Whatever possessed me to take a class on oil painting, I will never know. Either way, I was hopelessly lost. I knew how to draw, sure, but not to paint. I wondered if I would even be able to fake my way through the class, especially when my attention was more on the instructor’s body than his lectures and demonstrations.

Miguel Rojos. Hands down, one of the most gorgeous men on the entire American University campus, not to mention one of the most sought-after art instructors. I’ll be the first to admit, however, that I didn’t sign up for his oil painting class with academics in mind. Hell, I think nearly every woman and gay man on campus took the class at some point just to ogle the instructor. I was certainly no exception. The man was a living god. His eyes were the first things to catch my attention. I met him in the library a few days before classes started, and at that point, I hadn’t signed up for his class. Hell, I didn’t even know who he was.

I had some copies to make and a couple of books to check out, and when I walked up to the desk, I came face to face with divinity made flesh. Dark bronze flesh that reminded me of molten caramel, and oh, God, his eyes… Deep blue in color, his gaze was intense and left me feeling completely naked. Then he smiled. And I forgot how to breathe.

The library clerk finished checking my last book out when my dark-skinned god walked around the desk and out the door. I thought for a moment to let him go, but then he threw me a look over his left shoulder that made every nerve in my body take notice. Oh. No way in Hell was I going to let Mr. Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous get away now. I snatched up my papers and books and hauled ass out the door.

The sun had already gone down, but there was enough light from lamps to see quite a ways down the sidewalk. That’s when I found him again. He was walking slowly, as if he was just enjoying the crisp breezes that blew between the trees. His black hair was in a ponytail, the tip of which brushed across his ass when he walked. And that ass… Every move he made sent shivers skittering up my spine as his khakis slide back and forth across that tight, muscular butt. The man was built; of that, there was no doubt. When I finally caught up with him, he looked over at me and smiled again.

“Are you an artist?” he asked, glancing down at the books in my hands.

“Oh, well, not really. I used to draw all the time, but I got out of the habit. I’m trying to pick it back up.” I bit my lip and looked over at him. “What about you? Are you a student here?”

He laughed and I had to swallow back the moan. “No. I’m an instructor, Oil Painting for Beginners.” He stopped and turned towards me, extending a hand. “Miguel Rojos.”

An instructor. I was hitting on an instructor. I was convinced at that point that I had definitely lost my mind. When I shook his hand, I resisted the urge to stroke my fingers over his silky-smooth skin. “Dane Kiersted. Pleasure.”

Miguel smiled again. “A pleasure indeed. Would you like to get a drink? We could discuss art…” His words trailed