Again she came toward him. He waited, curious what she would do next. He didn’t have long to wait.
Her hands came up to the front of his shoulders, their softness against his skin hard to ignore. She added pressure to his right shoulder, and he gave into it. When she didn’t immediately pull her hands away, he looked at her to find her studying his chest. Blast, if she kept that up, things would get uncomfortable fast. He took an extra deep breath, forcing his chest to rise.
She jumped back, her cheeks turning rosy with her blush, but she remained focused on her task. “That’s better. I want you facing me but with a very slight angle as if you have just halted.”
Again she returned to her easel, but didn’t even look at him before taking up her paintbrush and adding a few strokes to the canvas. Then she finally took another glance. Once again, she halted, her nose squinching up as she studied him.
He held back a chuckle. She reminded him of a five-year-old who had just been told she must eat boiled turnips.
“Oh, of course.” She gestured toward him with her brush. “Please take off the shawl. That is why nothing seems right.”
Despite knowing she wished to paint him nude, he didn’t think she’d actually do so, especially after seeing how she’d done the sketch from the questionable book she used. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Sometimes sacrifices must be made for art.” She dipped her brush into a color on her palette and returned her attention to the painting.
Sacrifices? He hoped she did not mean that it was a chore to have to look at him while unclothed. He didn’t plan to make love to her any other way. Untying the knot he’d made at his waist, he dropped the shawl on the table. Despite how cold it was outside, the warmth of the room made it comfortable.
Returning his arms to her preferred position, he waited for her to turn back, hoping her face wouldn’t scrunch up again. He’d never thought about how he looked to women without his clothes since he’d never heard any complaints. But now, he was more than curious how his bride-to-be would react to his nude body. After what seemed like an hour, but was most likely only minutes, her gaze returned to him.
He remained completely still as her focus went straight to his pelvis. If her parted lips and faster breaths were any indication, she was not afraid or horrified by what she saw. He had to ask. “Did that help?”
Her gaze snapped to his. “Uh, yes. Yes, it does help.” Then as if remembering she was supposed to be painting him, she scanned his whole body. “Maybe turn your head just slightly to the right.”
He turned his head, but didn’t like the position because it made it harder to see her.
“No, not that far. Face me more.”
That was better. It was easier to see her, but her brows were lowered again.
“No, no.” She set down her brush and moved forward. When she reached him, she laid her hands on either side of his face and moved his head.
Unfortunately, her skirts brushed against him, causing his body to react.
Her hands then lowered to his waist. “And twist just a bit, no, that’s far enough.”
He felt himself growing hard. He doubted that was what she wished to paint. Since she had only seen unaroused men in statue form, he doubted she’d thought of how her touch affected him, that was, if she even knew that it affected him. He grasped her hands as they moved over his stomach. “Perhaps you should just tell me what you want.”
“But it’s easier if I put you in position.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to control his body’s reaction, but even though he didn’t see her, he felt her hands, inhaled her scent, and heard her voice. He opened his eyes and stared into her curious blue gaze. There would be no hiding his attraction to her. Hoping it wouldn’t scare her away, he stopped fighting it. “Amelia, when you touch me, you arouse me.”
Her confusion remained for a moment before she looked down between their bodies and her eyes widened. She took a step back and he let her go. “I didn’t know, I mean, I didn’t think, I…does it hurt?”
As she stared at him, he grew harder, making it difficult to answer without laughing. “No, it doesn’t hurt. It is simply my body’s way of getting ready to make love to you.”
Her gaze finally snapped up and her cheeks, neck, and chest turned a rosy red. She clasped her hands over her chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
It was obvious she didn’t know how to proceed. “May I suggest that you return to the easel and try to capture as much of your vision as possible? There is a chance that my body will return to normal if you are out of reach.”
She took a couple more steps back and bumped into her sketching table. “Yes, yes, of course.” She turned and hid behind her easel, no paintbrush or palette in her hand.
He gave her a few moments to regain her composure, but he’d need more time than that. If this wasn’t so important to her, he’d get dressed and end their time together. She was so very tempting, but he would not take her until they were officially wed.
When minutes went by and she still hadn’t moved, worry started to gnaw at his confidence. “I think you’ll need your paintbrush to continue.”
One hand reached out and grabbed the palette with the paintbrush from the nearby table and pulled it behind the painting. Though he couldn’t see her, her skirts were visible, and they moved, proving she’d started to paint again.
Letting out a breath, he focused on his position. Finding that too easy to do, he thought about his estate, the books, his tenants, his mother, anything but the woman painting him. He did well, his body relaxing again until she spoke.
