She turned her head to face him. Licking her lips, she stared at his. She’d liked how it felt to kiss him. She also liked touching him, and to be fair, she liked how he had touched her. If they were married, she’d be his, but he’d also be hers. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kept her gaze on his lips. They were like hers but different, not as full or as soft. Lowering her head, she tentatively touched his. They were just as she remembered. She increased the pressure of the kiss and his lips opened.
Unable to resist, she slipped her tongue between them and tasted him. It felt like coming home. The texture and taste familiar yet a little different, a touch of cognac on her tongue. He allowed her the pleasure of exploring and she grasped his hair in one hand, tilting her mouth more, wanting to get closer somehow.
His tongue thrust forward into her mouth and his arms grasped her harder. The titillating pleasure she’d felt with her kiss transformed to spiking excitement, as if a kitten changed into a lion. Her toes curled and heat swept through her, her limbs weakening. It wasn’t enough.
Suddenly, he broke the kiss and held her away from him. “We can’t.”
“We can’t?” Still reeling from the feelings he’d brought out in her, she shook her head, acknowledging he was right. “No, we can’t.”
His breaths were as shallow as hers. “Not yet.”
Something bumped against her arse and she jumped up. “What’s that?” She stared at his lap, the cloak now having a bump in it.
He chuckled. “That is me, or rather what you do to me.”
Drawings inThe Illustrated Pleasures of Seductioncame to mind. Most had the man and woman hip to hip, but she remembered one that showed that man’s part not small like Michelangelo’sDavid,but stiff and long and straight. Her gaze flew back to his lap, then she spun on her heel and grasped the table with the silver tea service. Flustered, she grabbed a teacup and lifted the kettle from the fireplace hob. “You need to warm up.” She poured the tea into the cup. Adding sugar and milk, though she didn’t know how he took his tea, she stirred it.
“I believe I’m quite warm.”
She lifted the cup to give it to him and stilled. He’d risen, no longer wearing the cloak, but had her shawl wrapped around his hips.
“I believe we have a painting to be completed, correct?”
She stared at his body, his wide shoulders tapering down to his hips, his mounded chest fading into the ripples of his abdomen, his muscular thighs beneath her shawl tapering to equally muscular calves and then back up. “Beautiful.” The word slipped from her lips without thought. She blinked. “I mean you will make a beautiful painting.” She finally met his gaze, a soft smile having formed on his lips.
“Only because you can paint it. I’d say we are a good pair.”
She swallowed. What he meant was a good pair now in her studio and soon in life. The prospect of marrying him no longer seemed frightening. Maybe because she knew this painting would be what she hoped or maybe because she could imagine living with him, having breakfast with him, even sharing a bed with him. The images calmed her.
“Have you decided how you want me to sit for this one?”
His return to their purpose had her handing him the cup. “Yes, but I insist you drink some of this before we start. I can show you the sketch I was working on.”
He took the teacup with no argument, and obediently sipped.
She rolled her eyes at his action and moved over to her sketching table.
“What kind of book is this?” He reached past her as they came to the table and liftedThe Pleasures of Seduction, setting his teacup on the stool.
Horsefeathers, she’d forgotten it was on the table. She held out her hand. “It’s a book of sketches that I’ve used to figure out the male body. I’ve had trouble with it in the past, having never had a willing male model before.”
The book had closed as he lifted it, but now he opened it. His eyes widened and his brows rose. Then a slow, seductive smile formed on his face as his gaze left the pages to meet hers. “Are these the types of images you were hoping to paint?”
She couldn’t see what page he opened to until he tipped the book so she could see a woman on all fours and a man behind her. The heat that rushed to her face was almost unbearable and she looked away. “I only use the front figure.”
He tilted the book back to turn the page and then the next, obviously enjoying each image.
Mortified, she stood absolutely still. But soon it was clear he teased her, each facial expression becoming more exaggerated than the last as he viewed another page. Shaking her head, she turned away and pulled the sketch from the table. “If you want to see my plan for your painting, you’ll have to put that book down.” She strolled toward her easel where a blank canvas awaited her.
“Perhaps I could take it back with me and study it further.” His silent approach on bare feet startled her, as well as his breath brushing the back of her neck.
“No. It’s not my book.” She raised her hand to forestall him though he remained behind her. “And no, I will not tell you whose book it is.” She held the sketch against her chest. “Now, do you wish to see how you will need to stand for this painting?”
“I do.” His tone had changed from teasing to serious, so she spared a look over her shoulder. He had stepped back to allow her to present her idea.
Her excitement over her vision returned and she set the small sketch in front of the canvas. Her heart thudded in her chest with anticipation as she stepped aside to allow him to view it.
He walked forward. “This is the Parthenon.” He pointed to the columns in the upper left corner.
