At her door, Ben gazed into her eyes. “It was a good day, wasn’t it?”
Unable to deny it, she nodded. “A very good day.”
“We’ll have to do it again.”
“You have more nurseries that need decorating?” she asked, deliberately flippant because the prospect held so much appeal.
He stroked her cheek, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “No, but I think we can find other things to do.”
“I don’t know. Maybe we should get this back on a more professional footing.”
“Meaning you chase after my art and I keep saying no?”
She smiled sadly. “Something like that.”
His fingers still warm against her face, he traced a line along her jaw. Her pulse jerked and raced at the tender touch. His gaze held hers.
“I think we’re past that, don’t you?” he asked.
“We can’t be,” she said emphatically.
He covered her mouth with his, ran his tongue along the seam of her lips. Her pulse scrambled, proving that she was a liar, or at the very least denying the truth. To her relief, though, there was no satisfaction in his expression when he pulled back, just acceptance, which was something she wished she could attain. It would be so much easier if she could go with the flow, if all that past history hadn’t made her jumpy about all relationships, much less one with an artist who had his own demons to fight.
“Ben,” she began, then fell silent, uncertain what she could say that wouldn’t sound ridiculous. Denying the attraction certainly wouldn’t be believable. They both knew it was there, simmering and on the way to a boil.
And if she were being totally honest, it was also inevitable that they would do something about it. The only real question was when...and maybe how much risk it would be and how much pride it would cost her.
“Never mind,” he said, apparently reading her confusion. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. I can wait till you catch up to where I am.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You will,” he said confidently.
“Arrogance is not an attractive trait.”
“Don’t all artists have to have a little arrogance just to survive?” he taunted.
“But you say you’re not an artist,” she reminded him, regaining her equilibrium. “And for the moment, I have no real proof to the contrary.”
He laughed. “But you seem so certain, Ms. Expert.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been known to be wrong.”
“When?”
“That’s not something I like to spread around.” She gave him a thoughtful look. “Perhaps if I were to see a few more paintings, I could be sure.”
“Nice try,” he told her, laughter dancing in his eyes. “You’ll have to be a bit more persuasive than that, though. I still don’t know what’s in it for me.”
Kathleen fell in with his lighthearted mood, because it got her out of the far more dangerous territory they’d been in only moments before. “I’ll give that some thought,” she promised. “Since money and fame don’t seem to matter to you, I’m sure I can come up with something else.”
“I can think of one thing,” he said.
He made the claim in a suggestive way that threw them right back into the same dangerous fires she was so sure they’d just escaped.
“Something other than that,” she said, ignoring the eager racing of her heart.
He laughed. “Too bad. If you come up with something—I doubt it could be better—keep me posted.”
“You’ll know the minute I do,” she assured him, an idea already taking shape in her mind, something that would render him incapable of forgetting about her for a single second without putting her own flagging defenses to the test.
Already lost in her planning, she gave him a distracted kiss. “Good night, Ben.”
Before he could recover from his apparent surprise, she stepped inside and shut the door in his face.
The doorbell rang almost immediately. Fighting a smile, she opened it.
“Forget anything?” he asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Sure you did,” he said, stepping into the house and dragging her into his arms.
He kissed her till her head spun, then walked back outside and closed the door behind him.
Kathleen stared at the door and touched a finger to her still-burning lips. There was no escaping the fact that this latest round had gone to him. She wasn’t sure whether to start plotting a way to get even or to run for her life.
* * *
Ben was getting far too much enjoyment out of rattling Kathleen. He was forgetting all about protecting himself. He needed to lock himself in his studio and get back to work. It was the most effective way he knew to block out the world.
And up until a few days ago, it had been more than enough for him. He hadn’t craved anyone’s company, hadn’t yearned for any woman’s kisses. Maybe he could get that back again.
Not likely, he concluded a few hours later when Kathleen breezed in with a bag of freshly baked banana nut muffins and a large latte. She was like a little whirlwind that touched down, left a bit of collateral damage and was gone an instant later. He stared out the door of his studio after she’d gone, fighting the oddest sensation that he’d imagined the entire visit.
But the coffee and muffins were real enough. So was the edgy state of arousal in which he found himself.
“Well, hell,” he muttered and tried to go back to work.
Inspiration eluded him. All he could think about was the faint scent of Kathleen that lingered in the air.
She did the same thing the next day, this time leaving him with an entire blueberry pie and a container of whipped cream. His vivid imagination came up with a lot
