AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Oh, it’s my necklace, is it?”
“Yes,” he said, an out-and-out lie. He proved just how false it was by very carefully touching a finger to a silver coil and then letting it slide down. The edge of his finger grazed over the skin above the fabric of her shirt. He traced it again.
Isabelle shivered. “Mmm. Come here.”
Expecting to be tugged closer, he was surprised when she slipped past him and grabbed his hand. “What?”
“My etchings.”
“No, no, no,” he said, but he let her drag him to the far side of the room.
“I’m a good artist,” she said.
“I know. I can see that. It’s just not to my taste and I’m not exactly—”
An easel light flicked on, and for a moment, all his brain processed was the pale flash of her arm moving away from the lamp, but then there were more parts of her illuminated. He blinked, confused and fascinated at the same time. So much of her, pale and exposed and...naked.
This painting was another anatomy painting in a way, but it wasn’t medical. It was...erotic. Or just real and honest.
It was Isabelle from chin to hip, naked and completely unadorned but for a white flower she held in one hand.
Her face dipped slightly to the left, showing just the curve of her bottom lip, tipped in that secret, small smile. There was her pale neck. And her strong shoulders and delicate collarbones.
Her breasts, full and round and lovely, and just beginning to get a little heavier with age. Her nipples were dark and drawn tight, pebbled at the edges of her areolae, as if she were chilled.
There were so many details to take in, as if it were a photograph instead of a painting. She’d hidden nothing, even capturing the faint paleness of a few stretch marks at the fullest arc of her right breast. Then the lines of her abdomen curving out into full hips. And just at the bottom of the painting, the shadowed edge of her pubic hair, dark and curled.
“It’s me,” she said, the words calm and simple.
“Yes,” he breathed. Then, “It’s amazing.”
“Thank you.”
He tore his eyes away from her nudity for a moment to glance at her face. She looked pleased with what she’d done.
“Why are you showing me this?” he asked hoarsely.
She smiled, not looking away from the painting. “To make you a little crazy.”
He laughed at her audacity, and though he tried to keep looking at her, his eyes were drawn back to the canvas. “Jesus, Isabelle. It’s beautiful.”
“Well, either it will drive you crazy—which will be nice for both of us—or it won’t. And if it won’t, then there’s no point wasting any energy on this, is there?”
His synapses were a little confused. He wanted to reach out and shape her nakedness with his fingertips, but she was standing right next to him with real curves and heat and daring. His gaze bounced to her and back to the painting again.
“I’d better get back to the party,” she said, turning away from the easel. She dragged one hand over his shoulder, setting his nerves on fire. “But you should think about me tonight when you go to bed.”
“What?” he asked, forcing his eyes off her painted nipples and onto her retreating back.
She flashed an indulgent smile over her shoulder. “I know you’re on duty tonight. I’ll try not to bother you. But later, when you’re alone, think about me.”
His eyes flew to the open doors and the kitchen beyond, and he kept his voice low. “You’re trying to shock me again.”
She shrugged. “Not really. I’ll think about you, too. I already have.”
The meaning of her words slapped into him as if he’d landed flat on the surface of a pool. He’d never talked about this with a woman, never had a woman ask him to masturbate to her. And he’d certainly never been told that she’d already done the same for him.
“Don’t forget to lock that door,” she drawled, her hips swaying as she walked away with that confidence that drove him mad. “Wouldn’t want a bad guy getting in.”
