" Moses?” I said softly.
“Yeah?” His eyes lifted from the canvas briefly.
“There’s a new law in Georgia.”
“Does it directly contradict one of the laws of Moses?”
“Yes. Yes it does,” I confessed.
“Hmm. Let’s hear it.” He set his brush down, wiped his hands on a cloth and approached the bed where I was positioned, draped in a sheet like a Rubenesque Madonna. I learned the term from him, and he seemed to think it was a good thing.
“Thou shall not paint,” I commanded sternly. He leaned over me, one knee on the bed, his strong arms bracketing my head, and I turned slightly, looking up at him.
“Ever?” He smiled. I watched his head descend and his lips brushed mine. But his golden-green eyes stayed open, watching me as he kissed me. My toes curled and my eyes fluttered, the sensation of lips tasting lips pulling me under.
“No. Not ever, just sometimes,” I sighed.
“Just when I’m in Georgia? "

― Amy Harmon , The Law of Moses (The Law of Moses, #1)