Page 22 of Temptation and the Artist

“Ignore me. I grow maudlin. It must be the wine and the smell of your paints that reminds me of the past. Tell me instead about your life and loves, Stephen Dornan.”

“I paint portraits,” he replied. “And like you, I am still waiting for my one true love.”

“Waiting, not looking?”

He knew what she was asking, and it was most improper. But she had already trusted him with her feelings for Johnny Dearham.

“I am not a monk.”

“But you keep no mistress in Kensington or in Mayfair. At least not at the moment.”

He smiled at his painting. “How do you know that?”

“I asked Lord Calton.”

“Why?” he asked baffled.

“Because you always intrigued me.”

His heart skipped a rapid beat, disconcerting him. Or perhaps she had done that. He darkened the shadow among the painted folds of her shawl, added a touch of orange to the glow from the fire striking her hair, but he was in no condition now to paint. The intimacy had overtaken the task.

He laid down his brush and stepped back. “You always dazzled me,” he said conversationally.

She made no reply, and he was afraid to look. Instead, he turned the easel so that the canvas faced the wall. He hadn’t touched the others.

“I have reached a good place to stop, and you must have a crick in your neck.” He pulled the paint-strewn shirt over his head. “Allow me to escort you back to your rooms.”

“Are you afraid your brothers will attack me?”

“No. But I will take every second of your company I can.”

She eased off the bed in slow motion, as graceful as it was arousing. She walked toward him, the shawl still dangling from her elbows. “While throwing me out of your room,” she mocked.

He swallowed. “While trying to keep you safe.”

“From you, Stephen Dornan?”

He could no longer tell if she was mocking him. Her beauty, his own body, both clamored too much. “Yes.” He had to move away, blowing out all the candles, and turning down the lamp by the door.

He turned to find her right beside him. His heart seemed to be knocking against his ribs. But fear of losing her trust, her friendship, was drowning in the possibility that there could be more. That he wanted, needed more. Beyond that, he could not think, only feel.

“I would like,” he said, gazing down into her warm, brilliant eyes, “if you would allow it, to kiss you good night.”

Mutely, she lifted her face to his.

*

She had been on the verge of taking matters into her own hands. The strange, unbearable intimacy of the last hour—or more, she had no concept left of passing time—had done its work too well. Just feeling his gaze upon her had aroused her unbearably. Combined with the constantly growing surges of affection and trust and fascination, she found it near impossible not to touch him.

And now he touched her first, lifting one slow, paint-stained hand to glide his fingertips across her cheek. She closed her eyes, and his hand settled, cupping her face as his breath kissed her mouth.

And then came his lips with the tiniest of touches on hers, followed by a brushing caress as light as a butterfly wing. And a small soft kiss at the corner of her mouth, another that moved gently to capture her parted lips at last, tasting, savoring.

Her hands crept over his shirt, to his shoulders, his nape, as she sighed with wonder as well as pleasure. No one had ever kissed her quite like this before. It felt like awe, like worship, and she never wanted it to end, for it was sweet and enchanting. She didn’t even realize she wanted more until he gave it, sinking his mouth deeper and moving on hers with slow sensuality.

With a sigh, she opened wide to him, winding her tongue around his, and drew him closer, her fingers tangling with the soft hair at his nape, her other arm around his waist, her palm flat against the astonishing heat of his back. She pressed nearer, discovering with fierce triumph that he was already fully aroused. He made no effort to hide it from her either, even moved his hips languidly against her as he kissed. God help her, he would be a uniquely sensitive lover, giving pleasure after pleasure.

His free arm swept around her, holding her fast for a long, delicious moment. And then his mouth loosened, smiling against hers. “You kiss as you look.”

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