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She nodded and sidestepped him. She walked, then whirled, the need to explain greater than anything else.
“Someone who sees more than blue matching your eyes when they see your painting. Someone who recognizes the struggle you felt when you started it and your triumph when you finished it.” Those blue windows went glassy with shock. His hands reaching out went limp at his sides, but she was on a roll and couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. “Just…someone truly appreciative of your work and not just purchasing it because they want you in the sack.”
Silence. The glassy, slightly dazed expression faded, and speculation took over.
“I see. So, this isn’t about me spending time with Alishondra?”
“No.” Lies, lies, lies. But also…her hands itched now. “I just want to paint.”
To Edmund’s credit, he didn’t tease and didn’t interrogate, simply following her and eventually leading them back to their respective hotel rooms before he said his piece.
“I will prepare the materials in my room. Come when you are ready.”
It sounded so final, leaving her no choice but to acquiesce after making him leave an event because of her so-called mood. Guilt assuaged her as she changed her dress to something more comfortable, then marched her way to his bedroom to get it over with. To her surprise, he wasn’t kidding when he said he would set things up, and she was presented with a canvas on one side and Edmund poised on the other, where the couch had been carried to the center. Dim lighting from lamps and candles flickered all around them, accentuating the silk shirt he wore and the black pants that stretched across his outstretched thighs.
“I can change the lighting to suit what you need. Change my clothes, too, and my position.”
“There’s no need,” she said, hiding her gasp at the idea of him undressing before her. She stalked to the canvas and picked up what she needed, her paintbrush poised…unsatisfied. Alexa placed it down and went towards him, hauling him to a sitting position.
“Not the same pose from before. Too predictable,” she explained. He stilled when her thumb rubbed his smirk off. “Don’t look smug. Just look natural.”
“Okay.”
She went back to the canvas and started her lines. He was so at ease and unaffected. He looked like a man unbothered by anything…as if their earlier tension didn’t exist because he had already erased it from his mind. It stung, but what was worse was how it didn’t translate to the picture, as her fingers felt heavy and clumsy. Frustration rose and had her return to him to readjust his position, then push back strands of blond hair that were sexily draped over his forehead.
“What—”
“I didn’t get to display your forehead the last time. I want it displayed now.”
When his hair remained stubborn, she threaded her fingers into it and swept it back more forcefully, then massaged his scalp in quiet apology. He stilled again. Every brush of her fingers over him produced a reaction: his jaw flexing, his mouth thinning…his body hardening. Alexa desperately tried to ignore it and created his outline as fast as she could, but fascination began to weave its way into her system and clutch tightly. She couldn’t focus. She couldn’t do anything beyond the sketch except watch his smugness turn to intensity, blue orbs lasering on her every move and watching her like a hawk.
“It’s still not working,” she mumbled, approaching him more slowly. Anticipation drew his face in a tight line until her fingers reached for his dress shirt and undid the buttons. A grunt flew off him when her hand remained on his chest, drawn to the warmth he emitted when he was supposed to be cold.
“Is it working now?”
She shook her head. A boldness came over her as she climbed the couch and straddled his lap while his hands remained at his sides. She rubbed his lips, making them pinker, then rolled her thumbs over his cheeks to get rid of the paleness. Too late, she understood the itch wasn’t because of a need to paint but because of another kind of need altogether, pumping in her blood as she traced his jaw. They trembled with control. His gaze searched hers, hot and heavy, fuming with an emotion that was still shadowed.
“How about now?” he asked, voice a cross between smoky and constricted.
“No,” she whispered back, then exhaled over his mouth until it parted. “Natural isn’t working. It’s not…”
She lowered her mouth to his, unable to resist. She rubbed herself against him, imagining how Alishondra would have done it if the woman had got him alone, and wanting to do it better, despite her years of inexperience. But this one felt more natural than painting now, her body so attuned to his as she experimented with moving her lips. When his lips moved in return, all bets were off as her hips surged down, then soared at the groan from his throat that struck her core.
He was hard. He was getting harder with each grind down, and his response to the kiss…it flourished, soft dips and retreats, tasting and teasing in complete contrast to their lower bodies. The ridge of his cock hurt and appeased, so she searched for the spot that touched the center of her cotton shorts and ground as hard as she could. One particular grind pushed his bulge up into her core, igniting a sizzling fire that burned her inside out. She let out a cry and bit his lower lip. His hands snapped up to her waist, holding her in place while he kissed more feverishly…and then he was breaking the kiss and shaking his head.
“I’m not a robot.”
The words didn’t make sense at first. Then her lust-riddled mind popped and it did make sense, bringing forth a shame that squeezed her chest. She froze, horrified at what she was doing.
“You are right. You are not one.”
“I’m not human, either, because I’m a cold-blooded predator. A vampire. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.”
She nodded shakily. She flexed her trembling fingers and snatched them from his chest.
“I have feelings, Alexa.”
“I know you do. I’m sorry.”
