The Art of Deception

forward, but simply waited. “Your blush is already fading, so it seems I’ve missed my chance.”
    “You can give it another try tomorrow. Hungry?”
    “Yes.” Her lips made him hungry, but he wasn’t ready to test himself quite yet. “I want to go through your clothes after breakfast.”
    “Oh, really?” She drew out the word, catching her tongue between her teeth.
    His brow lifted, but only she was aware of the gesture. “For the painting.”
    “You don’t want to do a nude.” The humor in her eyes faded into boredom as she drew away. “That’s the usual line.”
    “I don’t waste my time with lines.” He studied her—the cool gray eyes that could warm with laughter, the haughty mouth that could invite and promise with no more than a smile. “I’m going to paint you because you were meant to be painted. I’m going to make love with you for exactly the same reason.”
    Her expression didn’t change, but her pulse rate did. Kirby wasn’t foolish enough to pretend even to herself it was anger. Anger and excitement were two different things. “How decisive and arrogant of you,” she drawled. Strolling over to her dresser, she picked up her brush and ran it quickly through her hair. “I haven’t agreed to pose for you, Adam, nor have I agreed to sleep with you.” She flicked the brush through a last time then set it down. “In fact, I’ve serious doubts that I’ll do either. Shall we go?”
    Before she could get to the door, he had her. The speed surprised her, if the strength didn’t. She’d hoped to annoy him, but when she tossed her head back to look at him, she didn’t see temper. She saw cool, patient determination. Nothing could have been more unnerving.
    Then he had her close, so that his face was a blur and his mouth was dominant. She didn’t resist. Kirby rarely resisted what she wanted. Instead she let the heat wind through her in a slow continuous stream that was somehow both terrifying and peaceful.
    Desire. Wasn’t that how she’d always imagined it would be with the right man? Wasn’t that what she’d been waiting for since the first moment she’d discovered herself a woman? It was here now. Kirby opened her arms to it.
    His heartbeat wasn’t steady, and it should have been. His mind wasn’t clear, and it had to be. How could he win with her when he lost ground every time he was around her? If he followed through on his promise—or threat—that they’d be lovers, how much more would he lose? And gain, he thought as he let himself become steeped in her. The risk was worth taking.
    “You’ll pose for me,” he said against her mouth. “And you’ll make love with me. There’s no choice.”
    That was the word that stopped her. That was the phrase that forced her to resist. She’d always have a choice. “I don’t—”
    “For either of us,” Adam finished as he released her. “We’ll decide on the clothes after breakfast.” Because he didn’t want to give either of them a chance to speak, he propelled her from the room.
    An hour later, he propelled her back.
    She’d been serene during the meal. But he hadn’t been fooled. Livid was what she was, and livid was exactly how he wanted her. She didn’t like to be outmaneuvered, even on a small point. It gave him a surge of satisfaction to be able to do so. The defiant, sulky look in her eyes was exactly what he wanted for the portrait.
    “Red, I think,” he stated. “It would suit you best.”
    Kirby waved a hand at her closet and flopped backward onto her bed. Staring up at the ceiling, she thought through her position. It was true she’d always refused to be painted, except by her father. She hadn’t wanted anyone else to get that close to her. As an artist, she knew just how intimate the relationship was between painter and subject, be the subject a person or a bowl of fruit. She’d never been willing to share herself with anyone to that extent.
    But Adam was different. She could, if she chose, tell herself it was because of his talent, and because he wanted to paint her, not flatter her. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t quite the truth. Still, Kirby was comfortable with partial truths in certain cases. If she was honest, she had to admit that she was curious to see just how she’d look from his perspective, and yet she wasn’t entirely comfortable with that.
    Moving only her eyes, she watched him as he rummaged through her closet.
    He didn’t have to know what was going on in her head.