“You drink too much,” I inform him, as if he doesn’t already know. “Is that why it’s been nearly two years since you’ve produced anything new?”
The question leaps off my tongue before I can hold it back. His stare bores into me as he steps toward me. His legs are long and powerful. Two strides carry him within arm’s length, close enough that I can smell the smoky whisky on his breath and see the hauntedness in his dark eyes. I can also see the barely restrained anger in his handsome face.
“Your clothes, Ms. Laurent. Put them back on.” The smooth Southern edge of his low voice is far from soft now. “As soon as I leave this room, one of my staff will be in to clear away these dishes. I suggest you dress quickly and preserve your dignity, unless that good-girl attitude of yours is only a facade.”
God, he’s an arrogant bastard. I should let him go. I should not say another word. I should simply be thankful this awkward exercise is finished, and pray the remainder of my time with him will be over just as quickly.
But maybe there’s something ruthless inside me, too, because I can tell I’ve hit a nerve and it only makes me want to probe deeper. He’s trying to shut me out, and for some reckless reason, I don’t want to make things that easy for him.
“Why start painting again now?” I press. “And why start with me, aside from the fact that you want to recoup the seventy-five thousand that Daniel owes you?”
He scowls. “Isn’t that reason enough?”
“Obviously, you don’t need the money.”
“Are you suggesting I should forgive your boyfriend’s stealing just because I don’t need what he took from me?”
“Daniel didn’t steal anything from you.”
“Didn’t he?” He steps closer to me, closing the meager distance. A dangerous fire smolders in his consuming brown eyes. “Only a cheat gambles with money he doesn’t have. A thief, Ms. Laurent.”
He sounds so indignant, I can’t help myself; I scoff. “Then why not offer to have Daniel pose naked for you instead of me?”
“Because I wanted you. And you said yes.”
His voice skims over my bare flesh like a stroke of his hand. Dark, heated, and utterly in control. I swallow, my mouth as dry as the core of me is drenched. He hasn’t touched me, yet my skin tingles as if his hands have stroked every bare inch of me. Arousal coils deep within me, uninvited, yet undeniable.
Just from the power of Jared Rush’s gaze and the smoky rumble of his voice.
A cold, knowing smile pulls at the hard edge of his mouth. He leans in a little closer, his deep voice going even lower, a vibration I feel all the way to my marrow.
“And just for the record, Ms. Laurent, if you were mine, I would’ve put a fucking bullet in my head before I’d ever give you up to a man like me. Not for any reason. Not for any price.”
I stare at him, unable to speak. My lungs don’t seem to function, except to soak in the dark, enticing scent of him.
He takes a step back, and his eyes make one final sweep of my nudity. “We’ll be leaving for my studio in ten minutes.”
10
JARED
I feel her stare on me as I stalk away from her.
It carves into me even though I can’t see her changeable blue-gray eyes. Intelligent, inquisitive eyes. Brave, beautiful eyes that see more than they should, more than I intend to allow.
She’s fearless, too, marching into my house wrapped in a sweet summer dress and haughty defiance, like a virgin sent in to face a dragon and determined to not go down without a fight.
I hadn’t expected to begin seducing her over my breakfast plate, but damn if the idea hadn’t taken on immense appeal the instant her gaze clashed with mine.
I’d told myself to show her some gentleness today, exercise some patience. I’m generally in short supply where those two things are concerned, but with her, at least for today, I wanted to try.
Fuck. So much for that.
Making her strip in front of me was a cheap shot, one beneath even a bastard like me.
I’d like to tell myself it was contempt for Daniel Hathaway behind my demand. After all, he’s the reason she’s here with me in the first place. He’s the reason I’m going to have Melanie Laurent on my canvas and in my bed before these next weeks are over.
But when I told her to undress for me, I wasn’t thinking about Daniel Hathaway or debts to be settled—new or old. I wasn’t even thinking about my painting. I wasn’t thinking about anything except the proud, smart, incredibly attractive woman seated alone with me in the room.
A woman who seems determined to challenge and push back at me with every turn.
She made it clear she wants to draw a hard line between her real life and our arrangement. I get that. Hell, I respect her for it and wholeheartedly agree. I’m not going to let her get inside my head or my personal life any more than she wants me in hers.
None of that changes the fact that when she’s with me, she’s at my mercy.
I thought taking her clothes off would unravel some of the fight in her. Instead, I’m the one who’s nearly undone. I’ve seen hundreds of beautiful, naked women, both professionally in my studio and laid out before me for my pleasure. But none of them ever affected me as powerfully as her.
My heart hasn’t stopped banging in my chest since the moment she reached for the knot on her innocent-looking wrap dress. Like a teenage boy who’d just discovered
