Makenna's POV.

I was in Wolfe's art room, my pencil scratching furiously at the paper as I tried to capture his likeness. Or, more accurately, I was failing miserably at it. The fact that he wouldn't stay still wasn't helping. Every time I got a line just right, he'd shift or move, ruining my efforts. I paused, staring at him, admiring the way the light played off his muscles and how his tousled hair fell perfectly into place. His strong jawline and the way his shirt clung to his broad ...