Somewhere in San Francisco

Alyssa: I first saw David at Ocean Beach in San Francisco. His shirt was off; black curls tumbled over his tanned shoulders. Smears of paint daubed his muscles. Raw power and talent glowed from the canvas. He painted like a matador, fierce and fast, but controlled.
I had to have him, no matter the cost. Never mind that I was broke and had just inherited a gallery filled with mothballs and antiques; I'd make him a star, and he'd make my fortune.
Didn't matter how he made me feel. I kept myself buttoned up for a reason.

David: She approached across the sand, a long skirt blowing to outline her legs, a little hat cocked over her eyes. I pretended not to notice, painting on with vigor. Women came to watch me at the beach all the time.
Her scent, of linseed oil, lavender, and something uniquely her, reached me. My nostrils flared to take in more.
I turned to face a tiny woman dressed from head to toe in Victorian clothing. Her eyes were green, her chin pointed. “Who are you?”
“Alyssa. And you're David.” Her voice was low, husky. She held out a gloved hand holding a card. “I'd like to be your agent. If you'll have me.”
I'd have her, all right, and not just as my agent. I couldn't wait to peel her out of all those layers.

“There is just something extra special that this great author is able to capture on the pages of her books. I can visualize as if I were really there!”~Reviewer