“What do you think?”
She steadied her breath. “It’s good.”
“Just good? Not brilliant?” His voice teased her and she glanced at him, catching the wicked gleam in his eye.
“It’s not done yet. I can’t possibly judge an unfinished work.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” He studied her. “Would you take your hair down for me?”
“I told you—get another model.”
He grinned and shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ve ruined me for other women, Althea. You’re part of this piece now, whether either of us wants it or not. You understand how that works. I need to see the color and texture of your hair in this light.” He seemed to look through her and she wondered what he saw.
Art grabbed you like lust—inexplicable and irresistible. You could deny it, but then the unfulfilled desire just ate you up. She knew well how it felt to want to create something, replicate an image in your mind. The way it ate at you, gnawing with insistent teeth until you did it.
Of course, Steel had the gift of the true artist. He could make the image real.
Althea stabbed to death the little worm of envy over that. Not everyone was meant to be an artist.
With a little sigh, she unclipped the barrette and combed her fingers through the long, straight fall of her hair.
“Turn around.” His face looked hard, nearly fierce, his focus a million miles away. She obeyed, waiting patiently. His hands fell on her shoulders, hot and heavy through the silk of her sleeveless dress. He turned her slightly, positioned her in front of the satyr and let go. “May I?” he asked, his voice hoarse in her ear.
She glanced over her shoulder to see his hands hovering over her hair. With some reluctance, she nodded and turned back around. He lifted her hair with exquisite gentleness, letting it run through his fingers, arranging it over her shoulder.
“Now, lean in.” From behind her still, he lifted her arms by the wrists and leaned her forward, so she clasped the satyr’s clawed hands with her own. She resisted a little, stumbling. “Shh,” Steel whispered in her ear. “Trust me, I won’t hurt you.”
Althea tried to relax, not showing how his touch on her skin electrified her. He continued to position her with deft, gentle hands, until she was inclined against the satyr, stretched up in a position of longing. Steel’s roughened fingers stroked up her throat, lifting her chin so she gazed into the creature’s downturned face. He carefully arranged the drape of her hair again and she held still.
“You’ve modeled before.”
“Yes,” she confessed. “Art classes and so forth.”
“Nude?”
“I’m not taking my clothes off.”
“Don’t move. You’re very nearly perfect.”
Obedient to the artist, she held still.
“How about a swimsuit or bikini—would you do that?” He moved her knee forward slightly.
“I’m an albino. Do you really think I spend time in the sun?”
“I think they have shit like sunscreen and those lounge chairs with the big umbrellas.”
“Well—I never have.”
“You just hide indoors then—like a vampire afraid of the sun?” He smoothed his hand up her arm, lengthening it and stretching her so the satyr seemed to be clasping her wrist. He wrapped his own fingers around her slender bones and her pulse jumped. “Would you burn up?”
“I have to be careful.”
“Maybe you’re too careful. Stay just like that.”
He picked up a sketch pad and began to draw. Althea surrendered her irritation at his remarks and sank into the meditative state of an artist’s model. It truly was an acquired skill, the ability to be molded into uncomfortable positions and hold them without fidgeting.
And yet, this felt unlike other modeling she’d done in the past. Yes, she had modeled nude before and hadn’t felt as naked as she did now, with this man’s hot eyes taking her in, observing her in this frankly sexual—and submissive—pose. He hadn’t sculpted a cock onto the creature, yet, but it would be just before her mouth. She could picture how it would be all too well from Steel’s other work. The desire that had been boiling low in her gut since he walked into her gallery steamed now in a slow, warming desire. As if she might burn up. She felt languid, erotic. Hungry.
“Done,” he said, breaking into her sensual daydream. He was at her elbow, helping her up. She teetered and he held her arm while she steadied on her strappy heels. “That was exactly what I needed. More. Thank you, Althea.”
“You’re welcome.”
His warm fingers stroked her skin and her mouth went dry at the intense desire in his face. “You’re seeing someone.”
It wasn’t a question, but she nodded.
“Serious?”
She should tell him yes. Thought of Abby’s snide comments. “Not particularly.”
“But you’re sleeping with him. Or her.”
Her lips twitched with the smile. “Him. And yes, I have been. Not that it’s any of your business.”
Steel’s eyes focused on her lips and she involuntarily licked them. He leaned in, just slightly, gaze hot, avid. Then he released her and stepped back with a scowl, jamming his hands in his jeans pockets.
“Would you consider dumping him?”
“What? Why would I?”
“You might not think much of me, but I have standards. No trespassing on another dude’s woman. But I confess I have a powerful yen to fuck you, Althea. That’s right.” He nodded at her shock. “I want to strip you bare and touch every inch of that incredible translucent skin. I want to crack that cool exterior and watch you turn wild and wanton in my arms.”
Her heart pounded with hummingbird speed. She knew her fair skin showed every bit of her flush. She clasped her hands together. “But your standards allow stealing me away?”
He smiled, but this was a feral flash of teeth. “Luring you away, yes. All’s fair in love and war, princess. If you love him, or are on your way, then nothing I do will seduce you from him. But I don’t think that’s the case. And you don’t mean all that much to him.”
“I don’t?”
“If I was your man—” his eyes swept her body, as if he’d already undressed her, “—I’d be between those pretty white thighs every moment I could. And here he’s left you alone for two nights running.”
“He’s busy. So am I.”
Steel closed the distance between them, near enough to stroke a calloused finger down her cheek. “Weak. No one is that busy.”
The look in his eyes made her nearly melt through the floor. She could see her herself in his arms as he’d described. Screaming in pleasure.
“I will…consider it,” she said, her voice a bare whisper.
He rubbed his thumb over her lower lip. “You do that, princess.”
Chapter Three
Once away from Steel’s charismatic presence, Althea could think more clearly. Oh yes, she’d consider it. For about thirty seconds. Dump Brandon for him, indeed. She’d never been one of those women who ditched one guy because a more promising one showed up. Besides, Steel was hardly more promising.
A fling with Steel would be just that—hot, intense sex in the short term. Brandon would be the far more suitable choice, in the long term.
The wise decision here was obvious. And it had the advantage of being the right thing do.
Satisfied—and feeling a bit guilty that she hadn’t done it yet—Althea returned Brandon’s call. She got his voice mail, which was a relief. She didn’t want him to detect any of the uncertainty Steel’s demanding eyes and hands had evoked in her. Using her best perky skills, she left Brandon a message saying brunch at his mother’s would be delightful and how about dinner tomorrow night?
Not that Steel’s remarks about her dating life
bothered her. Being busy was not a weak excuse. And her relationship with Brandon had been perfectly satisfactory up till now.
On Saturday, she and Cheri both worked the gallery. The steady flow of foot traffic and touristy shoppers meant keeping an eye on the crowds more than anything. In their few quiet moments, Cheri treated Althea to an exhaustive run-down of how she’d spent the past several days in bed with a saxophone player who, she reported in devastating detail, could work his lips on a woman’s body with finesse that would leave her fainting. She’d clearly forgotten she’d bought some of that time by claiming the hangover.
Either that or she figured Althea wouldn’t call her on it. Which she wouldn’t. She never did.
Still, the ongoing monologue of the new interest’s many charms—and exceptional endowments—did not help keep the newly discovered lustful thoughts out of Althea’s mind. Steel had flipped some kind of switch in her. Hopefully Brandon would enjoy the benefits. They just needed a little spice to shake things up.
Brandon, however, declined her invitation via voice mail, citing a Board of Directors dinner. He’d be by in the morning, though, to pick her up for brunch and looked forward to seeing her.
Althea told herself she wasn’t watching for Steel’s tall form to walk through her door. If she was, it was only to be ready to tell him to leave her alone.
Nothing quite as deflating as being ready to tell someone to go away who never shows up in the first place.
By the time Cheri took off—fifteen minutes early, because she had a date—and Althea closed up the gallery, a silence that should have been restful fell over the building. No throbbing rock beat from the basement. He might be sleeping. Or not there at all. Not letting herself look out back for Steel’s motorcycle, she went up through the internal curving staircase, sliding her hand affectionately along the graceful sweep of the wooden handrail. A quiet evening would be just the thing.
There was nothing to be disappointed about.
* * *
In the morning, Althea dressed carefully in a pretty pale lemon chiffon dress with tiny pearl buttons all down the front. She curled her hair and left it down, thinking it complemented the neckline of the gown better and looked nice with the wide-brimmed matching hat. She looked forward to seeing Brandon for a lovely Sunday outing.
Never mind that she’d spent a nearly feverish night thinking of Steel’s lurid promises. She had no intention of breaking up with Brandon. Steel could hang himself from his own sculpture for all she cared.
She clipped through the gallery as a quick check that all was well, then let herself out through the front and rearmed the alarm. Brandon hadn’t arrived yet, so she busied herself with deadheading the impatiens and lobelia in the window boxes.
“Don’t you look a picture.” Steel leaned against the wall nearby, decked out in his motorcycle leathers. He wore mirrored sunglasses, so she couldn’t see his eyes, but his intrusive gaze consumed her nevertheless.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Taking in the sun, seeing the sights.” He grinned at her. “Gallery’s closed today, I see. Wanna go for a ride on my bike? You’d have to change, though—that skirt would be up over your head in no time. Not that I would mind. In fact the image of you offers some interesting—”
“I have a date,” she snapped.
He raised his eyebrows. “Let me guess—Sunday brunch. How…sweet.”
“I happen to like brunch.”
“And did you like staying home alone on Saturday night?”
“I had a long day, working,” she emphasized. “I preferred some time to unwind.”
He chuckled at that. “Princess, I have no doubt that you could use some unwinding, but I could suggest a dozen more interesting ways to do it. For example, we could start with—”
“I’m not interested.” She cut him off again and turned back to picking off the dried and wilted blossoms.
“You don’t act like a woman who’s not interested.”
“I’ve decided to stick with Brandon. I’m declining your…offer. Not that I seriously considered it. At all.”
“Brandon?” He drew the name out, baaing on the “a” sound like a sheep.
“Oh stop. It’s a perfectly fine name.”
“You think so? Brandon? Sounds like a Momma’s boy to me.”
“Not every guy has a noun for a name.”
“Not unless he’s bold and manly like me.” He winked and she laughed before she caught herself, but with her face still turned down to the window box, he might not have heard. “I notice you never say my name.”
“Sure I do. Steel refinery. Stainless steel silverware. Calphalon steel pans. I say it all the time.”
“I want to hear you gasping it out while I’m riding you,” he spoke from just behind her, in a quiet, intense voice.
She whirled around and had to take a step back, he was so close. “I don’t want you talking to me that way.”
“I think you like it.”
“I don’t.” But her voice faltered.
“I think Brandon treats you like a lady. I bet, when he bothers to pay attention to you, that he ‘makes love’ to you. All clean and polite-like. Sunday brunch sex. Am I right?”
She focused on the prominent Adam’s apple in his tanned throat. He was all over stubble again. She wondered how the scratchiness would feel.
“There’s nothing wrong with love-making.”
“No,” he agreed, and he smiled when she glanced up in surprise. “There’s a place for that too. Long afternoons, lace curtains and taking each other in long, luxurious, slow licks of pleasure.” He stroked her cheek. “I can be into that too. But I’m offering something the Brandons of the world won’t. I think there’s a very dirty girl under all that lovely lady exterior. The one who gets juiced just looking at my art. Who wants it hard and hot and maybe just a little rough. Tell me, has any man dared to tie you up with your legs spread wide, so he could have his way with you?”
She gaped at him and he leaned in. Whispered in her ear.
“I would. One word from you, princess, and I will.”
“Is this your idea of luring me?” She tried to sound indignant, but it came out breathless.
“Absolutely.” He flashed her his wicked grin. “And it’s working too.”
“It is not!” She huffed and took a decisive step back.
“So—is he late or what?” Steel asked in a conversational tone, glancing up and down the street, quiet of traffic except for a couple of ladies strolling by with a walking map.
“Ah—” Sheesh, for a moment she couldn’t imagine what Steel was talking about. Definitely dangerous to get even this close to him. She looked at her wrist, but had forgotten to put on her watch.
“Fifteen after,” Steel informed her. “What time was he to pick you up?”
Althea opened her mouth to excuse him—not that Brandon needed defending—when his silver convertible whipped around the corner. Saved by the BMW.
“Here he is!” She turned to Steel and held out a hand. “Thank you for keeping me company. Bye!”
He ignored her, eyeing Brandon, debonair in his white linen suit, getting out of the car with a bouquet of pink tulips.
“Althea, sweetheart!” Brandon presented her with the bouquet and a bow. “My apologies that I couldn’t see you last night. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Of course,” she replied lightly, cursing inside at the smirk on Steel’s face. Brandon flicked a politely inquiring glance at Steel. “Ah, this is an up-and-coming artist—Steel. I’m renting him the basement space on a temporary basis.”
“Steel, is it?” Brandon pumped his arm, flashing his best toothy politician’s smile. “Glad to have someone around this old place to look after Thea, here. I worry about her on her own.” He winked a
nd slung a possessive arm around her.
Something like contempt hardened Steel’s face as he scratched his bristly chin and framed his response. Althea pushed her photo-sensitive glasses down her nose and widened her eyes at Steel, though the light stabbed at them. He took in her stern warning, then flashed a dangerous smile at her.
“Athea looks all fragile and ethereal,” he said to Brandon, “but she’s like tempered metal inside. Strong. Flexible, too, I’ll bet.”
The blood rushed to her face, the image of herself tied up with her legs spread for him making her feel just a little faint. She glared at Steel and he regarded her steadily, glanced at Brandon and back at her, the question obvious.
“Well!” She turned to Brandon, who seemed slightly bewildered. “Shall we go? Your mother will be expecting us.”
“Have fun, kids,” Steel said. “You look lovely, by the way, Althea.”
“Yes.” Brandon glanced at her. “You do. But then, Thea always does.” He unhooked his arm from her shoulders and shook Steel’s hand again. “Nice meeting you. Send your portfolio round to my offices. I like to support young artists. You never know who might make you money someday.” He winked at Steel and tucked Althea’s hand in the crook of his arm.
Steel stayed watching them, leaning casually against the rusty brick building, thumbs through his belt loops. She glanced back as they drove off and he gave her a little salute. Confident and assured. He thought she’d come crawling to him. She caught her breath at the thought, arousal flooding her as she imagined crawling naked across his studio floor, her hair swinging loose to the ground.
And him, watching her with those lustful eyes. Dirty girl.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
“What?” She startled. Second time in the last fifteen minutes she’d entirely forgotten about Brandon’s existence and here they were already arcing over the Cooper River Bridge, sunlight glittering on the water. No wonder the scholars warned of the dangers of animal lust. It did drive all else from one’s mind. She’d never quite understood that idea.
Platinum (Facets of Passion) Page 3
