Ian sprawled on the couch, resting his arms across the back, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “So this guy you were kissing. Is he someone you’ve been seeing for a long time?”

“You might say that,” she replied. He was awfully nosy. Was he simply doing his duty as police chief or was he already jealous? “He’s my father. He drove out from the city to have dinner with me and to see the gallery.”

“It’s late for him to drive back.”

“We’re both night owls,” she said. “And he hates the traffic so he does his best to avoid it.” She wandered back to the small kitchenette and grabbed a glass, then retrieved a bottle of Scotch. “Is this all right?”

Ian nodded and Marisol poured him a glass, then sat down next to him on the sofa. “Why are you really here, Mr. Quinn?”

“I told you, I couldn’t sleep.”

Marisol took a sip of his whiskey, then handed him the glass. He really was stunningly attractive. His hair was dark, nearly black, but his eyes were a deep blue, a color that was a mix of azure and cobalt. She stared into those eyes, trying to memorize the exact hue so she might replicate it with her paints later.

His gaze dropped to her mouth and Marisol watched as he contemplated kissing her. But when he looked up again, she found herself overwhelmed by the prospect. One kiss and it would be all over between them. Choices she had now would be lost forever. She already knew the effect his mouth had on her and couldn’t imagine what his touch might do.

She slowly rose up from the sofa and walked over to a ladder she’d set beneath a row of track lights. Her breath was coming in short little gasps and she felt light-headed. Was it exhaustion or had he done this to her? Grabbing a lightbulb from the case she’d purchased, Marisol slowly climbed the ladder. When she looked over at him, he was still watching her with a lazy fascination.