Page 22 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

“You paint?”

Flabbergasted, Octavia stared at him with a look of incredulity. The pleasure lighting his face as he examined her paints indicated Atticus didn’t just enjoy the prospect of applying paint to canvas. He reveled in it. A grin of anticipation on his lips, he glanced at her then fixed his gaze on her fully, raising his eyebrows at her astonishment.

“I’ve enjoyed painting since I was a child, but I never spent much time at it until I was in America. The scenery out west is stunning, and I wanted to capture some of its beauty.” Atticus shrugged almost sheepishly. “I’m not as talented as you, but painting relaxes me.”

“I see,” she murmured, still in a state of shocked disbelief. He chuckled before he grew solemn.

“I can see I have my work cut out for me when it comes to making you believe I’m not like the men you’ve known in the past, Octavia.” Atticus studied her for a long moment before a frown furrowed his brow. “Forgive me, I didn’t ask if you would object to my using your studio.”

“I…I don’t have any objections.”

The grin directed at her made her heart skip a beat. His expression reminded her of the portrait she’d done of him with a small child. It was one of sheer happiness. Unable to resist, she smiled back. Curiosity furrowed his forehead as he arched an eyebrow.

“Did you enjoy your breakfast?”

“I…I didn’t eat…I heard you in the studio…”

“And you raced down here to stop me from seeing my portrait?” The calculating gleam in his eyes made her shiver.

“It’s a present, and I wasn’t sure if Elizabeth had mentioned it to you.” The lie flowed with relative ease past her lips, but Atticus’s expression said he didn’t believe her.

“No, she didn’t mention it to me,” he said softly.

It was as if he’d caressed her skin with a piece of velvet. It made her shiver. Atticus must have seen her tremble, and he circled the workspace between them. The speed with which he moved made her heart lurch before it struck a hard blow to her chest, then sent her pulse spiraling out of control. He stopped inches away from her, making it impossible to avoid breathing in the warm, spicy scent of him. Octavia shivered again, trying to control her racing heart.

“You’re cold.” Concern tightened his mouth.

“A little.” The lie was difficult to choke out while fire spread over her skin in reaction to his close proximity.

“Then I suggest you take your breakfast tray down to the kitchen, where it’s much warmer. In the meantime, I’ll add wood to the fire in here,” he said pragmatically. “It will be much more comfortable by the time you return. I doubt you can paint when your fingers are stiff with cold, anymore than I can.”

The fact he’d assumed she wanted to paint today alarmed her. It had been her intention to do just that, believing it would keep distance between her and Atticus. Now that she’d agreed to let him use her studio, the idea of being in the same room with him for any great length of time alarmed her. She’d only been in his presence for a few minutes now, and in that short amount of time, he was wreaking havoc with her senses.

“Actually, I was…I am not…painting today,” she stammered. “But you’re welcome to stay and use whatever supplies you need.”

“Not painting? Why?” Atticus arched an eyebrow, his sensual lips twitching with amusement. “Are you afraid to be alone with me?”

“No, of course not.” Flustered, she shook her head, irritated at how hastily she’d denied the question. It made her appear guilty, which she was.

“Why do I think you’re lying?” The mischievous note in his voice made her bristle.

“I am not lying.” Octavia glared up at him, hoping her fierce look hid the fact she was doing precisely that. His eyebrow quirked upward, and Octavia realized the habit was a trait that indicated when he was either amused or skeptical.

“I see.” Atticus nodded. “Perhaps I need convincing.”

“Convincing?” Panic made her heart pound wildly as she saw his blue eyes flash with an emotion that made her heart beat even faster.

“Yes,” he murmured as he lowered his head. The warm scent of coffee lingered on his breath, and a tremor of what she knew was anticipation skimmed through her. “If you don’t run after I kiss you, then I’ll be convinced.”

Air fled her lungs, and she struggled to breathe as he bent his head and his mouth teased hers in a light caress. Unable to move, her eyelids fluttered closed as Atticus deepened the kiss. His mouth teased hers until she pressed herself into his hard muscles. It was the most heavenly caress she’d ever experienced.

Strong arms wrapped around her to pull her tight against him, and she breathed a sigh of pleasure. At the sound, he raised his head with what she thought might have been reluctance. Disappointment crested upward into her breast, and her eyes fluttered open to meet his gaze. Beautiful, dark blue eyes burned with desire as he studied her. It was a look that held a promise of wicked pleasure if she dared to accept the silent offer of scandalous passion.

Never in her life had she ever wanted to surrender to a man’s touch as she did Atticus. The strength of the desire he aroused in her wasn’t just powerful. It created a desperate need to be possessed by him, and she shuddered at how close she was to accepting his unspoken invitation. A hard, masculine thumb rubbed over her bottom lip.

“So, you aren’t afraid to be alone with me?”

Quiet amusement mixed with an undefinable emotion threaded his sinful voice, and Octavia fought not to press herself even deeper into the hard chest her fingers were splayed over. Her breathing ragged, she fought to control her reaction to him. With a small shake of her head, Octavia fought to keep her voice serene.