Page 19 of Painted in Love

No man had ever been as good as Clay.

Maybe no man ever would be again.

He’d used the bathroom, and when he returned, Clay wrapped himself around her. He couldn’t say exactly when he fell asleep, but he woke to the foggy light of dawn. Saskia hadn’t moved. He couldn’t move either. The sweetness of her in his arms was too much to give up.

She’d said only one night. But one night would never be enough for him. Would she tell him her full name? Give him her phone number?

She held all the cards. Because he was the one who wanted to beg for more.

But she must have felt how extraordinary their night had been. She must feel that once would never be enough. He wanted to send out for more condoms. Maybe he could sneak down to the bar’s restroom and get another three-pack out of the machine.

Then he could seduce her into staying with him.

Maybe forever.

Saskia woke to the feel of him covering her like a warm blanket, the soft, crinkly sensation of his hair along her legs.

The sex had been ridiculously good. Amazing. Incredible. How many superlatives could she come up with? She’d enjoyed learning more about him last night in the bar, his list of three wishes so unlike a man who was only out for what he could take from other people.

Yet he was running a business she didn’t trust. The entire art world was full of greed. She’d seen it. She’d been a victim of it.

If only he wasn’t who he is.

He must have felt her stir because his breath brushed her ear, turning her liquid inside as he whispered, “That was amazing.” He stole the word right out of her mind. “When can I see you again?”

Her body wanted to say, Yes, yes, yes! But her mind cried, No, no, no. In the time it took her not to answer, he said, “You are the most incredible lover I’ve ever known.”

A man like him must have had many lovers; she didn’t begrudge him that. It was his artists’ platform she wasn’t sure of. It was the way he could potentially use artists.

But after talking with him, after making love with him all night long, she wondered if he could actually be that kind of man. Of course, men like him could be deceptive. They told you what you wanted to hear. Just as he was telling her now.

“I know you said only one night.” He seduced her with a light caress down her arm. “But don’t you think what we had last night was too good to experience only once?”

She wanted to beg him to take her again, right now.

But that way lay madness. She couldn’t entangle herself with him. Not only because of who he was, but also because of her own complicated life. Pulling away, she climbed off the bed, reaching for her clothes where they lay with his in a mismatched pile on the carpet.

“It really was only for one night,” she said over her shoulder.

She pulled on her panties and leggings. Her nakedness didn’t embarrass her. But clothes were a fortification, and she pulled her flowered dress over her head before she looked at him.

He lay naked on the bed, covers pushed aside. They’d steamed up the room to the point where blankets and sheets were unnecessary. Lying there, he was like a statue by Michelangelo, the lines of his body perfect, his face sculpted like that of a Greek god.

“You don’t really mean that,” he said, his voice taking on a cajoling note.

She stuffed her arms into her tunic and tugged it down her thighs. She admitted the truth as she met his beguiling gaze. “I’m not saying it wasn’t great. I enjoyed every minute. Like I said, it’s been a long time. You certainly lived up to all my expectations.” She sat on the desk chair to put on her socks and boots.

“Can you really say no to at least one more time?”

“I can.”

He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. Maybe she had. But he was Clay Harrington. She absolutely could not get involved with him. It didn’t matter how he’d roped her in with all his talk down in the bar. She couldn’t let herself be tricked and couldn’t let him add another complication to her life.

She stood as he rolled to the edge of the bed.

Oh, how beautiful he was. How badly she wanted to touch him, taste him, take him. For five years, she’d had a rule not to get involved, especially not with an artist and, even more, not with an art dealer. Everything about him violated her rules.

He strode toward her with the sinewy grace of a jungle animal. “Don’t leave yet. Let’s talk.”

---