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She eased the open door a crack. “I’m not finished with my hair.”
He could see she was dressed, so he shoved the door wider. “Come into my bedroom. I’ll help you.”
Her eyes blinked, her expression wary. “I can do it,” she insisted.
He tugged on her hand. “It’ll be more fun this way.”
He coaxed his unwilling model a few more steps down the hall and into his bedroom. He watched, amused, as she catalogued its contents.
She wrinkled her nose. “Kind of bare, isn’t it?”
He tried to look at the furnishings through her eyes. The cabin was strictly a vacation home. He’d spent the majority of his money outfitting the kitchen and living room. Since he only slept in the bedroom, and since he never brought women here, he’d figured throwing a quilt on the bed and a rug on the floor was enough.
He brushed her cheek. “You could have a go at it,” he said softly. “You know . . . Give it a woman’s touch.”
Her face closed up. “It’s fine, Grant. I didn’t mean to criticize.”
He sighed inwardly. She was a prickly creature. He tugged her toward the bed, positioning her between his legs and leaning his back against the plain pine headboard. “Give me your comb.”
She handed it over reluctantly, her back poker straight. He worked carefully, allowing the silky strands to curl around his fingers. By the time he finished, only a bit of dampness remained. He buried his face in the back of her neck, smelling his shampoo and her feminine scent. “I love your hair,” he said huskily. “It’s like holding sunshine in my hands.”
A bit of the starch left her spine, enough that he was able to pull her against his chest. Her butt pressed firmly into his groin. He was rapidly losing interest in painting her. He cleared his throat, resting his hands loosely beneath her breasts. He hated not being able to see her face. “You can’t put it off forever, sweetheart.”
She huffed. “Sure I can. How would you like to be naked as a jaybird and have me stare at you for two hours?”
His cock stirred urgently beneath her. She wriggled her butt just the tiniest bit. His hands trembled. “If it was you looking at me, Maddy, I’d find it damned appealing.”
He cupped her breasts deliberately, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples. He felt the ripple that went through her body.
She answered him with her usual sass, but the rasp in her voice gave her away. “You’re only saying that because you know I can barely draw a stick man.”
He slid his hands down the soft curve of her belly, delving into her heated warmth. Slick moisture welcomed him. Her head lolled on his shoulder, her eyes tightly closed. He opened her with one finger. “Maybe I can take the edge off your nervousness,” he said, sliding over her most sensitive, swollen spot with a delicate but firm touch.
He felt her quiver, and a rush of testosterone-laden, caveman satisfaction gripped him. Maddy Tierney was his woman. He refused to think about any other man who might have seen her like this. Fate had brought them together. She had come to him through the storm, and he would not let her escape him now.
He stroked her urgently, taking cues from her moans and sighs. She was beautiful in her abandon, the flush on her cheekbones and the arch of her neck sheer poetry. But flowery words were her expertise. His job was to capture her fragile loveliness on canvas.
He slid three fingers inside her without warning and felt her vaginal muscles grip him as she crested, her voice caught in her throat, her hands gripping his forearms. Long moments passed before he removed his hand slowly, hugging her to ward off the possibility of escape. If she looked at him now, with invitation in her eyes, he was a goner.
Suddenly, he couldn’t bear to be in this room and not fuck her. Shaking, almost sick with hunger, he rolled away from her and muttered some inane excuse before exiting the room and, moments later, the house.
* * *
Maddy heard the front door slam and lay stunned, her body still humming with the aftermath of incredible pleasure. The level of sexual heat between the two of them could light up a small city. All he had to do was touch her and she spun out of control. It was as frightening as it was miraculous. Such intense feeling had to burn itself out eventually, and then what? He had a life outside this cabin, as did she. They each had jobs, families, obligations.
Questions swirled unanswered in her head, but the one that occupied her most was: when? When would Grant make love to her? Fully. In every way. Not knowing was driving her crazy, and if her recent aberrant behaviors were any sign, she didn’t have far to go.
She tiptoed back down the hallway, listening intently. The cabin was silent, empty. It was dark outside, and Grant’s shirt and shoes were still on the floor. The idiot man had gone outside half-dressed. She opened the door six inches or so, shivering when the gleeful wind found an opportunity to invade.
She peered into the darkness. “Grant . . . Are you out there?”
His voice came from the end of the porch, closer than she had expected. “Go away, Maddy.”
She retreated momentarily and gathered up his shirt, socks and boots. She tossed them to where she thought he was standing, feeling slightly foolish. “What are you doing out there?” she whispered.
His reply was laden with sarcasm. “Having a smoke. Beat it.”
“But you don’t smoke . . . do you?”
