He thought her name was Reina? Ha. No such luck.
“Actually, I go by Rey.” She gathered the papers. “Do you have any questions for me?”
“Why is such a beautiful woman using a man’s name?” he asked.
“What?” Big deal, he thought she was beautiful. She’d heard that before from men. What they meant was, Take off your clothes and have meaningless sex with me.
“In Spanish, Rey means ‘king’ or is short for Reynaldo.” He stared at her with his amber-flecked eyes. “Reina is a queen, a name for a royal beauty.”
She shrugged. “Rey is a nickname—and not for Reina.”
“What is it short for?”
She sighed. “I don’t really like my name. It’s Swedish and not very familiar to most people.”
He waited.
“Rey is short for Freya.” She dared him to make fun of her old-fashioned name.
“Freya.” The Scandinavian word rolled off his tongue with a definite Spanish accent. She kind of liked the way he said it. “And what does Freya mean?”
Heat crept into her cheeks again. What was it about this man that made her blush so much? “Freya was a Norse goddess.”
“Goddess of what?” He moved closer to her.
“Um, springtime.” And love and fertility, but he definitely didn’t need to know that. “And since it’s nowhere near springtime, you can go get dressed if you’re chilly.” It was a lame attempt at changing the subject, but she had to get her sexy model dressed so she could regain her equilibrium.
“We’re finished for today?” He looked disappointed.
“I have a meeting at my gallery in forty-five minutes, so we’ll start Monday.”
“I look forward to modeling for you,” he assured her, sticking out his hand to seal their deal.
Rey stared at Marco’s long brown fingers topped with neat square nails. She knew touching him would be a bad idea, but a handshake wouldn’t hurt, would it? It would be rude to ignore his outstretched hand.
She placed her hand in his. Rubbing his thumb across her wrist, he turned a businesslike handshake into a caress. Her breathing quickened. For one crazy second she thought he was going to bend over and kiss her knuckles, like a Spanish pirate in the old Saturday afternoon black-and-white movies. She’d always loved those Spanish pirates.
Rey pulled her hand away and looked for a pen, pencil, jumbo-size kid’s crayon—anything so she could start drawing and ignore that sensual glitter in his eye.
He grinned at her and ambled toward her tiny changing room, her black bathrobe slung over his arm. His buttocks flexed under the tight satin.
She found a soft charcoal stick and slashed blindly at a piece of scrap paper. She heard the curtain rattle closed and finally focused on her rough sketch. Oh, no. She’d drawn the thick, long lines of Marco’s penis. The tiny muscles in her vagina clenched in response.
She ripped the tattletale sketch into confetti. Working on this commission would either make her reputation or drive her insane with lust. And she wasn’t sure which outcome she wanted more.
TEN MINUTES LATER MARCO walked out of the cubicle, grimacing as his snow-damp pants stuck to his thighs. Although Rey had a few space heaters scattered around the loft, the high ceiling gobbled their small output. “Aren’t you cold?”
“No, I’m used to it.” She looked at his pitifully thin clothing. “Apparently you aren’t.”
“Not really.” He didn’t want to get into details of why he was in Chicago without a winter coat.
“I was born in Sweden and moved to Chicago when I was a kid, so I have a few tricks to get through a long, dark winter.” She grabbed a blank sheet of paper from her worktable and clipped it to her easel.
Marco had already thought of several ways and several positions in which to spend winter with Rey, starting as soon as possible. “If you’re not busy later, I’d like to take you to dinner. You can explain more about your project.”
Her skilled fingers curled around the thick pencil and stroked it across the paper’s pristine white surface. He leaned over her shoulder as she stood in front of her easel, her spicy cinnamon scent mingling with her own warm scent of woman. His shaft hardened again.
She looked up from her sketch, black charcoal smearing her long pale fingers and her long neck as she brushed aside a blond strand of hair. He tried to recognize the shape of his body in her drawing, but it looked like random squiggles.
“I’m busy tonight,” Rey stated, turning to him with a pleasant look on her face before returning to her work.
“What about tomorrow?” He ought to know better, but it had been months since he’d been so attracted to a woman.
She set down her pencil and faced him. Her ice-blue eyes were frosty. “Marco, I’m paying you to model for me. As your employer, I shouldn’t go out to dinner with you.”
She said shouldn’t, not won’t. Maybe she had mixed feelings. “Sure, I understand.”
“Good. You’re the most suitable model I’ve seen for my project, and I’d hate to have any hard feelings between us.” She gave him a smile. Despite her cool manner, a hot flush crept up her cheeks.
His brain realized she was being smart and probably just following her professional standards. But his body wanted to push aside her thin tank top and see if her breasts were as pale and smooth as the rest of her.
She cleared her throat, drawing his attention to the pulse fluttering at the base of her neck. Triumph rushed through him, and he stretched out to stroke the thrumming beat. His dark finger drew invisible circles against the white canvas of her neck. Instead of quelling it, his touch spurred her pulse to an even faster rhythm. She swayed into his delicate caress.
When she didn’t knock his finger away, he was encouraged. He traced the elegant horizon of her collarbone, the strength of bone and flesh hidden under her soft skin arousing him even more. He skimmed over her shoulder with the pads of all four fingers. His breath hitched as he realized that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Marco?” Her blue eyes weren’t icy anymore.
“Yes?” Her nipples had peaked against the thin white cotton of her top, matching the heavy pulse of his erection against his zipper. Her glance dropped to the front of his jeans. She zoned in on his arousal, her breath quickening.
If he lowered his hand, the hard tip would brush his palm. He needed to roll her nipples between his fingers and his lips, pull on them with his teeth and tongue.
“What are you doing?” Her husky voice held no indignation, only curiosity.
He smiled despite the growing discomfort as his erection strained against his zipper. “You have a few charcoal smudges.” Only on her throat, and nowhere near where he
