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He grabbed the digital camera off the table and brought it over to the chaise, setting it down on the floor. He kneeled in front of her, refusing to acknowledge the womanly scent permeating his senses. But she was close. So damn close he could smell her desire, could see the dark shadow between her breasts, the soft fullness of each globe beckoning to his hands, his mouth.
Just a subject. A bowl of fruit.
Uh-huh.
“Lie down on your side and rest your head in the palm of your left hand.” He helped position her, moving her right leg slightly forward over the left. The bottom half of the robe parted and he sucked in a breath before hurriedly covering her legs. Too late, he’d already seen the shadow of her pussy.
Bare. Shaved or waxed, he wasn’t sure, but the half-second glimpse made him hungry. His jeans tightened and he was thankful he’d left his long T-shirt untucked. Maybe it would cover his erection. He wished he had some kind of magical powers to become a eunuch during the time he was painting Kaitlyn. Would make this whole process a helluva lot easier.
Touching her was agony, but he had to rest his hand on the small of her back to direct her hips forward, and take her hand in his to drape it over her hip. If his gaze lingered a little too long on the sexy swell of her hip, he couldn’t help it. He figured he was doing good just keeping his hands to himself. His thoughts were another matter entirely.
Once satisfied and just about hyperventilating with the effort to maintain control, he picked up the camera, stood and shot a few pictures of her, covering various angles to be sure he had as much of a three-dimensional look as possible.
He placed the camera onto the printer docking station, hit the button and grabbed the photos as they spilled through, then carried them over to Kaitlyn.
“You can sit up now. Let’s look at these and you can decide if this pose works.”
He didn’t even look at the pictures, just thrust them into Kaitlyn’s hands and sat next to her, studying the front of the camera.
“Wow,” she said. “These are really me?”
Amazement and surprise widened her eyes. She had no clue how beautiful she was, how her inner light shone through in simple digital photographs.
Painting her would be a once in a lifetime experience.
“I like this pose just fine,” she said, handing the pictures back to him. “What do you think?”
He scanned the photos, already knowing what the camera had caught. The full curve of her hip, highlighted by her slender arm and tapered fingers. The shadow between her breasts as her robe gaped open, the sensual tilt of her mouth as she watched him take the pictures, the ethereal light in her eyes as she watched his every move.
As beautiful as she was, that’s what really gut-punched him—the look in her eyes that he could only describe as a hungry craving. He sucked in a breath and went in search of his bottle of water, downing the contents in a few desperate gulps. He’d sell his soul for a stronger drink right now.
Instead, he reached for his sketchpad and turned back to Kaitlyn.
“Lie back down,” he instructed, already committing the pose to memory. Repositioning her was easy.
“What are you doing?” she asked when he sat on the floor just a few feet from her.
“I’ll sketch you first. It’ll give me a clearer picture when I paint.”
“Do you need me to slip the robe off now?”
He kept his focus on the sketchpad. “Not yet.” Not unless he really wanted to come in his pants.
Mercifully she quieted and he focused on sketching, his hand moving with rapid speed over the paper. He could easily draw her from memory alone, but occasionally looked up to check her positioning. Each time he did, her gaze captured his and he had to force himself to look away.
Before he did something really stupid, like drop the pad, drag her into his arms and taste from her sweet lips until he drank his fill. Though he doubted he’d ever be satisfied once he crossed that line.
The smartest thing to do was make sure he never did.
Chapter Four
When was she going to get naked?
Dammit, she’d been lying here for two hours already, watching Brett sketch, frown, rip the page from the pad and ball it up to toss it behind him, then begin the process all over again. In fact, he barely looked at her; just kept his head down, his eyes focused on the sketchpad.
She wanted him focused on her.
Naked.
Whoa. Hold on there, girl. You’re only here to see that he starts painting again.
Right. Nothing like a good case of denial to get a girl through the day, right? She wasn’t supposed to want him. This project was supposed to have nothing to do with emotions and desires. But it did. And denying it or trying to rationalize her reasons for being here weren’t going to sweep the real reason under the fainting couch.
Okay, so she wanted him. No newsflash there. She always had. From the time she was old enough for her hormones to start raging through her system, her budding womanhood had been directed at Brett McGregor. And no matter that she’d had relationships with other men in the past ten years, her heart had still wanted only one man.
The one man who didn’t want her.
Which begged the question of why she was really here. To coerce Brett into painting, or to seduce him into fucking her? If she were honest with herself, she’d say both, with her main intent focused on the latter, not the former.
“Are you okay?”
Her head shot up to find Brett studying her. “Uh, sure. Why?”
“You groaned. Or something similar. Are you cramping up in that position?”
“No. I’m fine. Sorry.”
She couldn’t believe she’d actually groaned out loud. Then again, she’d never handled frustration with a lot of patience.
Focusing on Brett instead of her stupid internal questions, she frowned, watching as he ripped yet another sheet off the sketch tablet and wadded it in a ball.
“Problem?” she asked.
“No. Just can’t get the right angle on this sketch. It’s not coming out like I want it to.”
She loved watching the intense concentration on his face, wanted to see him that focused on her while he touched her, fucked her, kissed her. The room grew warm, humidity soaking the air. She shook off her magic. “Am I doing something wrong?”
His gaze met hers and she was shocked to see the heat simmering there. She wasn’t inexperienced in the ways of a man’s desire, and unless she was inserting a little wishful thinking into what she saw on Brett’s face, that look of raw need was unmistakable.
Need, and something else. Almost a wistful, painful longing. She felt it, but she couldn’t pinpoint the reasons for his pain.
Was he missing Amanda still? Or was it something else?
Need and desire was strong between them. She didn’t need magic to recognize the sexual hunger in his eyes. But there was more that he wanted, and that’s what she couldn’t figure out.
Then again she’d never been able to figure him out. Both aloof and hot as hell, he’d always given her mixed signals, just as he was doing now.
Was it possible he wanted her as much as she wanted him? Or was she seeing only what she wanted to see? Maybe his gaze swept her body from head to toe because that’s how he sketched her. Maybe he lingered at her breasts and that spot between her legs a little longer than the rest of her because she hadn’t taken the robe off yet and he couldn’t visualize what he wanted to?
And why the hell hadn’t he asked her to disrobe yet? How was he supposed to paint her nude when he had no idea what her naked body even looked like?
His eyes were still locked on her breasts. They warmed as if they’d been touched by his fingers, and she bit her lip and forced her magic deep within. But damn, a cooling breeze would offer relief right about now. The heat was building, and it wasn’t from the room. It was coming from the inside out.
“Brett, are you intending to get me naked anytime soon?”
His h
