Page 88 of When He Was Wicked
Her heart quickened its pace, making her lightheaded. How could she feel so much for him in only a few days? A frightening surge of longing and an ache traveled through her heart.Henrietta dipped her brush and added blue, yellow, and red to her palette, swirling the colors together. Lowering her gaze tothe canvas, she sank into that place where only the work before her existed and started to paint.
WatchingHenrietta as she painted was endlessly fascinating—the pretty frown that split her brows when she fiercely concentrated, those vexing sounds she made when something did not go her way, or the little delighted cries when something magical happened on the canvas. The lady also worried her bottom lip until it was red and pouting as if it had been thoroughly kissed.
And that was what Simon thought about as he watched her lovely peculiarities as she worked. Kissing her. Again and again. And just perhaps, taking her into his arms and ravishing her. Oh, not just to slake this tormenting desire for her, but to bring her pleasure.
Teasing her in the boathouse had been very wicked of him, and he smiled now to recall her blush and how she had run away. Henrietta wanted him as badly as he wanted her, and Simon wondered what to do with the knowledge.
She interested him. Henrietta was a clever, funny, and wonderful conversationalist. She listened with her whole being when they spoke, and her natural kindness and humor easily shone through. She glanced up from the canvas and peeked at him. Simon winked, and she clearly fought a smile. Henrietta worked for almost four hours, and when she lifted her head, she groaned.
Simon slipped from the bed and padded toward her.
Her eyes widened. “What are you doing, Simon?”
“Are your shoulders hurting?”
“Yes.”
“Will you permit me to ease the ache from them?”
A damp wisp of hair framed her face, and as she tucked a few strands behind her ear, he noted her fingers trembling. A peculiar tenderness turned over inside Simon.
“I promise to behave,” he murmured.
Her lashes swept down, hiding her expression from him. As he watched her, he noted that there was both delicacy and strength in her face, and the flush on her cheeks was like the reflected sunset on snow. Simon wished he had her talent, to paint her just so.
Henrietta nodded her assent, and Simon went behind her. He did not look at the painting, for he was far too aware of her. He touched her shoulders, sinking his fingers softly into the tight knot of muscles.
She gasped, and a moan slipped from her. Henrietta arched her neck more toward him, and he slipped his finger to the side of her throat. Simon closed his eyes at the soft feel of her skin beneath the tip of his finger. He gently massaged the stiff tensions, working back around to her shoulders. She became pliant beneath his hands, and he was certain the minx was unaware of the aching, arousing sounds she made.
Simon gritted his teeth against the desire kindling inside his body and concentrated only on bringing her relief. He massaged her for several long minutes until a pleasing laugh came from her.
The sweet, airy sound hooked into his heart and tugged. Simon finished and moved away from her, careful to hide his rampant erection. While she packed away her brushes and oil, he hurriedly dressed.
“When do we meet again?” he asked without turning, buttoning up his shirt.
“Tomorrow if you please.”
“Good.”
A prolonged pause ensued.
“I will leave now,” she said.
He shrugged into his jacket. “I will close the door on my departure.”
Simon waited, but he heard no sounds. “Are you still there?”
“Yes.”
He smiled at the pique in her tone. “Would you like to go riding with me?”
Her sigh caressed against his skin like a physical touch.
“Yes.”
Simon turned around and held out his hand. She came to him, and he tugged her close.
“I am going to kiss you,” he said raggedly. “I have been burning to do so since I tasted you. I will not object if you push me away and slap my cheek.”
