Ella moved onto her side and nestled her head under his shoulder, burying her nose in his chest hair. “Mmm,” she murmured, “I love your scent. It stirs something deep inside me.” She lay contentedly in his arms, stroking the dark hair and kissing his skin where a tattoo curled up the left side of his abdomen. “A flamenco dancer,” she whispered appreciatively. “As gorgeous as the one in the painting I bought—La Alma.” Tracing her fingers along the dancer’s curved, elegant arms, she asked hesitantly, “Was she your lover?”
Jean-Luc pulled Ella against his chest, rocking her gently as he kissed the top of her head. “No… she was a dancer I admired. Her name was Carmen. She was the star of the flamenco troupe that my parents belonged to—Flamenco del Sol.” He stroked the side of her soft cheek and smiled at her inquisitive face. “I used to watch Carmen dance when I was a boy learning flamenco in my parents’ troupe. I did have a huge crush on her, but we were never lovers. She was much older—my parents’ age. But she was my idol. As well as the inspiration for my own dance.”
A glint of surprise sparked in her emerald eyes.
He tucked an arm under his head and met her rapt gaze. “I’m a flamenco dancer, like my parents.” He grinned as her eyes widened in wonder. “My father, Jose Cortés, was a flamenco dancer from Spain. He met my mother, Solange Dubois—a French artist from Provence who was also a dancer— in Córdoba. They fell in love and joined theFlamenco del Soldance troupe, performing together across Spain and France, all the way from Andalucía tola Côte d’ Azur.” He pushed a strand of hair from Ella’s enthralled face. “They divorced when I was sixteen, and my mother moved to Perpignan—in the south of France, on the Mediterranean. I learned art from my French mother, and flamenco from my Spanish father. He died when I was eighteen, and the trust fund he’d set up enabled me to go to New York to study art. In Manhattan, I earned extra money performing in flamenco shows. And now, in Montmartre, I dance at theTablao Flamenco—the same place I took you last night. Twice a week, on Tuesday and Friday nights.”
Ella sat up and inhaled sharply, her eyes aflame. “Today is Friday. So…you perform tonight?”
He arose from the bed and stretched his arms overhead. “I do indeed. The show starts at eight.” He took Ella’s hands and pulled her to a stand, enveloping her in his welcoming arms. “I’d like you to come to the performance tonight. Bring your friend Yelena, too. I want you to watch me dance. Because tonight, Ella, I dance for you.” He lifted her chin gently with a curved finger, leaning down to swallow her full, luscious lips.
“I would love to see you dance!” she whispered breathlessly, burying her face in his chest hair. She looked up at him with incredulous eyes. “And you’re going to dancefor me?”
“Oui, mon coeur.Tonight, I dance for you.” He pulled her close, caressing her face with tenderness, as he planted a soft kiss on her parted lips. With an impish grin, he gazed down at her, wrapped up in his arms. “Would you like to see some of my art? Now that we’ve made love, I can think clearly again.” He chuckled deeply as he kissed the corner of Ella’s smiling lips.
Her eyes danced with childish delight. “I’d love that!”
Jean-Luc took Ella’s hand and led her downstairs. It was exhilarating to share his works with her, all the more exciting because they were both still nude.
Spotting the bouquet of roses and peonies on the table near the entrance door, Ella asked, “I’d like to put these in water. Do you have a vase?”
“I think there’s one here, from when Yolaine lived with Florent. She used to buy flowers all the time for the apartment.” He looked in a cupboard under the sink where he cleaned his paintbrushes. “Ah…here’s one.” He handed it to Ella, who arranged the flowers in the clear glass container.
She filled it with water and placed it on the table, beaming with satisfaction as she bent to breathe in the floral fragrance. “There, now they’ll last for a few days. Thank you again, Jean-Luc. I just love them.”
He grinned, enormously pleased that she liked his gift.
Ella strode across the room to admire the paintings on the wall. “These are beautiful!” she whispered in awe. “They’re all flamenco dancers. And each one is magnificent.”
He walked up behind her, overlapping his arms across her waist as he kissed the side of her face. “Like Degas, I love to portray dancers. But, while he painted ballerinas, I prefer flamenco.” He squeezed Ella tight and nibbled on her ear. “Pure passion.”
She kissed his forearms, then wriggled free to examine his works more closely. “You’ve captured the elegance and grace of movement. The power and precision of form. And the intensity of emotion on their faces.” She swirled toward him, her emerald eyes ablaze. “Your work is incredible. I’m amazed by your astounding talent.”
Jean-Luc smiled as he beheld the nude temptress before him. Her upswept blonde hair— half tumbling down from their romantic interlude—the lithe limbs, toned body… He just couldn’t get enough of her. And yet, she was unaware of her own beauty, her allure, her effect on him. His eyes rove over her lightly tanned skin, admiring the slender torso, narrow waist, and curved hips. When his appreciative gaze settled on the white outline of her bikini and the trimmed hair between her sculpted thighs, his body thickened with a sudden jolt of desire. He’d never been so attracted to a woman before. God, he wanted her again.
But he also wanted to capture her inner fire on canvas.
Instead of leading her back to bed, which his aroused body urged him to do, he extended his hand. “Come, let me show you the studio where I want to paint your portrait.”
He led Ella into a spaciousatelierwith ivory plastered walls and potted plants where a black velvet sofa was situated in the center of the room. Lush, dense foliage concealing an outdoor stone privacy wall was visible through the enormous, sunlit window which extended from the high ceiling to the gleaming pinewood floor. In the corner of the tranquil chamber, a large studio lamp emitted soft, diffused light.
“I’ll have you recline on this sofa.” He indicated the luxurious, tufted divan. “The natural light from the window will be perfect.”
Ella ran appreciative fingers over the soft, decadent fabric. She looked up at him with uncertain eyes.
“Lie down on your right side, facing me. And bend one arm up behind your head.”
She positioned herself on the couch, attempting to rearrange her falling hair.
“Take it down, and let it cascade over your shoulder.” Jean-Luc adjusted the studio light as she unwound her tumbling tresses. “Here, I’ll take those.” He accepted the pins she’d removed from herpompadourand placed them on a small table beside the easel he’d set up. “Lay back, open your thighs just a bit…yes, like that. Now, look at me…and think of what I just did to you upstairs. Imagine my tongue between your legs, my fingers thrusting deep inside you.”
She parted her lips and exhaled as a decadent flush swept across her beautiful face.
Jean-Luc leaned over her, placing a few strands of long blonde hair strategically over her left breast. The pretty pink nipple protruded from the golden cascade, and his lips ached to suckle it. With difficulty, he resisted, returning instead to sketch her outline on the canvas at his easel. “Lift your chin slightly,” he instructed. “And imagine what I’m going to do to you tonight after the performance.”
Desire blazed in her dark green eyes as a soft moan escaped her parted lips. His body stirred at the sensual sound, her velvety voice strumming him like a harp. Long golden legs, enticingly open—but just a bit—tempted him to push them apart and reveal the glistening pink flesh which clenched him so tight.
His fingers etched her slender curves onto the canvas. “You are exquisite, Ella. I’m attracted to you more than any woman ever before.” The pencil danced as the outline of her alluring body emerged under his skilled fingers. “I can’t believe how much I want you… I think about you constantly.” He captured her pert little breasts, longing to caress the creamy skin. “I haven’t been in a relationship for months. But now…I want you with me all the time. I just can’t get enough of you.” As he sketched the soft curls between her lithe thighs, his cock thickened and lengthened until he stood high and hard, aching for her again. “Ella, I can’t resist you,” he groaned, tossing his pencil aside and striding briskly to the sofa. He tugged her legs toward him, pulling her so that she lay flat on her back. Hovering over her, he lowered his appreciative mouth to her soft breasts, assailing her luscious nipples with warm, insistent lips.
