Page 48 of The Art of Sinning
She squared her shoulders. “AndIdeserve to know what sort of man I’m entrusting my reputation to. If you expect to hear all my secrets, you must tell me some of yours.”
That seemed to take him aback. With a sharp oath, he glanced away. “You don’t want to know them, trust me.”
“Oh, but I do.”
“I don’t want to tell them.” He dragged a shaky hand through his already tumbled hair. “Iwon’ttell them.”
“Then you can’t expect me to tell you mine.”
When he swore under his breath, she slipped past him, headed for the door, but he snagged her about the waist from behind and pulled her up against him. “You can’t go yet!”
“Look here,” she said, digging her fingers into his arm, “I’m tired and cold and I don’t feel like modeling.”
“I know. You don’t have to pose. That’s not why I want you to stay. I just... don’t want you to go, damn it.”
“Why not? It isn’t as if you actually wish to talk to me.”
“The hell I don’t. I talk to you every day.”
She snorted. “If that’s what you call it when you retreat behind your walls.”
His arm tightened about her waist. “I don’t retreat behind anything. I’ve been perfectly amiable, a consummate gentleman, and entertaining to boot. Why, you laughed at all my stories.”
“I did. Yet they’re still walls made up of practiced tales you’ve probably related a hundred times.” Frustration made her tense. “When you tell them, you refuse to show one iota of your real self or acknowledge one iota of mine. You barely look at me, and when you do, you stare right through me. You ignore me.”
“Ignore you! I don’t ignore you. Ineverignore you.” His voice thickened. “The whole time you’re lying on that table, I’m aware of your every gesture, every smile. I know where every part of your body is at any moment, because I watch them all. And not just so I can paint them. So I can fathom them. Understand how they’re put together. Howyouare put together, inside and out.”
She caught her breath, startled by the intensity of his words. The sudden fierce edge to them.
“I notice when you’re angry or sullen or distracted.” He flattened her against his body, his heat seeping through her flimsy nightdress. “I notice what you wear at dinner, how you move when you climb the stairs.” His tone dropped low. “I noticeeverythingabout you.”
Closing her eyes, she willed herself to ignore his words. But how could she when he was saying what she’d wanted to hear? When he was holding her so close that she could feel the imprint of his hardened flesh against her bottom?
Heavenly day. Sothatwas what the ladies of the evening called a “cock-stand.” She hadn’t realized that a man’s thing actually, well,stood.
At least she knew he wasn’t lying about desiring her.
As if to prove it, he spread his hands over her thinly clad belly, starting a quivering lower down. Then he kissed a path to her ear. “Watching you lying there every night in that chiton drives me mad,” he said in a rough rasp. “Watching you in your nightdress or your red gown drives me mad. Every gown you own drives me mad.”
She swallowed hard. “I—I couldn’t tell.”
“I’m good at hiding it.” His hot breaths warmed her cheek. “I didn’t want to end up on a dueling field with your brother.”
“Edwin would never challenge you.”
“I’m not so sure.” He tugged at her earlobe with his teeth. “Yet here I am, risking it. For another taste of you, another chance to hold you, caress you. Even if only for a few moments.”
Let it be more than a few moments.
“Tell me to leave and I’ll go right now,” he murmured. “But tell me to stay, and I swear Iwilltaste and hold and caress you. As much or as little as you’ll allow. I’m tired of fighting it.”
So am I.
She caught her breath. Was she insane? Her choice was clear: Send him away. Never mind that he was saying such enticing things. She shouldn’t fall prey to them.
But she couldn’t help herself. For years, she’d hidden the wicked urges first ignited by the lieutenant. Even after he’d trampled on her heart, her wantonness had smoldered beneath the surface of her respectability. Whenever she flirted with a rogue, it was rekindled. And during the lonely nights in her bed, her wild imagination stoked the coals to a roaring blaze, which she attempted to soothe with her roaming hands.
For once, she wanted aman’shands roaming her. And not just any man’s hands.Jeremy’s.
