Colors and Curves: Four Seasons, #3

By Kristina Beck

"It's a heart-touching love story of an unusual couple. I don't think I've ever read a hero like this." Shabby - BookBistroBlog

"This book was the perfect mix of romance, sass, angst, and friendship. I highly recommend this book, author, and series." Spunky and Sassy - Goodreads
 

A sweet and sexy romance for every season!

 

Forever hopeful, but always let down.

 

Skylar's beauty and curves are a curse. She's been lied to, cheated on, and avoids dating like the plague. That is until an adorable three-legged dog runs her over in Central Park, leading to a heated exchange with his arrogant, sexy-as-sin owner. Irritated by his apathy, Skylar walks away, but steamy dreams of his chiseled physique consume her hot summer nights.

 

During a pivotol event in her career, Skylar's restraint snaps like a rubber band when she finds him standing in front of her as the famous photographer, Julius Ariti. Harsh rumors circulating about him and his current actions toward her don't add up, leading Skylar to wonder who the real Julius Ariti is.

 

Everyone deserves a chance, no matter how broken they are.

 

Julius leads a secluded, orderly life to keep his traumatic memories at bay. After meeting Skylar Vitale, something ignites inside him, and his world is no longer black and white. Her positivity and charm blaze brightly, breaking down Julius's barriers, unveiling his secrets.

 

His burning desire is to see Skylar's true colors.

To capture them with his lens.

To see what everyone else sees.

If only he could.

 

**This can be read as a standalone but it's strongly recommended to read the books in order to get to know the dynamic group of friends and family in each one. *Mid-length book, 50,000+ words. Double POV, first-person present tense

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristina Beck
• Release date: Aug 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9783947985111

Book preview

1

SKYLAR

Ilaughed when my family warned me that summer in New York City could be unbearable at times. I mean, I’ve lived in Boston most of my life—how could New York be that much different? Well, let me tell you, I’ve been wearing the least amount of clothes possible without being arrested for streaking. The sweltering heat and heavy humidity has practically melted the skyscrapers. The Amazon rainforest probably feels like an icebox compared to here. Until last night anyway. Spectacular thunderstorms blew through the city, bringing with them an awesome show of lightning. All that sucked the humidity right out. It’s still crazy hot, but at least the air is breathable again—so much so that I’ve decided to venture out to Central Park.

Apparently, I’m not the only one with that plan. The sidewalks are packed, and people keep bumping into me. A refreshing droplet of condensation from my giant Dunkin’ iced coffee slides down my narrow cleavage as I hold my drink close to my chest like an old woman clutches her purse. I asked for three extra shots of espresso. It was probably not the best choice after the week I’ve had. If I’m not careful, I’ll be breakdancing through the park instead of walking. I suck down a huge gulp and cringe at the resulting brain freeze. Will I ever learn when I drink these damn things?

In the distance, the swaying branches of my favorite big willow tree wave to me gracefully. It’s like being greeted by an old friend after a long day of work at the gallery. I can’t wait to sit down and relax against its supportive trunk.

Chance! Heel! A loud male voice catches my attention. I turn around to see a three-legged dog dragging a long leash and zigzagging wildly after a skittish squirrel, a cloud of dust following behind. Oh, shit! They’re heading my way. At the last second, the squirrel swerves to the right and scrambles up a tree. The dog doesn’t have time to adjust its path, and I don’t have time to move. Suddenly, I’m tumbling backward and watching my coffee as it slips from my hand into a messy freefall. My ass hits the ground hard and, next thing I know, I’m flat on my back. For a moment, I’m numb, until I’m shocked back to reality by a rough tongue licking my chest and face. What in the ever-loving fuck? As I sit up, the dog’s rough paw gets lodged in the top of my strapless sundress. I grab the edge of it just in time to keep my boobs from flying out.

Chance! What the hell has gotten into you? Get off her! The dog gets in one more lick before his weight lifts off me.

I push my hair out of my face and feel a breeze between my legs. Oh no. I glance down and get a glimpse of my red lace underwear on display like the photographs in the gallery. Faster than I can think, my hand grabs the bottom of my dress and stuffs it between my legs. I don’t embarrass easily, but I’m pretty sure the color of my face is currently matching my underwear.

Are you okay? His voice is cold and gruff, almost like he doesn’t care and is more annoyed than anything. Yet it sends pleasant shivers down my spine. Why?

Yeah. I think— I stop to take inventory. My arms and legs look fine, but I touch my chest because it stings. When I pull my hand away, it’s slightly wet and sticky. I look down, expecting it to be dog slime or coffee, but instead, it’s blood. No way! I’m bleeding. Shit!

My handbag is next to me on the ground, covered in coffee. That figures. I grab a pack of tissues and use one to blot my chest. I pull it away to find a small dot of blood. Phew. Nothing major. I’m supposed to wear a strapless dress to the opening on Friday night.

Where? I don’t see anything. Are you kidding me? Did he not see me wiping it off with the tissue? Can’t he at least pretend to care?

What the hell do you think this is? I point to my chest. If you don’t see the scratch right here and the blood on this tissue—I hold it out so he can see—then you must be blind.

He snorts, and I lift my angry gaze to meet the most unique brown eyes. Deep reddish-brown like redwood or cognac. Fiery. Beautiful. Whoa. What was I saying? I’ve lost all train of thought. I’m suddenly envisioning him coming out of a burning house with only his fireman suspender pants on, muscles tight and slick, with a hose hanging over his shoulder and a puppy in one hand. Puppy?

Sluurp! Well, that’s a guaranteed way to kill a fantasy… unless it’s the guy’s tongue. And this wasn’t.

Can you please keep your dog off me? I like dogs, but this is fucking ridiculous.

Then get off the ground, he snidely remarks, tugging gently on the leash.

Oooh, really? Who pissed in your damn Cheerios this morning? I’m the one who’s bleeding and covered with dirt and coffee here. I grab more tissues and wipe the coffee from my bag and legs. It’s on my dress too. This had better not stain! What a waste of coffee money.

The jerk crosses his arms, revealing toned biceps. I can’t help but notice the dog—Chance?—as he winds himself around the guy’s long, muscular legs. Why is he still standing here if he doesn’t intend to speak to me? We should part ways and call it a day.

I don’t care how chiseled his jaw is or that the wind just blew the heavenly scent of male sweat and soap my way or that there’s a hint of ink peeking around from his shoulder and neck… Nope. He might look like a god, but he’s nothing more than a prick on a stick or a devil in disguise. I lock my jaw into place, like his. The jerk hasn’t even offered to help me up. I don’t need his damn help anyway.

I push off the ground with the least amount of grace. Finally on my feet, I brush my hands down my flowy, floral dress. Dogs should always be on a leash, you know, I say. Ugh—why bother with the dress. It’s covered in dirt, dog spit, and coffee.

The dog in question is unwinding himself like it’s the most fun he’s ever had. If only life could be so easy. He’s adorable and I want to take him home with me.

Look, it wasn’t my fault. He took off after a squirrel, and the leash snapped. I can’t help it if you were suddenly more enticing than the squirrel. His voice has a twang of disgust, but I watch as he checks me out. His cold, squinted eyes slowly defrost, and I catch the exact second when he zones in on my breasts. Typical asshole.

My defenses kick in, but at the same time, I realize I’ve been doing the same thing to him. Then I’m pissed because I like how he’s looking at them… at me. Like he’s branding me as his. Stop! I cross my arms over my chest, mirroring his stance. We look like we’re about to face off.

Maybe he was just looking at the scratch. Nah. My track record with men says no. What are you looking at? Eyes up here. I snap my fingers.

The dog sits pretty and looks at me with his tongue dangling out. I almost laugh. Not you, little boy. I’m talking about your owner over here. I am not going to stoop to his level and ask what the jerk’s name is.

I look up and lock eyes with the guy again. He tips his head to the side and twists his lips into a slight curve. Is that a smile?

Whatever it is, it sends pleasant shivers down my spine… again! Can he stop making himself look so damn sexy? His eyes are hypnotic, and his delicious lips beg me to kiss them.

Where Chance had his paw.

What?

I’m looking at your chest. I mean the scratch.

Yeah, which is it—my chest or the scratch? Those are two very different things. I’m not going to pursue it. I should just walk away, but I can’t deny the pull I feel toward him.

I roll my eyes. Maybe you should invest in a stronger leash. Aren’t you at least going to apologize for your dog?

His squinted eyes come out of their trance, his back straightens, and I suddenly realize how tall he is. I’m five eight, and I’d guess he’s probably five or six inches taller. Yummy. He removes the sunglasses hanging from his tank top, then puts them on.

Fine. I’m sorry.

"Pfft! That was the worst apology I’ve ever heard. At least try to sound like you mean it." Drop-dead gorgeous or not, he’s just more proof… All men suck!

The dog licks my hand as if he’s the one apologizing. I kneel down and scratch behind his droopy ears. Your name is Chance, right? I coo. You sure do know how to run with only three legs. You have better manners than your human. He barks in agreement.

The guy snickers. Gee, thanks, Chance. Man’s best friend. Yeah, right.

He has to be the cutest dog ever. Just like his owner. He’s spotted, black and white, maybe a Beagle mix. One eye is powder blue and the other is brown. I can’t help but notice the similarities between him and his owner, who has black hair, brown eyes, and is wearing black and white Nike track shorts and a tank top.

Ignoring me, the man picks up the broken leash. Chance, leave her alone, buddy. Let’s go.

I guess he’s only nice to his dog. He rolls over and exposes his belly. The dog, not the prick on a stick. The dog just won my heart, not his jackass owner… no matter how hot he is.

Nope. I should run away from him as fast as I can.

2

JULIUS

C hance, leave her alone, buddy. Let’s go, I say, tugging on his leash. Instead, he flops down, and the woman reaches out— No, don’t do it! Don’t! Too late. She tucks her dress behind her knees and crouches to rub his belly. I scratch the back of my neck and sigh. He’s not going to budge while she’s doing that. Belly rubs are like a drug to him. Now she’ll be his best friend. Not good.

I saw her before Chance ran her over. It was like sunbeams were shining down on her, spotlighting her through dense clouds, even though the sky was crystal clear. Her aura radiated a bright light that pulled me in like a magnet. I had to squint against her brilliance even with my sunglasses on. Her hair and dress blew softly in the breeze. Truly, I thought she was an illusion. But then, I don’t know—did Chance feel it too? He so suddenly lost interest in that squirrel and ran for her instead.

And when I got closer, I had to take my sunglasses off to see if her skin really shimmered like she’d been dipped in sparkles. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but it was like… remember that scene in Twilight, when what’s-his-face revealed his skin in the sun? That’s what flashed before my eyes. And no, I’m not a Twilight fan, and no, I don’t think this woman’s a vampire.

But I wouldn’t mind her sexy mouth on my neck.

Her phone rings, and I can’t think of a better time to escape. She’s still scratching Chance’s belly, though, so we’re not going anywhere.

She digs through her purse for her phone. Where is the damn thing, she growls. Finally, she pulls it out and answers. Hey, Daisy.

Daisy? My ears perk up almost as much as Chance’s do. On second thought, I think I’ll stay for another minute. I inch a little closer to eavesdrop. I haven’t met many women named Daisy in my lifetime, though there are probably hundreds in the city. She leans down to Chance again, and the top of her dress gaps just enough to give me a perfect view of her large breasts. Look away.

I’m in Central Park. I was just attacked by the sweetest three-legged dog. She laughs, then stands up and steps away from us. No, I’m fine. He just licked me like a lollipop, stuck his paw down my dress, and now I’m rubbing his belly. So what’s up?

I’m amazed at how Chance is responding to this beautiful woman with the snarky mouth. He usually growls or retreats when a stranger comes near. He’s as attracted to her as I am. What is it about her that draws us in?

She licks her lips.

I wonder what she tastes like. Maybe sweet like peaches and cream or spicy like cinnamon. What the fuck am I thinking? Who cares what she tastes like? Maybe chocolate-covered strawberries. If she tastes like vanilla, I’m a goner. I lick my own lips with delight. Get a fucking grip!

Maybe it’s her light-colored eyes or her lack of makeup… maybe it’s her full lips. Does her skin tingle as my eyes trace along her long, toned legs? I let my gaze travel lower until I notice the toe ring she’s wearing. My pulse surges. A toe ring? Why in the world would I find that so attractive? I squeeze my eyes shut and turn away. Dehydration! Yep, that’s my problem. I forgot my water bottle when I left the penthouse.

No, it’s called a dry spell.

I tug on Chance’s leash again, and he finally rolls to his side and stands up. He does one of those head-to-tail dogquakes, shaking the grass and dirt off his fur. She glances our way and holds up a finger for us to wait. Why should I wait? And why hasn’t she walked away? I know I’m being an asshole. Wait. If I’m an asshole, then why am I still standing here?

Now I’m plain confused. I just wanted to go for a run. She continues to talk and I continue to listen.

Daisy, everything’s ready for the opening on Friday. I put most of the photographs where you instructed but switched a couple around.

She drapes her thick, wavy dark hair over one shoulder, revealing her bare, kissable neck. I wish I had my camera. I’d take a thousand pictures of her beautiful curves. They’d never be seen by the public eye—just mine.

I know you said he’s adamant about the order of the photographs, but trust me, they work better where I’ve hung them. This is too weird. Just stop by tomorrow, and I’ll prove it. It’s not like he’ll be there for the opening anyway. Huh? He’ll never know.

Her fingers massage her eyebrows. I’ve been doing this for a long time. Just wait until you see it tomorrow. Come any time after nine. She pauses to listen. Okay. See you then.

No matter how much I want to leave, I can’t keep my eyes off this addictive woman or stop listening to her voice. Why does it feel like my life has taken a dramatic left turn by meeting her? This Daisy friend of hers better not be who I