by Jaci Burton
Her lips twitched as if she fought a smile. She was enjoying this! “Do what? Pose naked in front of a strange man?”
“Yes.” He was drowning here, with no lifeline in sight.
“It’s for art, Brett. I’m not posing for a men’s magazine. You’ve painted nudes before. Did you ever get a sexual thrill from it?”
He’d never painted Kaitlyn. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. But he’d never painted her while she was in the room naked. God knows he’d fantasized about it, though. Plenty of times. His fantasy of her was vivid enough. Her creamy skin glowing like gold under the studio lights, her body open to his view, breasts full, nipples arching toward the ceiling, long raven hair streaming from the chaise onto the floor, her pussy—
Fuck! His cock stirred, targeting his vision and demanding he go for it. Absolutely not. It wasn’t going to happen.
“No, I don’t get a sexual thrill from painting nudes.”
“Then I’m not the least bit worried about a stranger painting me naked. Now are you going to get those numbers for me?”
Did he have a good reason not to give her the numbers? Other than he didn’t want her naked body showing up for sale in some art gallery. But that wasn’t his call. Her body didn’t belong to him and all his posturing and steaming wasn’t going to change that fact.
Ignoring his irritation, he said, “Let’s go to my office.” He pushed through the swinging doors and jerked the knob on his office door, trying to rein in his temper so that he wouldn’t fling the door against the wall. He hated feeling this way, hated the thoughts rambling through his head.
No fucking way was he going to do what his thoughts compelled him to do. That would be disaster.
He reached for his data manager and scrolled through the names, wishing Kaitlyn had never seen the portrait he’d painted. When he walked in and found that one uncovered, he’d damn near hyperventilated. What if she figured it out? What would she say then? How would he explain it? Hell, he couldn’t even explain it to himself. Besides, he’d done that painting a long time ago, before he’d met Amanda. Just a spur of the moment thing on a sleepless night. A vision that haunted his dreams for years. He’d tried to exorcise that vision by painting her, but all he’d done was further entrench her in his soul.
It was still his favorite painting.
Stupid, Brett. Really dumbass move on your part. Now give her the numbers and get her out of here before you do something really stupid, like agree to paint her.
“Of course I’d love it if you’d agree to paint me,” she said.
Oh shit. Hell fucking no! Even if she had given voice to his thoughts, he wasn’t going to do it. “No.”
He looked up at her and she shrugged. “Just a thought.”
“You’re Aidan’s sister, Kait. I couldn’t do that. Besides, he’d kill me if he found out.”
“So, he won’t find out.”
“No It’s too…personal.” He turned away and stared out the window at the darkness, wishing he wasn’t having this conversation with her.
Give her a goddamn name and get her out of here! But then she touched his arm, the heat of her hand searing through his shirt straight into his bloodstream, filling his cock with the need to feel that hand caressing it, stroking it, guiding it to her pussy. He had to fight not to turn around and jerk her into his arms and ravage her sweet mouth.
She tugged on his sleeve, forcing him to turn around and face her. Her eyes were filled with passion and excitement, the green flecks melding together and creating a fire of emerald in her eyes. He wanted to get lost in her eyes, watch them go completely gold as she melted with arousal and need.
“How could it be personal, Brett? There’s nothing between us but friendship. And you said an artist has no sexual feelings when he paints a nude. It’s just work. I’d be nothing more than a vase of flowers or a landscape you were painting.”
She clearly had no fucking idea what she did to him. Just the thought of bringing her into his studio and studying the angles and planes of her naked body got him hard. And not just hard from the idea of revealing her beauty, but excited about taking a paintbrush in hand again after all these years.
He hadn’t felt the urge in years, and it shocked him to feel the force of desire roar to life. Not since Amanda died. Nothing. His muse had been dead. One suggestion from Kaitlyn lit the fires of creativity and he was already itching to sketch out her form. This time without having to rely on his own fantasies and imagination.
And that wasn’t all he was itching to do with her body.
Big fucking colossal disaster in the making, McGregor. Don’t even think about it.
“I really would feel much more comfortable if you painted me, Brett. I don’t know those other men. I mean, I really want the painting done, and I’ll hire someone else to do it if you really don’t want to. But you’d make me feel safe.”
Like hell he would. The last thing she should feel is safe around him. If he got her naked he’d ravage her in the first five minutes, bathe his tongue over every inch of her sweet body and fuck her in every way possible until she was too limp to move. There were things he wanted to do to her that she wasn’t even aware of. She looked at him with love in her eyes. How easily he could take that love and destroy it. But it didn’t stop him from wanting her. How sick was that? Aidan would have to kill him. “I already told you I don’t paint anymore.”
“Think of it as a favor to me. I’ve seen the nudes you paint. They’re breathtaking. Especially the one you hide under a canvas in the storage room,” she said with a tap of her foot.
That painting would never be sold, exhibited or shown in any way. Ever. He’d already made a huge mistake leaving it at the gallery. He’d have to take it home and hide it away where no one would ever see it again. No one but him.
“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” she added.
So had he. Which was why he’d never agree to it, no matter how much she wanted it, no matter how much the desire soared within him.
“Please, Brett.”
Kaitlyn wasn’t the type to beg. When she wanted something, she went after it with a tenacity that belied her petite, slender frame. But she stood there, her eyes luminous pools of swirling green and gold. She sucked in her bottom lip and clasped her hands together.
God she begged nicely. He wondered if she’d beg for an orgasm just as prettily. He’d like to see her strung up on a rack of intense pleasure, begging him to take her over the edge. The physical need to touch her right now was unbearable.
He balled his hands into fists, mentally tamping down the urge to take her right now. Fuck! Could he spend weeks with a raging hard-on and do nothing about it?
Not a chance. “I’m not doing it, Kait.”
He turned away from the crestfallen look on her face and scribbled down the name of one of the artists in his list. “Call Mitch. He’ll do a great painting of you.”
She lifted her chin, her cheeks pink, obviously embarrassed that he’d turned her down. He wished he could tell her all the reasons for declining her request, but he couldn’t. Not without delving deep into his own fears, and that he wasn’t ready to face.
Now she was clearly insulted that he wouldn’t agree to paint her and there wasn’t a damn thing he could say to convince her that he’d just turned down the opportunity to do something he’d wanted to do for as long as he could remember.
She took the card and tucked it into her purse, her tone clipped when she said, “I’ll do that. Thanks.”
He watched her walk away, forcing himself to remain mute before he blurted out that he’d been wrong to say no, that he wanted to paint her more than he wanted anything else.
But he didn’t. Doing what he wanted would be a disaster for Kait. He let her go, mentally damning himself for the self-hatred that consumed him every day.
Mitchell was an honorable artist and a close friend. He’d paint Kaitlyn beautifully.
But Mitchell would never see her soul, her innocent h
eart, her sweet, spring-like nature. He’d never be able to paint the Kaitlyn that Brett knew.
No one could.
Chapter Three
Two days after her disastrous episode with Brett, Kaitlyn stood in front of his gallery again, trying to calm her nerves by taking a few deep breaths. Her palms were sweating, her heart pounding against her ribs.
Okay, so far this hadn’t gone quite as she’d planned. Her original intent to get him to paint was still her number one mission. One way or another, she’d find out tonight if she had any hope at all of succeeding.
She pondered just turning around and going home, and then calling Mitch Walker to tell him she’d changed her mind about the portrait.
Would she really be able to pose nude for a complete stranger? With Brett it was different. She had feelings for him. She knew him, trusted him. The only reason she’d contacted Mitch was because of this really stupid idea that had popped into her head.
Like arranging for the painting to be done at Belle Saisons, thereby forcing Brett watch.
She refused to acknowledge the perverse satisfaction she felt when she’d made the arrangements with Brett. He’d choked for a few minutes, but he didn’t have a valid reason for saying no.
So here she was, about to strip naked in front of two men and have her portrait painted. By someone other than Brett. Served him right for turning her away. God, it wasn’t like she’d begged him to fuck her, though she figured he’d have probably turned that proposal down too.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t stand out here all night and stare through the window. She rang the bell since the gallery was closed. Brett came into view almost immediately, unlocking the door and standing aside for her to enter.
“Hi,” he said, his expression wary.
Did he think she was angry at him? No, she wasn’t angry. She was hurt, dammit, but she’d die before she let him see that. “Hi yourself,” she replied, pushing back her nervousness and affecting her brightest smile. “Is Mitch here yet?” She’d be damned if she’d act like this wasn’t what she wanted. She’d put so much enthusiasm into getting naked for Mitch that Brett would wish he’d have agreed to do the painting.
Brett inhaled sharply and nodded. “Yeah, he’s in the back getting ready. Go on through.”
“Great. I’m really anxious to get started.” She was about to say get naked instead, but decided against being that vindictive. Though she did pause, turn around and ask, “You’re going to watch, aren’t you?”
His eyes widened, then darkened, dropping half-closed as he studied her. Her throat went dry and her nipples beaded against her shirt. God, what she wouldn’t give for him to give her that look for an entirely different reason.
“Watch?”
“Sure. I don’t mind. And frankly I’d feel more comfortable having you in there. You’re practically family, you know.”
Zing! Got him with that one. He frowned and said, “I’m hardly family, Kait.”
“Close enough. You’re like a brother to me and I’ll really feel much safer having you there to watch.” Without waiting to see his reaction, she strolled through the double doors leading to the gallery and beyond.
Familiar with the layout of the gallery, she moved down the hall toward the studio. Sparsely furnished except for a few easels and a raised wood platform about ten feet square, she spotted a man that looked to be in his mid-forties examining the table of paints.
“Hi,” she said, strolling toward him. The man lifted his gaze and Kaitlyn was struck by his incredibly sexy ocean-blue eyes. “I’m Kaitlyn Storm.”
She heard the door open behind her and knew Brett had just stepped in. Mitch grinned and brushed a lock of shaggy brown hair off his face, his eyes lighting up like a full moon over the ocean. “Bon soir, ma belle. Brett didn’t tell me my subject was so breathtakingly beautiful.”
“Well, thank you, Mitch. I’m so excited you’re going to be painting me.”
Mitch smiled. “Merci, ma petite belle. I’m looking forward to doing you.”
He winked and she realized then he was flirting with her! Her gaze shot to Brett. He stood in the background, scowling. Okay, so he wasn’t totally immune to her. Hope filled her.
She couldn’t resist egging Mitch on just a bit. “And I’m looking forward to having you do me.” When Brett coughed, she continued and said, “I took the liberty of checking out your work at the downtown gallery and I’m very impressed. You have a reputation as one of the best artists in New Orleans.”
Though Mitch was indeed a fantastic artist, Brett’s paintings called to her emotions more. But she wasn’t going to say that.
Mitch laughed. “I’d say we’ll play some beautiful music together. Why don’t you go change into this robe and we’ll get you positioned so we can get started?”
He handed her a short red robe made of terrycloth. It looked more like a towel and would barely cover her ass. Great. Then again, she’d have more than her ass exposed shortly anyway.
This was it. She clutched the robe tight in her hands so neither Brett nor Mitch could see her quaking hands.
Posing naked for a stranger wasn’t what she’d wanted. But it was clear what she wanted wasn’t going to happen. She’d opened her mouth and thrown down the gauntlet, only Brett hadn’t picked it up. So now she’d have to live with her choice. And hope that she really did know Brett as well as she thought she did.
She stepped into the dressing area and hurriedly stripped, slipping the robe around her and belting it tight. It skimmed the top of her thighs. She’d have to make sure not to bend over or she’d give both men one hell of a show.
Her blood pounded in her ears as she stepped through the door, her legs so shaky she wasn’t certain she’d be able to walk. Mitch and Brett were huddled together in conversation, both of them looking up as she entered.
Mitch tilted his head to the side and scanned her body from head to toe. “Beautiful subject,” he said, motioning her to the platform. “Stand up there, disrobe and we’ll get started.”
She swallowed hard and turned her gaze to Brett, who hadn’t moved an inch since she’d walked in the door. The heat from his eyes shot deep between her legs, almost as if he’d physically touched her there. The look he gave her definitely wasn’t an impersonal artist’s survey. He didn’t look at her body, just kept his focus on her eyes. And she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him, no matter how hard she willed herself to turn away.
When he arched a brow and glared at her, she wondered if he thought she wouldn’t go through with it. Was he challenging her, daring her to drop the robe?
Fine. She might be nervous as hell, but she’d damn well do it. She always finished what she started, and this project was no exception.
Yes, it could be just you and me doing this. But you said no. Keeping her eyes trained on Brett, she reached for the belt, untied the knot, and grasped the lapels of the robe.
“Kaitlyn.”
She paused when Brett spoke. “Yes?”
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
Her gaze shot to Mitch who’d stopped what he was doing and leaned back against the table, arms crossed and watching them both.
“Yes! Of course it is. It was my idea, you know.”
When he didn’t say anything else, she shrugged and reached for the lapels of the robe, holding her breath and hoping she wouldn’t blush from cheeks to cheeks.
“Dammit! Stop!”
She stilled, refusing to hope. Relief washed over her and she sucked in her bottom lip, waiting for him to say something. Waiting for him to say what she desperately wished him to say.
Mitch glanced over at Brett. “Something wrong?”
“I, uh, need to see you in my office, Mitch.”
“Now?”
“Right now.”
“Sure.” Mitch shrugged and turned his head toward Kaitlyn. “I’ll be right back.”
She nodded, refusing to budge even an inch as she watched Brett lead Mitch into his off
ice and close the door. Now what? Should she wait? Sit? Go change? The look on Brett’s face was murderous.
After about five minutes of standing like a statue, she began to feel ridiculous. Belting the robe again, she stepped off the platform and sat down in one of the metal chairs near the easel. A half-dead plant sat in a container near the chair. She reached over and caressed the petals, offering her sympathies for Brett’s neglect. She could certainly commiserate with the how the plant felt.
She could hear their voices, but couldn’t discern the conversation. Until it started to get louder and louder. Were they arguing? No, it wasn’t quite arguing. But she heard laughter. One-sided laughter, and it wasn’t Brett doing the laughing.
The door opened and Mitch came out, still chuckling. Kaitlyn frowned as he stepped up to the table and began to pack his brushes and paints into a large carrying case. Her gaze moved to Brett, who stood leaning against the door frame of his office, his expression dark and angry. That tiny flicker of hope surged into a bright light of joy.
“Is there…a problem?” she asked innocently.
Mitch snapped the case shut and looked up at her, a huge grin on his face. “Nope. I’ve just been fired.”
Yes! Affecting a frown, she said, “Fired? I don’t understand.”
“You will. Later, ma belle,” he said with a wink, then headed down the hall.
She stood frozen, watching Brett turn and follow Mitch to the door.
Shortly after he saw Mitch to the door, Brett came back into the room. “Get dressed.”
“Why did Mitch leave?”
“I told him he wasn’t needed. Get dressed.”
Despite her joy and relief, she had to see this charade through to its conclusion. “Excuse me? You told him what?”
“That he wasn’t going to be painting you.”
“I don’t understand this, Brett. Explain it to me.”
“I don’t want him painting you.” Then he turned away and fiddled with the paintbrushes on the supply table.
