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“Or maybe he’s flat-out uninterested.”
Shannon squeezed her hand. “Trust me, honey. The man is interested. Only he knows why he’s holding back. I guess that’s for you to figure out.”
By the time she arrived at Brett’s house, she had nothing figured out, least of all his strange, inconsistent behavior. Late afternoon clouds sailed over the tile roof, obliterating the sun and darkening the skies.
Kind of like her mood. Dark and unsettled, the smell of impending spring rain tingeing the air with a musky scent that dove into her senses and made her tremble with anticipation.
Swirling winds swept around her, whipping strands of hair around her face. The rumble of thunder sounded in the distance.
Despite the ominous threat of a storm, Kaitlyn smiled, closed her eyes and inhaled the crisp scent of spring. Her season, her power, swirling around her, infusing her with its energy.
She was so lost in the sensual delights of spring, she hadn’t realized Brett had opened the door until she felt his warm hand on her shoulder. Her eyes flew open in an instant, remnants of her magic still filling the air with its sweet, flowery scent. Brett removed his hand and arched a brow, studying her with great interest.
“Meditating?” he asked.
“You could call it that.” Crimson heat flooded her cheeks. Nothing like communing with her element on his doorstep while he watched. “I like spring.”
“Obviously.” He held the door and she brushed past, electricity pinging as her arm made contact with his chest. Shaking off the vibrations from his touch, she moved into the studio, conscious of his position behind her, once again wondering if he watched her when she walked, if he studied her movements the way she did his. When they entered the room, she stopped and turned, awaiting instructions.
“Go ahead and change while I get set up. I’ll begin painting tonight.”
“Okay.” She hurried into the dressing room, the smell of the spring-laden air still clinging to her skin as she stripped and slid the robe on. Tonight she’d finally get to undress, the thought making her nipples once again pucker against the satin fabric. Her pussy squeezed and pulsed, as if waiting for her to drive her fingers deep inside again, just like last night.
Not this time. Tonight she’d exercise some control. Not a chance would she allow her libido to gain the upper hand like it had yesterday. Cool, calm and collected. That’s how she’d present herself to Brett.
Right. Now if she could just figure out how to actually feel that way.
When she opened the door, he was standing next to the easel waiting for her. She couldn’t help admiring the way he fit a pair of jeans. Old, tattered and paint-spattered, the worn denim hugged his thighs and rested low-slung over his hips. Tonight he wore a sleeveless white shirt. His hair was a little mussed, quite different than the normally cool and poised persona he presented in business and at social functions.
She kind of liked him mussed. In fact, she’d love to run her fingers through his thick dark hair and make a real mess of it.
God, she was hopeless. Hurriedly crossing her arms over her breasts to hide her painfully erect nipples, she managed a smile and asked, “Should I disrobe now?”
He shook his head. “Not necessary yet. Lie down and we’ll get you into position first.”
Damn. He really didn’t want to see her naked. But why? She’d like to think it was because he wanted her and was afraid he wouldn’t be able to control himself, but her lack of ego refused to believe that. There had to be another reason. Maybe he really did think of her as a little sister and the thought of seeing her nude repulsed him.
With her luck, that was the reason. She’d likely spent the better part of her adult life lusting after a man who thought of her as a sister. How disgusting.
He positioned her just as he had last night, then disappeared behind the easel without another word. Just moved her limbs and quickly withdrew his hands as if her skin was on fire and he didn’t want to get burned.
She waited, not moving at all, for at least an hour. The only time Brett peeked around the easel was to take a quick look at her, frown as if he didn’t like what he saw, then pop back behind the canvas again. She heard the rasping sound of brushstrokes on canvas, but he didn’t speak.
Finally she couldn’t take it any longer. “How’s it going over there?”
“Fine.”
Rolling her eyes, she mentally counted the minutes, waiting for him to offer any small tidbit of conversation. Nothing.
“Do you need me to reposition?”
“No.”
“Are you always this quiet when you paint?”
“Yes.”
Fine. No. Yes. This was great. Then again, what had she expected? You’re a bowl of fruit, Kaitlyn. Remember? An artist isn’t going to have a conversation with a bowl of fruit.
This wasn’t going at all like she anticipated.
“Brett.”
“Yeah.”
“When do you want me to remove my robe?”
Silence.
“Brett?”
“Uh, I’ll let you know when the time is right.”
Somehow she got the idea the time would never be right. And the longer she laid there, the robe covering her nudity, the more irritated she became. He was an artist. She was a model. She wanted a nude painting, not one with her wearing a robe. Oh sure, he could slap some obscure tits and pussy and vague idea of her body shape onto the canvas, but it wouldn’t really be her.
“So what are you doing over there? How can you paint my body if you’ve never seen it?”
“An artist doesn’t need to see the entire subject to create in his mind’s eye.”
Mind’s eye, her ass. This was ridiculous! Now she was certain he would never ask her to remove the robe. Whatever made him hesitant to see her naked was strong enough to allow him to compromise his artistic integrity. Well, that just wasn’t going to work.
“I need a break,” she announced, irritation evident in her clipped tone. At this point she didn’t care how she sounded.
He laid the brush down and stepped out from behind the easel. “Me too. Go ahead and stretch, use the restroom or whatever and I’ll make us some coffee.”
“Fine.” She slipped off the chaise and rested her hands on her lower back, bending backward to stretch the kinks out of her muscles. Brett stepped out of the studio, so she decided to go hide in the dressing area for a few minutes.
She turned the water on and took one of the disposable plastic cups from the unit on the wall so she could get a drink. Taking a spot on the cushioned bench against the wall, she stared into the mirror and made faces at herself.
What a stupid idea. Oh sure, let him paint you. Well, he was painting all right. The problem was, he wasn’t painting her!
And exactly what was she going to do about it? She stared at her reflection long and hard, until the image in the mirror arched a brow and grinned. A rather evil little image, actually. She kind of liked it.
Even better, she now had an idea. A rather bold one, but still, a necessity if she was going to push Brett to do what he really needed to do. What she really wanted him to do.
And what exactly was that? To begin painting again, definitely. But there was more than that. Much more than that, and it was
about time she admitted it. All the games and denial were over.
Whether Brett liked it or not, when this little game resumed, they’d be playing it according to her rules.
Chapter Five
Brett stared at the thin stream of coffee flowing through the filter into the pot. The ticking seconds pounded inside him like a time bomb attached to his crotch.
Painfully hard for the past hour and a half, he knew there was no way in hell he’d be able to do the painting justice. He didn’t want to imagine the color of Kaitlyn’s nipples or whether her areolas were small or large, coral, pink or bronze. He wanted to see them. Even worse, he wanted to rim his tongue over the pebbled points and taste her.
He wanted to spread her legs and look his fill of her, kneel between her thighs so he could inhale her sweet scent and touch her silken pussy lips, then lick the length of her and drive his tongue between her drenched slit to sample her cream.
His cock lurched against the zipper of his jeans. He wondered if his hard-on would dissipate if he dipped it into the pot of scalding coffee.
Probably not. He was doomed to an eternal erection as long as Kaitlyn occupied his home. Because he was not going to touch her, and no way would he let her take off that robe.
He set cream and sugar on a tray and poured the coffee into a carafe, then dragged two cups out of the cupboard and carried everything into the studio.
The door to the dressing room was closed, so he laid the tray on the bar. He heard the click of the door and turned toward her. Her cheeks were flushed and she’d brushed her hair so that it shimmered in soft waves over her breasts. The overhead lights made it look as if she wore silvery, moonlit stars in her hair.
His gut tightened. She literally took his breath away and he forced himself to inhale. He poured a cup of coffee, grateful for something to occupy his hands. “Cream or sugar?”
“Both,” she said, her sultry voice a vibration in his jeans. His balls throbbed, reminding him of the last time he’d heard that gravelly voice. Last night, on the other side of the dressing room door, while she begged the imaginary him to fuck her.
