they’d had at dinner, he would probably be terrified if she made the slightest move. Speaking of which...

      “I’m sorry about the app.”

      One brow rose. “Putting it on your phone or discussing it?”

      “Talking about it. I really was just checking out the questions. There are a lot of them and some are really interesting. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

      “Scare is strong.”

      She rolled her eyes. “You were terrified.”

      He chuckled. “Your words, not mine.” He lifted his mug. “What do you normally do when you can’t sleep?”

      “Work. It’s relaxing and eventually I get tired enough to sleep. I would have done that tonight, but I don’t have anything with me except a few sheets of origami paper.”

      “Do you ever paint?”

      “Sometimes. I’m not very good at it. I used to paint all the time. One day I finished a watercolor and realized it was awful. I got so frustrated I tore it up. When the pieces settled on my desk, they’d created something really beautiful and that was the beginning.”

      “From failure, success.”

      She smiled. “Exactly. I enjoy the unexpected and I’ve been working with mixed media ever since.”

      “Which explains the trash.”

      Ronan and his brothers often teased her about her found objects that she worked into her pieces. “It’s not trash. Just because someone doesn’t want something doesn’t mean it’s trash.”

      He held up his free hand. “Don’t get riled. You’re supposed to be getting sleepy.”

      “Trash,” she grumbled. “Your inability to see the potential in things is surprising, given what you do for a living.”

      “Like I said, feisty.”

      There was a tone to his voice. Or maybe she just wanted to hear something. Regardless, she liked the slightly affectionate, slightly teasing sound. Maybe it was the late hour or the storm raging outside, but she liked this Ronan. He was much more approachable and charming than the one she knew at work.

      He’d always been appealing, and not just based on his features. There was something...wounded about him. She knew the danger of the brooding, damaged guy and had always avoided the type, but there was something about him that drew her in.

      “Would you like to work?” he asked, drawing her attention back to their conversation.

      “Sure.”

      “Then come with me.”

      She thought he would lead her to his studio behind the house. Instead he went upstairs, toward the guest room.

      For a second, she wondered what he was going to do. If he pulled her close and kissed her, well, she had no idea how she would react. The thought of Ronan touching her was kind of intriguing. She felt a slight shiver low in her belly.

      But instead of heading to her bedroom and making her question his definition of “work,” he stopped on the landing in front of the curved wall decorated with molding. He pressed in and the wall popped open to reveal a hidden door.

      Natalie jumped back and nearly spilled the rest of her cocoa. “I had no idea that was there.”

      “I think that’s the point. I’m not sure why the builder put in the secret room. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I made it into an art studio.” He walked inside and turned on the lights.

      She was about to say he already had the custom studio he’d built when she followed him inside and saw this space was totally different. There weren’t any ovens, no raw materials for making glass. Instead there was a long counter at desk height, a drafting table and several easels. Cabinets filled the walls on either side of the door.

      The room itself was in the turret, she realized as she looked around. There were huge windows that would let in light during the day. Tonight the storm raged just beyond the panes. She could practically feel the fury as the wind howled.

      Ronan began to open the cabinet doors, revealing stacks of paper in all different sizes, canvases, bags of clay and boxes of brushes. Another cabinet held paints—oil and acrylic—along with colored pens and pencils, markers, glue and a glue gun. There was yarn, string, crochet hooks, scissors, rubber stamps, ink, X-Acto knives and ribbon.

      She turned in a slow circle, then stared at Ronan. “But you work with glass.”

      “Most of the time. Every now and then, I need to be inspired.”

      “It’s a magical place.”

      “I’m glad you think so. While you’re here, consider it yours.”

      “What? No. I couldn’t.”

      “Sure you could. I rarely come up here. Indulge your inner artist. Keep your own hours.”

      It was a gift beyond measure, she thought, slightly light-headed at the thought of all the possibilities. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

      He gave her that smile again. “I don’t mind. Have fun, Natalie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

      She nodded and moved toward the cupboards. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do first. A collage, or maybe paint. She was a horrible painter, but sometimes the wretchedness of her work inspired a mixed-media piece. She would have to—

      The sound of a door closing caught her attention. She turned and saw Ronan had left. The door to the landing was easily visible from this side of the room.

      How amazing, she thought, setting her cocoa down on the long table. Energy flowed through her. Paint first, mixed media second, she decided, reaching for a canvas. And in a few hours, she would get to watch the sunrise through the storm. Honestly, it didn’t get better than that!

       CHAPTER FOUR

      RONAN HAD NO idea what time Natalie finally went to bed. When he got up after a handful of hours sleeping, the house was quiet. Despite the storm still milling around, he checked with the county road crew and was not surprised when they said there was no way they could begin to clear roads for at least another twenty-four hours.

      He went into his office to send an email to his brother Mathias, telling him what was going on. As his laptop booted, he noticed a tiny green origami dragon sitting next to his computer. He picked it up and held it on the palm of his hand.

      The workmanship was precise, the lines perfect. There was something compelling about the tiny creature. He finished his email, then put the paper dragon on his bookshelf before heading to the kitchen to brew coffee.

      As he waited for the machine to work its magic, he prowled the family room, spotting a tiny paper mouse on an end table. There was a turtle in the dining room and a classic crane in the foyer.

      Once the coffee was done, he picked up the turtle and carried it with him to his studio. As he passed through the long hallway, he felt the force of the storm outside. According to the weather reports, it would blow itself out by the end of the day and then the cleanup would begin.

      He put the turtle on his desk and began to sketch. He wasn’t sure it was possible for glass to capture the sharp edges of origami. He couldn’t use a sheet of glass and fold it—that would be too thick. So he would have to create the illusion of folds and lines.

      Hours later he stared at the molten mess he’d

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