➵ 'Deleted' Scene 1

J A C E My hands moved across the page with practiced precision that somehow never truly felt precise enough whenever I drew the girl in front of me. Lia was stretched out over the couch - head on one armrest, ankles crossed as they rested upon the other. Her eyes were closed, her face beautifully illuminated by the light that trickled in through the gaps between the curtains. It was the first time I'd seen her willingly unkempt -  her face was bare, hair pulled up into an untidy bun. Rather than one of her dresses, she was lounging in one of my shirts, and underneath, her chest was rising and falling with every soft, graceful intake of breath. Lovely was too mundane of a word to describe her. "Staring is rude, English." "I'm staring," I said, sketching the curve of her cheekbone, "because you stole my shirt again." "I'm a thief." "A reformed thief." "Baby steps." Lia's eyes opened, gleaming in the sunlight like a pair of emeralds. She tipped her head, lips curving into a mischievous smile when she saw the sketchbook. "But, you're right. I'm reformed." Without waiting, she pulled the band that held her hair up, letting the chestnut locks spill down her shoulders. "What are you doing?" I asked, feeling far more breathless than I cared to admit. Slowly, elegantly, she pulled the shirt off over her head and tossed it over, with that same wicked smile on her face. "Draw me like one of your French girls, Jacian."