Divine Evil

bathed their heated bodies. They hadn't tumbled right into sex but had shared another dance, gliding slowly, silently together in the moonglow. He'd liked the way she had stood on tiptoe so that their eyes and mouths lined up. The way she slid her body against his and smiled. Or laughed when he spun her out and pulled her back, in the teasingly sexual way dances were meant for.
    Still linked, they had swayed from the deck to the bedroom, the music playing.
    Undressing lazily, kissing long and deep, touching gently. Patient now, with the night around them and ahead of them. Sighs and whispers to add to the music.
    Their loving had been a continuation of the dance.
    Smooth, sinuous rhythms.
    Step, counterstep.
    A bold, sensuous beat.
    Turns.
    Bodies brushing, parting, teasing.
    Break.
    Hands clasping.
    That final sighing note.
    Now, though the dance was over, Clare listened to the music that vibrated through the air and through her blood. “I should have threatened you several days ago.”
    “I wish you had.”
    I was scared.
    “I know. Me, too.”
    The mattress gave, the sheets whispered as she shifted to look down at him. And smiled. “But I'm feeling much better now.”
    “Yeah?” He tugged her hair to bring her mouth close enough to kiss. “Me, too.”
    “I like your face.” Eyes narrowed, she traced a fingertip over his jawline, up to his cheekbones, along his nose and down to his mouth. “I'd really like to sculpt your face.”
    He only laughed and bit down gently on her finger.
    “I mean it. It's a good face. Very strong bones. How about it?”
    Vaguely embarrassed, he shrugged. “I don't know.”
    “And your hands,” she said, more to herself than him as she turned them over, examining the palms, the ridges of callus, the length of the fingers. “Nothing delicate here,” she mused. “They're all business.”
    “You ought to know.”
    She chuckled but shook her head. “From an artist's viewpoint, peasant! Then there's the rest of you. You've got a terrific body. Elegantly masculine. Lean through the hips, good shoulders, nicely defined pecs, tight abdominals, excellent thighs and calves.”
    Embarrassment became acute. “Come on, Clare.”
    “I was really considering asking you to pose nude, before we became so … intimately acquainted.”
    “Nude?” With a half laugh, he put his hands on her shoulders and drew her back. The rest of the laugh didn't surface because he could see she was dead serious. “No way am I posing naked.”
    “Nude,” she corrected. “Naked's for sex and showers, nude's for art.”
    “I'm not posing naked or nude.”
    “Why not?” Warming to the idea, she scooted up, straddling him. Ah, yes, she thought, truly excellent abs. “I've already seen you naked, from a variety of angles. Nude's entirely impersonal.”
    “Nude's entirely undressed.”
    “You'd look great in copper, Cam.”
    “Not even for you.”
    She only smiled. “Okay, I'll just do the sketches from memory. Maybe I should just measure …” She slid a hand down, between their bodies.
    “Cut it out.”
    She collapsed with laughter. “Who would have thought Cameron Rafferty, bad boy turned lawman, would be shy.”
    “I'm not shy, I'm just—discreet.”
    “My ass.”
    “I thought we were talking about mine.”
    Giving a snort, she shifted again, bundling pillows under her head. Where had all this energy come from? she wondered. Ten minutes ago she hadn't been certain she would ever move again. Now she felt like … well, dancing.
    “I guess we could use a loincloth. You could pin your star to it if it made you feel better. I could title it
The Long Arm of the Law.”
    “I'm going to slug you in a minute.”
    After a long, contented sigh, she turned her head to look at him. “I might as well tell you, I'm really stubbornwhen it comes to my work. I once hounded a bag lady for two weeks so I could sketch her hands. What are you smiling at?”
    You're pretty.
    “You're trying to change the subject.”
    “Yeah. But you are pretty. You've got these freckles on your nose. They're just about the same color as your eyes.”
    “Okay, you can sculpt me if you want, but I get to do you first.”
    He pushed a pillow into her face.
    “You know.” She slid it off and stuck it with the others under her head. “If we were in New York, I'd make you get dressed so we could go out. To a club.” Smiling, she closed her eyes. “Hot music, too many people, overpriced drinks served by rude