in a few hours this man had learned more about her than most people who had known her all her life. He had spotted what she tried to keep secret, contained within her body, all the passion and desire always threatening to brim over. And she thought she’d had his measure, watching him as he drew!
She forced out a laugh. ‘I have no such longing.’
‘Don’t lie to me,’ he rasped. ‘I’m an artist. I know what I see.’
Impatiently Benedict seized the sketches. ‘Let’s return to work.’ After a moment he cast down the charcoal. ‘It’s no good.’
‘What do you mean?’ Cameo asked indignantly. ‘I haven’t moved.’
His eyebrows knit together as he scowled at the paper in front of him. ‘It’s not that. I have the angle right, but I need—’
‘What is it?’
Impatiently he ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Your determined chin, Miss Ashe. I’m afraid it leads to your neck.’
Her hands flew upwards. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I told you I won’t merely be painting your face. I’ll also be painting part of your body. I did make that clear.’
Cameo’s heart raced. Of course she understood what he’d said to her, but she hadn’t considered which parts of her body needed to be revealed.
‘I expected that, Mr Cole,’ she forced herself to reply with feigned unconcern. ‘What exactly is it you ask of me now?’
He pointed to her blue gown. ‘Unbutton the collar of your dress.’
A gulp of air rose up from her lungs. It was no more than she revealed in a dinner gown or a ball dress. In such evening attire her neck, even her shoulders and décolletage were bare. Yet her fingers became clumsy as she reached for the tiny buttons that held the collar tight, her heart beating so loudly he surely heard it.
She undid the top button. He made no sign to stop her. She undid the second. She ought to feel shy with her throat bare in front of him, yet she didn’t at all.
‘Is—is that enough?’
‘Almost.’
Cameo undid the third button.
His eyes darkened with an unidentifiable emotion. ‘Wait.’
With long strides Benedict crossed the room and reached for her.
Her body gave an instinctive jerk.
‘I’m not going to hurt you.’
No muscle moved in her body as he lifted her cameo necklace from where it had been lying on the soft fabric of her dress and dropped it down into her open collar. It fell against her skin towards the crevice between her breasts.
The cooler stone met her warm skin and she gave a sharp intake of breath, but the necklace wasn’t the cause of her sudden ragged breathing. His closeness, the heat from his body emanating through the thin cotton of his shirt, did that. He moved his hand away, but his powerful vision stayed transfixed upon her throat as if he were actually touching her skin.
His lips came down at the exact moment she raised hers to his. They moved together as one, his strong arms lifting her from the chaise longue as she stood on tiptoe to reach him while a greater force thrust them together. Nothing stopped her seeking the hardness of his lips in that moment, causing an explosion within her that dived to the depths of her stomach and flamed up again as a deep sigh opened her mouth. She let his cool tongue probe, meeting his hunger with hers, longing to taste him. She flung her hands around his neck as he wrenched her body even closer in his fierce embrace.
With a groan, Benedict heaved himself away from her and ran his hand through his hair. ‘Goodness.’
Cameo sank on to the chaise longue, clutching her bodice. Her heart felt like a bird beating its wings against the cage of her chest.
Benedict retreated behind the easel. ‘I warned you the relationship between artist and model can all too easily become intimate.’ Harsh lines bracketed the mouth that just moments before had so passionately searched hers. ‘That was...regrettable.’
She couldn’t reply. She could only gasp for breath.
His glance flew to his easel as though it were a powerful magnet. ‘This painting may be my greatest work. I can’t have anything interfere with my focus. I must complete this. It’s what I’m meant to do.’
Silence fell between them, except for the gasps that continued to escape her lips.
‘Some people don’t think artists have any rules.’ He spoke again, his voice husky. ‘But they do. They must. To be able to paint each day without fail there must be the kind of self-discipline that cannot be broken.’
Words evaded her as her body continued to shudder.
‘Do you understand? I cannot allow this between us. If you’re to remain my model—it must be as if what just happened never occurred.’
With shaking fingers Cameo touched her tender lips. ‘I see.’
‘I can assure you there will be no such lapse again.’
He coiled away from her and thrust his taut hands against the chimney piece. When he rounded on his heel, his expression appeared unfathomable.
‘I think we’ve had enough for today.’ He ran his fingers through his hair again. ‘We’ll continue tomorrow, Miss Ashe.’
Shocked to her core by her response to him, Cameo buttoned the bodice of her dress right to the top of her neck. In a trembling grip she grabbed her bonnet and cloak and rushed from the studio as fast as her shaking legs could take her.
‘Ah, happy shade—and still went wavering down,
But, ere it touch’d a foot, that might have danced.’
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson:
‘The Gardener’s Daughter’
A hand parted the fronds of the potted palm tree. ‘What are you two whispering about?’
‘George!’ Cameo dropped her fan. ‘You startled me.’
Her brother gave his easy smile. ‘You look quite panicked. Just what is it that you have to be so guilty about?’
Retrieving her fan, Cameo pretended to study the ballroom, with its huge white pillars, gilt-painted cornices and ferns in huge tubs. The chandeliers scattered their rainbow reflections on the shimmering polished floor, challenging the dazzle of the women’s bright jewels. ‘Nothing.’
‘Hmm. Why is it I don’t believe you, little sister?’ George turned to Maud, standing beside Cameo, who peeped up at him from beneath her lashes.
‘Hello
