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Her lips twitched as if she fought a smile. She was enjoying this! “Do what? Pose naked in front of a strange man?”
“Yes.” He was drowning here, with no lifeline in sight.
“It’s for art, Brett. I’m not posing for a men’s magazine. You’ve painted nudes before. Did you ever get a sexual thrill from it?”
He’d never painted Kaitlyn. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. But he’d never painted her while she was in the room naked. God knows he’d fantasized about it, though. Plenty of times. His fantasy of her was vivid enough. Her creamy skin glowing like gold under the studio lights, her body open to his view, breasts full, nipples arching toward the ceiling, long raven hair streaming from the chaise onto the floor, her pussy—
Fuck! His cock stirred, targeting his vision and demanding he go for it. Absolutely not. It wasn’t going to happen.
“No, I don’t get a sexual thrill from painting nudes.”
“Then I’m not the least bit worried about a stranger painting me naked. Now are you going to get those numbers for me?”
Did he have a good reason not to give her the numbers? Other than he didn’t want her naked body showing up for sale in some art gallery. But that wasn’t his call. Her body didn’t belong to him and all his posturing and steaming wasn’t going to change that fact.
Ignoring his irritation, he said, “Let’s go to my office.” He pushed through the swinging doors and jerked the knob on his office door, trying to rein in his temper so that he wouldn’t fling the door against the wall. He hated feeling this way, hated the thoughts rambling through his head.
No fucking way was he going to do what his thoughts compelled him to do. That would be disaster.
He reached for his data manager and scrolled through the names, wishing Kaitlyn had never seen the portrait he’d painted. When he walked in and found that one uncovered, he’d damn near hyperventilated. What if she figured it out? What would she say then? How would he explain it? Hell, he couldn’t even explain it to himself. Besides, he’d done that painting a long time ago, before he’d met Amanda. Just a spur of the moment thing on a sleepless night. A vision that haunted his dreams for years. He’d tried to exorcise that vision by painting her, but all he’d done was further entrench her in his soul.
It was still his favorite painting.
Stupid, Brett. Really dumbass move on your part. Now give her the numbers and get her out of here before you do something really stupid, like agree to paint her.
“Of course I’d love it if you’d agree to paint me,” she said.
Oh shit. Hell fucking no! Even if she had given voice to his thoughts, he wasn’t going to do it. “No.”
He looked up at her and she shrugged. “Just a thought.”
“You’re Aidan’s sister, Kait. I couldn’t do that. Besides, he’d kill me if he found out.”
“So, he won’t find out.”
“No It’s too…personal.” He turned away and stared out the window at the darkness, wishing he wasn’t having this conversation with her.
Give her a goddamn name and get her out of here! But then she touched his arm, the heat of her hand searing through his shirt straight into his bloodstream, filling his cock with the need to feel that hand caressing it, stroking it, guiding it to her pussy. He had to fight not to turn around and jerk her into his arms and ravage her sweet mouth.
She tugged on his sleeve, forcing him to turn around and face her. Her eyes were filled with passion and excitement, the green flecks melding together and creating a fire of emerald in her eyes. He wanted to get lost in her eyes, watch them go completely gold as she melted with arousal and need.
“How could it be personal, Brett? There’s nothing between us but friendship. And you said an artist has no sexual feelings when he paints a nude. It’s just work. I’d be nothing more than a vase of flowers or a landscape you were painting.”
She clearly had no fucking idea what she did to him. Just the thought of bringing her into his studio and studying the angles and planes of her naked body got him hard. And not just hard from the idea of revealing her beauty, but excited about taking a paintbrush in hand again after all these years.
He hadn’t felt the urge in years, and it shocked him to feel the force of desire roar to life. Not since Amanda died. Nothing. His muse had been dead. One suggestion from Kaitlyn lit the fires of creativity and he was already itching to sketch out her form. This time without having to rely on his own fantasies and imagination.
And that wasn’t all he was itching to do with her body.
Big fucking colossal disaster in the making, McGregor. Don’t even think about it.
“I really would feel much more comfortable if you painted me, Brett. I don’t know those other men. I mean, I really want the painting done, and I’ll hire someone else to do it if you really don’t want to. But you’d make me feel safe.”
Like hell he would. The last thing she should feel is safe around him. If he got her naked he’d ravage her in the first five minutes, bathe his tongue over every inch of her sweet body and fuck her in every way possible until she was too limp to move. There were things he wanted to do to her that she wasn’t even aware of. She looked at him with love in her eyes. How easily he could take that love and destroy it. But it didn’t stop him from wanting her. How sick was that? Aidan would have to kill him. “I already told you I don’t paint anymore.”
“Think of it as a favor to me. I’ve seen the nudes you paint. They’re breathtaking. Especially the one you hide under a canvas in the storage room,” she said with a tap of her foot.
That painting would never be sold, exhibited or shown in any way. Ever. He’d already made a huge mistake leaving it at the gallery. He’d have to take it home and hide it away where no one would ever see it again. No one but him.
“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” she added.
So had he. Which was why he’d never agree to it, no matter how much she wanted it, no matter how much the desire soared within him.
“Please, Brett.”
Kaitlyn wasn’t the type to beg. When she wanted something, she went after it with a tenacity that belied her petite, slender frame. But she stood there, her eyes luminous pools of swirling green and gold. She sucked in her bottom lip and clasped her hands together.
God she begged nicely. He wondered if she’d beg for an orgasm just as prettily. He’d like to see her strung up on a rack of intense pleasure, begging him to take her over the edge. The physical need to touch her right now was unbearable.
He balled his hands into fists, mentally tamping down the urge to take her right now. Fuck! Could he spend weeks with a raging hard-on and do nothing about it?
Not a chance. “I’m not doing it, Kait.”
He turned away from the crestfallen look on her face and scribbled down the name of one of the artists in his list. “Call Mitch. He’ll do a great painting of you.”
She lifted her chin, her cheeks pink, obviously embarrassed that he’d turned her down. He wished he could tell her all the reasons for declining her request, but he couldn’t. Not without delving deep into his own fears, and that he wasn’t ready to face.
Now she was clearly insulted that he wouldn’t agree to paint her and there wasn’t a damn thing he could say to convince her that he’d just turned down the opportunity to do something he’d wanted to do for as long as he could remember.
She took the card and tucked it into her purse, her tone clipped when she said, “I’ll do that. Thanks.”
He watched her walk away, forcing himself to remain mute before he blurted out that he’d been wrong to say no, that he wanted to paint her more than he wanted anything else.
But he didn’t. Doing what he wanted would be a disaster for Kait. He let her go, mentally damning himself for the self-hatred that consumed him every day.
Mitchell was an honorable artist and a close friend. He’d paint Kaitlyn beautifully.
But Mitchell would never see her soul, her innocent h
eart, her sweet, spring-like nature. He’d never be able to paint the Kaitlyn that Brett knew.
No one could.
Chapter Three
Two days after her disastrous episode with Brett, Kaitlyn stood in front of his gallery again, trying to calm her nerves by taking a few deep breaths. Her palms were sweating, her heart pounding against her ribs.
Okay, so far this hadn’t gone quite as she’d planned. Her original intent to get him to paint was still her number one mission. One way or another, she’d find out tonight if she had any hope at all of succeeding.
She pondered just turning around and going home, and then calling Mitch Walker to tell him she’d changed her mind about the portrait.
Would she really be able to pose nude for a complete stranger? With Brett it was different. She had feelings for him. She knew him, trusted him. The only reason she’d contacted Mitch was because of this really stupid idea that had popped into her head.
Like arranging for the painting to be done at Belle Saisons, thereby forcing Brett watch.
She refused to acknowledge the perverse satisfaction she felt when she’d made the arrangements with Brett. He’d choked for a few minutes, but he didn’t have a valid reason for saying no.
So here she was, about to strip naked in front of two men and have her portrait painted. By someone other than Brett. Served him right for turning her away. God, it wasn’t like she’d begged him to fuck her, though she figured he’d have probably turned that proposal down too.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t stand out here all night and stare through the window. She rang the bell since the gallery was closed. Brett came into view almost immediately, unlocking the door and standing aside for her to enter.
“Hi,” he said, his expression wary.
Did he think she was angry at him? No, she wasn’t angry. She was hurt, dammit, but she’d die before she let him see that. “Hi yourself,” she replied, pushing back her nervousness and affecting her brightest smile. “Is Mitch here yet?” She’d be damned if she’d act like this wasn’t what she wanted. She’d put so much enthusiasm into getting naked for Mitch that Brett would wish he’d have agreed to do the painting.
