Meet Angus.


Angus: bearded hipster of his own mind. Bar tender. Artist. Man about town.


Currently he works feverishly in his own home; trapped behind an easel with his watercolour paints and inks. Normally he prefers his oils for the textures they can bring out. Tonight he has accepted a challenge and tried a different medium.


The challenger is in front of his canvas, spread out cat-like over a sofa. She is that other artist who flared bubbling suspicions in his mind and desires in his breast. The red hair was indeed a wig - it came off in a timely fashion and he wasn’t exactly amazed to find that her hair was as black as midnight and cut into a bob. Her attire has gone, too (well, most of it. She is still waring striped stockings). One of them has slunk down the length of her leg and has squirmed about her ankle, heaven help him! The smile she has on her face is down right dangerous and for a maddening reason he cannot fathom, he cannot quite capture it.


Its frustrating him, no end. Or so he thinks.


Ingrid, of course, knows better. She has wormed her way into his life and his home. She’s even put him in a corner with her artistic challenges. This time she is wickedly aware he had no idea how far she’d go.


Oh! And she very much doubts Angus’ frustration has anything to do with her smile. Not after she got comfortable, shifted her hips just so…. And angled her leg in that strategically open pose…