Page 91 of Ironvine

She looked up as if she’d been shocked awake. “Charles? Oh. I thought you’d left already…”

“Not yet.”

She sat up straight, biting her lip. Her face reddened.

“How are you finding working here?”

Scrambling to her feet, she grabbed a cloth and wiped at her hands.“It has much good light and I find the airiness quite inspiring.”

“I can see that, yes.”

“I’m making a mess, aren’t I?”

“Georgina. I am most pleased that you are comfortable here and that it suits your needs.”

Her shoulders fell. “It’s perfect.” Her gaze went to the sketchbook in his hand, and her eyes widened, her shoulders stiffening all over again.

He held it up. “I found this.”

“I can explain.”

“Explain your taking advantage of your husband’s naked form without his knowledge?”

“Please forgive me.”

He let out a laugh. “There is nothing to forgive.”

“One night this week I happened to wake. The moon was quite strong and I’d opened the curtains to enjoy the light, the views of the park, the hills, and see if I could spot the old castle in the valley. I went into your bedchamber and opened the curtains to see the view there, and it was then I spied you on your bed. You are a fitful sleeper and had thrown the covers from yourself. I could not resist.”

“Could not resist my naked body?”

Her lips tipped up. “That is correct. The moonlight fell on you in the most intriguing way.”

His pulse ticked up at her admission. “Did I resemble a sculpture?”

“No, not lifeless stone. More like a sleeping god. Apollo at rest, vulnerable. I was utterly compelled to record what I saw on paper.”

Heat flared in his chest, riveted in his loins. “Did you like it, drawing me?”

“I did. You are a perfect subject. Beautiful long, hard lines, curves, hollows, shadows. I had to work quickly because, at one point, you moved about quite a bit. But I found it to be a good exercise in being swift and nimble.”

“You’re most welcome, then, madame.”

“My apologies, my lord, for I should have asked your permission first.”

He stroked the side of her heated cheek with his fingers, and she let out a small sigh which went straight to the pulse beating between his legs. “There’s my fine lady, apologising and asking for permission. No, my Countess, if an all-consuming inspiration struck you upon seeing my figure laid bare, who am I to question that? Take what you want of me.” His fingers trailed down her silky throat, and she released another soft sigh at his words, his touch. “Indeed, I find myself greatly aroused by your presumption and assertion, my Countess. Am I yourodalisque?”

Her hand flew to his chest as she laughed. “You are no pleasure slave in a sultan’s seraglio, my lord.”

He covered her hand with his. “Am I your pleasure slave?” He bent down and took her lips in a long and lingering kiss. Parting her lips, his tongue slid around hers, provoking, demanding.

“I am certainly yours,” she whispered as she embraced him. “You are not angry with me then?”

“Why should I be? Do you intend on selling these sketches?”

“Of course not, they’re for me.”

“I feel sketching is not simply a pastime to you, a ladies’ leisurely pursuit as it is for most.”

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