“I’ll see you tonight,” he said, the husky tone only making her more unsure.
Katie touched her swollen lips as the bike sped off in a cloud of dust. She stood on the empty road until Jared had disappeared, her mind still reeling from the afternoon’s revelations. And the devastating knowledge that he still wanted her as much as she wanted him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CONTRARY TO HIS promise that afternoon, Jared didn’t show up for the evening meal, so Katie ate alone in her room and spent the rest of the evening immersed in her painting. But, instead of the landscapes she had worked on diligently after returning from the cemetery, she allowed herself the luxury of sketching the subject which had fascinated her for five years.
She moved to the villa’s terrace after the staff had left for the night to make the most of the fading light as she finished the detailed line drawing and switched to oils.
The strength and beauty of Jared’s naked body when he had stripped off in front of her came alive on the canvas and she came to a few important conclusions.
They were two young, healthy, unattached adults who desired each other. And they had two more days in this luxury villa to act upon that attraction. Now she had made peace with her mother and a legacy which she no longer felt responsible for, she didn’t see why they shouldn’t make the most of this opportunity.
Jared’s failure to show up for dinner, though, suggested he was going to need more persuading.
Obviously, her inexperience and her ludicrous breakdown in the cemetery had made him believe she was a naive, clingy woman who wouldn’t be able to abide by his “no emotional attachments” rule. While she had to admit she was still desperately curious about where that rule came from, and why he thought it was necessary, she needed to prove to him she could respect those boundaries if she wanted to take this afternoon’s kiss to its logical conclusion.
Heat settled low in her abdomen and she pressed trembling fingers to her belly.
She absolutely did want to take it to its logical conclusion.
She caressed the lean line of his torso with her brush, finishing the final details on the portrait. She was twenty-four years old and she had denied herself the excitement and exhilaration of physical contact based on a lie Lloyd Whittaker had made her believe—that she was somehow responsible for her mother’s sins.
It wasn’t enough just to acknowledge that, or simply to own her desires, though. It was way past time she went out and demanded they be fulfilled.
Jared was here, available and obviously willing, and tonight she planned to show him that she too could be emotionally self-sufficient. He said he’d seduced her the night before—maybe it was about time she seduced him.
The thought thrilled and terrified her as she packed away her paints and left the portrait to dry on the terrace. She showered and changed into a subtly sexy dress emblazoned with poppies and used some of the makeup samples the beautician had left to enhance her eyes and slick her lips. A pair of peep-toe sandals completed the outfit, which she hoped said “purpose and sophistication.” And then she waited in the safety of her room late into the night, trying and failing to read one of the thrillers she had found in Jared’s study, until she heard the low rumble of his bike.
She listened to the sound of the power shower going on in the adjoining suite and tried not to obsess at the thought of his body covered in steam and soap suds. His footsteps echoed in the room outside. Giddy anticipation intensified the ache in her abdomen as she stepped onto the terrace to find Jared wearing a clean shirt and dark jeans, his damp hair shining black in the moonlight.
His head whipped round as her heels clicked on the terracotta stone. And she released a tortured breath. He had the painting in his hands.
The thought that he had been studying her work had need and determination tightening the coil of desire. Sensation rippled over her bare arms, the citrus-scented breeze doing nothing to cool the hum of heat, as she walked toward him on unsteady legs.
“What’s this?” he asked, lifting up the portrait. “Are you trying to shock my staff?” The tone didn’t sound angry, just strained, but then she registered the lust-blown pupils edging out the pure blue of his irises. The fire blazed at her core, burning off some of the nervous tension skittering over her skin.
“They left for the night hours ago,” she said. Gathering every ounce of her courage, she nodded at the portrait. “What do you think of it?” she asked, realizing his opinion mattered.
He stared at the canvas. Something flickered in his eyes, dark and tortured, and his Adam’s apple bobbed.
The giddy pulse battered her collarbone.
“It looks romantic,” he said, propping the picture back on the terrace table and burying his hands in his pockets. The edge in his tone made it clear the observation was a criticism, but instead of being cowed by his cynicism she felt suddenly empowered.
She wasn’t the one running scared anymore.
“Do you really think so?” she challenged, stepping into his personal space and watching the rigid muscle in his jaw jump. “That’s odd—I wasn’t feeling romantic when I painted it.” Not entirely true, because it was hard not to feel romantic in such a stunning place while painting such a ruggedly beautiful man, but that was surely just an aesthetic consideration?
“Oh, yeah? Then what the hell were you thinking?” he asked, his voice so husky now it was barely more than a croak.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked provocatively, her own voice lowering several octaves as she sucked in a lungful of his enticing scent—pine soap and salty male flesh.
His brows slammed down, the muscle in his jaw going berserk as he lifted his hands out of his pockets and captured her waist.
“Don’t tempt me, Katherine,” he growled as he kept her at arm’s length. “I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
She lifted up on her toes, touched by the battle he was clearly waging with his conscience. “But this is the right thing,” she whispered in his ear, then bit into the lobe.