Page 61 of The Art of Sinning

“Not necessarily,” he prevaricated.

“But sometimes.”

He swore under his breath. He considered lying, but he couldn’t. Not to her. “Mrs. Beard’s girls? No. Never.”

That seemed to take her aback. “Yet you allow the entire world, even your own relations, to believe that you’re this debauchee who wallows in the stews every night. Why?”

“It’s none of their concern what I do.”

She just lifted an eyebrow.

“Fine,” he said. “I don’t want people making assumptions about my works based on who poses for them. I don’t want that to color the observers’ perceptions of my paintings.”

She let out an exasperated huff. “Then why choose soiled doves as models?”

“Because they have the right seedy appearance for the kind of images I paint. Because they’re comfortable with their bodies. Because they’re used to being looked at for hours.” He scowled at her. “Because they don’t ask annoying questions.”

Apparently that hint was too subtle for Yvette. “So youneverbed any of your models? Is that a general rule of yours?”

The question startled him. “Not a rule, no. I did it occasionally in my salad days, when I was randy.” Until even that didn’t drive the image of those two coffins from his mind. “I painted nudes then, so if the woman was willing...” He shrugged. “But as my abilities improved, I became more interested in the women as subjects. In how to transfer their sensuality, their characters... their humanity to the canvas.”

Her expression saddened suddenly.

That set him on edge. “Why does it matter? Why are we even talking about this?”

“Because I’ve finally realized something important.” Looking vulnerable, she swallowed hard. “To you, I’m just like them.”

“Hardly,” he clipped out, an instant and visceral reaction.

“I don’t mean that you see me as a... a lady of the evening. But I’m still merely a model to you. A means to an end.”

“That’s not true.” Every bit of him recoiled at the idea.

“The only difference is that you don’t paint me naked, but—”

“I don’t paintthemnaked.” He bore down on her, unable to help himself. “ButyouI would paint naked in every conceivable position, if I had the chance.”

She sucked in a ragged breath, her gaze locking with his.

Determined to banish her notion that she meant so little to him, he tugged her against him. “I do not lie in bed at night burning to possessthem. I do not spend every modeling session enjoyingtheirwit or being painfully aroused by it.” He bent his head close. “And I assure you that I’ve never felt jealous of any man who looked at one of my models with lust. But I’m damned well jealous about you.”

And as she stared up at him with those heartbreakingly beautiful eyes and that sweet mouth that tempted him every time he saw her, he gave in to his worst impulses and kissed her.

Fifteen

Much as Yvette knew she should resist him, she couldn’t for the life of her. Certainly not in this place that reeked of sensual encounters, with its red velvets and its heavy perfumes and its half-naked rogues.

That in itself should have reminded her of what happened to women who gave in to men. But when he kissed her with such ardor, all she wanted was to kiss him back. Forever.

The forever part was a problem.

Breaking the kiss, she gazed up into his too-­handsome face. “Yes, but why me? Why doImake you jealous?”

She knew he wasn’t going to answer when his eyes glittered in the firelight... when his breathing grew hard and his body even harder as he backed her up against Mrs. Beard’s desk. “You ask too many questions.”

Then he kissed her again, with sweet, hot plunges of his tongue that tore down her walls and swept her into a maelstrom of conflicting urges. She’d wanted so much for so long. Why must he be the only one to knot all her wants into one giant need that had her flinging her arms about him, straining for more of him?

“My luscious lady.” He untied her cloak and shoved it off her shoulders, then covered one of her breasts with his hand, fondling and kneading and thumbing her nipple to a fine point. “You don’t know what you do to me.”