Carole Mortimer - The Flame of Desire

by Carole Mortimer

  The elevator zoomed up to the top floor with startling rapidity, much more quickly than Sophie would have wished for. She wasn't looking forward to this—she wasn't looking forward to it at all.

  She stepped straight from the elevator into a luxurious reception room, although she didn't linger to take in the complete luxury of the deep pile carpets and leather furniture. She could hear the soft strains of music, and as her host hadn't put in an appearance yet, it seemed logical to conclude that he was where the music was.

  It wasn't very polite of him not to greet her, but then she had never encouraged politeness from him. She let herself into the room adjoining this one, registering that it was equally as well furnished and was probably his main sitting room. Several doors led off this room, although there was nothing to tell her which room the music was coming from. She felt slightly ridiculous, but there seemed only one way to detect which room had the movement in it, and that was by listening at the doors. She didn't want to just open the. doors—he could be doing anything.

  "Are you listening for woodworm?" drawled that husky accented voice from behind her as she leaned on a door. "If so, I think I should tell you that this apartment does not have it."

  Sophie spun around guiltily, feeling like an eavesdropper caught in the act. Her eyes widened as she took in his appearance, the snug-fitting black trousers and the hastily pulled-on, loose-fitting white silk shirt. His dark hair had a damp look to it and the shirt was completely open at the front, giving the impression that he had just showered and had been in the process of dressing.

  �

  She found the shirt fascinating, never having actually seen anyone wearing one like it before. It didn't appear to have any buttons; it was merely wrapped around revealing a great deal of bare chest, and tucked into the narrow waistband of his trousers. The sleeves were long land full, caught at the wrists by the single pearl button, and. the whole effect should have been feminine, but on this man it just seemed to emphasize his maleness.

  "Well?" he tucked in the remainder of his shirt.

  Sophie realized she must look foolish, gaping at him like this, but he was devastatingly handsome, so handsome he unnerved her completely.

  "I, er, I didn't know which room you would be in," she explained lamely.

  He nodded, turning back into the room he had just left. “So you decided to listen at keyholes."

  "I did no such thing!" She walked into the room, too, backing out as she realized it was his bedroom. "Well…

  not the way you put it!”

  He shrugged, switching off the radio before brushing his dark hair. "Then what would you call it?"

  "I—you weren't in -the other room to meet me," she said angrily. "How was I supposed to know what to do?"

  "You could have waited until I came through."

  "I could have, but I had no way of knowing if you knew of my arrival."

  Luke came into the sitting room, closing the bedroom door behind him. "I was taking as shower when Sam called up, hence my undress just now."

  "Well, I didn't know that," Sophie told him tartly still very much aware of how attractive he looked in that strange-looking shirt. "Anyway, where are your servants?

  They could have let me in."

  �"I do not have any."

  "You—you mean we're here alone?"

  His dark eyes gleamed with mocking humor. "Does that bother you?"

  Of course it bothered her! "I, well, I just didn't expect it." She pushed back her long straight blond hair self consciously. "I assumed you would at least have a cook and someone to clean for you."

  "I am perfectly capable of doing my own cooking when necessary, and I have a woman come in three times a week to clean for me. I sometimes keep strange hours, and I do r not like being answerable to anyone for my actions."

  "1 suppose it could be rather restricting.''

  His eyes narrowed. "I did not mean it was restricting, I ' meant it is more convenient to me not to have to inform people of my arrivals and departures. I travel a great deal."

  "So I've noticed."

  "Then you can see my point of view."

  "Oh, I see it; I just find it unusual. You don't appear to me to be the type of man who would enjoy catering to himself."

  "I will not ask what type of man you think me to be," he said dryly. "You have made your opinion of me ' perfectly clear. Would you like to come into the studio now?" he invited.

  Sophie followed him into a room that couldn't be mistaken for anything other than what it was. Canvases stood about the room—landscapes, portraits, others just bare but waiting for the master touch. Sophie found it all fascinating—the smell of the paint, the much simpler furnishing in here, only scatter rugs, a sofa and one armchair, the easel with a prepared canvas and the table next to it

  �with paints and brushes on its surface. Huge windows dominated the two outside walls, so the room was full of light, as she presumed it needed to be.

  "Would you like to lie on the sofa?" Luke was already intent on arranging things on the tabletop.

  Sophie spluttered with laughter. "You surety aren't going to have me in the typical reclining position?"

  "I am not going to have you in any position," he said abruptly. “Now, if you will please get on the sofa.'' She did so, her face fiery red. She sat upright, her body rigid. "I didn't mean—I wasn't implying that—"

  "I know you were not." He came over to her. "But at least I have momentarily stopped your glib answers." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Could you try to relax? I am not about to leap on you simply because we are alone. Lie back, tuck your legs up beneath you. That is better." He moved back to the easel.

  She had done as he said like an automaton, his hands seeming to burn her where he touched. He was right—-she had run out of glib answers, but mainly because his closeness, the fresh cleaness of him, his tangy after-shave all contrived to make her tongue-tied. ,

  "Could you lean a little to the rights Sophie?" He was considering her with completely clinical eyes. "That's better. Your face to the right, also."

  For the next ten minutes he changed her position numerous times, finally settling for her gazing out of the window slightly to the right of him, one leg bent up beneath her, the other stretched the length of the sofa.

  "Do you think it will take long?" She held her head stiffly to the right as he had told her, already feeling the muscles beginning to tense at the back of her neck. Luke shrugged, "That will depend on how cooperative you are. You are much too tense already." Her violet eyes flashed. "I can't help that.� This isn’t a very comfortable position."

  "It is not meant to be, no one said you would be comfortable." He drew strong outlines on the canvas with charcoal. “Just relax, forget you are posing. Talk if it helps, it will not trouble me."

  �"And what would I talk about?" She wished she could look at him instead of just being able to see his slight movements to the left of her vision.

  "Anything or nothing, I do not mind."

  She was sure he didn't, as his concentration was fully on the canvas in front of him.

  "Do you see my stepmother often?" She wanted to shake him eut of his complacency.

  His concentration didn't falter. "Occasionally."

  "How often is occasionally?" she probed. "Once -a week, twice a week, more?"

  "I do not keep a record."

  "She wanted to come here today, didn't she?"

  "Did she?"

  "You know she did. You asked her to come," she accused, her mouth set stubbornly.

  "Did I?"

  She turned her head. “You know you did."

  He sighed impatiently. "Will you please sit still. How do you expect me to be able to work if you do nothing but move about."

  She regained the pose with ill-humor. "You're just avoiding answering the question."

  He moved with angry movements. "I am not!" He wrenched her chin around, his eyes blazing into hers. "You are not here to ask questions but to pose while I
paint. I see your mother perhaps twice a week. Does that answer you?"

  "I suppose so," she muttered, her jaw clamped between his long fingers. "Would you let go, you're hurting me."

  His teeth flashed whitely with devilish humor. "Do not worry, I will not paint in the bruises."

  "I haven't noticed you've done much of anything so far," she snapped.

  "That is because you do not look as you should, There is something missing, something about you… Ah, I know what it is."

  �

  "You…you do?" She tried to loot away from the expression in his eyes, but he held her immovable.

  "Minm." He knelt on the sofa beside her. "The passion is missing from your eyes."

  "The…the passion?" she gulped.

  "The passion we spoke of at our last meeting," he murmured softly, druggingly. "Are you deliberately holding that back from me?" .

  "Don't be ridiculous. I don't know what you're talking about." She struggled against him.

  "But you do." His hand left her chin to encircle her throat, his thumb gently caressing her skin. "Your eyes are almost purple at this moment," he said huskily.

  Sophie gulped again, more than a little frightened by the feelings he was arousing within her, feelings she didn't think she should be experiencing.

  "Yes, purple," he continued throatily. "Why is that?"

  "I—"she cleared her throat. "—I don't know."

  "I do." He bent his dark head to claim her lips.

  He took his time, savoring each movement of their, lips, his tongue moving caressingly along the edge of her bottom lip. Sophie sank back against the cushions, taking Luke with her. He felt weightless above her, those long tapered hands running slowly over the contours of her body, their kiss lengthening and deepening.

  Sophie's body felt on fire, straining against "him as passion mounted, her arms around his neck as she held him to her. She had never been kissed so intimately before, never felt the hard contours of a man's body so close to her own, his arousal as evident as her own.

  His face buried in her throat, she gasped for breath. "Why are my eyes purple, Luke? Why?"

  "Because of that passion I kept talking about."

  "No. " She shook her head dazedly. "No!"

  “Oh, yes, Sophie. "He raised his head to look at her. "You should not be ashamed of such feelings, but rather rejoice that you are able to feel this way. Many women are not so lucky."

  "And you would know, wouldn't you?" she accused, sanity returning.

  A coldness entered his eyes, and he began to move away.

  "Yes, I would know."

  Sophie sat up, straightening her hair with shaking fingers. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

  "You should if you believe it to be true." He moved back to stand in front of the easel, tucking the loose shirt back into his trousers, the gesture reminding

  Sophie of how she had touched and caressed his bare chest only seconds earlier. "We will continue," he said curtly.

  " We will continue…"

  "Yes." He picked up the charcoal. "You have exactly the right expression on your face now. You will see it is true what I said, coolness outside belied by the passion hid den in your eyes.

  Sophie was very pale. "You—you did that on purpose! You kissed me to—to get an effect for your painting!" Her voice had risen shrilly.

  His expression was enigmatic. "Why else?"

  "Why else, indeed?" she echoed angrily, standing up. "And do you kiss all of the women you paint?"

  “Some of them, if the situation merits it."

  She walked angrily to the door. "I don't think this situation merited it, Mr. Vittorio. In fact, I think you're very much mistaken about me. I don't enjoy being kissed for an experiment." Especially as she had responded!

  "Come now," he taunted softly. "You-enjoyed it as much as I did. There is nothing wrong with enjoying the pleasure our own bodies can give us. Admit you enjoyed it."

  "I admit nothing!" She swung open the door. "Where do you think you are going?"

  ''Back to my stepmother's apartment. You haven't forgotten my stepmother?" she scorned.

  "No," he replied calmly. "I have not forgotten her. What does she have to do with my kissing you?"

  "What does she— You're disgusting!" she cried. "How you can stand there and ask me such a question is beyond me."

  He walked toward her with long furious strides, wrenching the door out of her hands to slam it shut. "A tot of things are beyond you at this time! But then, you have a lot against you—your youth, your impetuosity, this habit you have of jumping to Conclusions!" There could be no doubt he was very angry. "Go back to the sofa, Sophie, and resume your pose. I have not finished for today yet."

  “I—“

  "Do it, Sophie," he ordered grimly. "Before I resume making love to you. At the moment I could do one of three things; make love to you, smack you, or simply continue with the portrait. I would prefer to do the latter. You have your choice."

  She went jerkily back to the sofa and resumed her pose, more out of cowardice than anything else. She had no doubt he would carry out-his threat, and she didn't particularly want either of the former to happen.

  Luke took up his position behind the canvas, working with a speed and concentration she felt glad of. Nothing had prepared her for that kiss, not his blatant masculinity or the magnetism of his eyes. She had simply melted under his expert seduction, offering no resistance to his more intimate caresses of her body.

  "Do not frown," he said curtly.

  "I wasn't aware that 1 was," she answered flushing.

  "That is why I told you"

  "Couldn't we stop now?" She flexed her aching muscles. "We've been here for hours now."

  "Two, to be precise," he mocked. "Just a few minutes more and we will stop."

  Sophie sighed. "All right."

  "Tell me, why do you bother to wear a bra?"

  She gave him a sharp look, instantly wanting to cover her breasts from his eagle eye. "What sort of question is that to ask someone?" she snapped to cover her embarrassment.

  He shrugged, wiping his hands on a cloth beside him before standing back to look at his work. "It is a relevant one."

  "But very personal."

  "You consider it too personal?" .

  She swallowed hard. "That depends on your reason for asking it."

  "Curiosity, nothing mote."

  "Why do most women wear one?" she dismissed.

  "Because they are ashamed of their bodies. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

  She couldn't meet his eyes. "How do you know that?"

  "Your muscle tone, the natural shape of you. 1 would prefer that you do not wear one the next time you sit for me."

  "Couldn't you just imagine it? I've always.—" She broke off as he began to laugh. "What do you 'find so funny?"

  "You," he chuckled softly. "You have asked me to , imagine you without your bra, when I have been doing nothing else all afternoon."

  "You…" She gulped.

  He nodded. "That sun top is very provocative."

  "Yes, but you, well, you shouldn't be—"

  "I should not be looking at you as a man but as a painter," he finished wryly. "I find it impossible to separate the two where you are concerned."

  "Oh."

  "You are surprised. Come, I will make us some coffee and stop embarrassing you." He held the door open for

  "Can't I see what you've done so far?"

  "No. Come."

  She followed him with ill-humor. "Aren't you going to let me see it at all?"

  "No."

  Sophie watched him move around the kitchen making

  OK coffee. "Not at all?"

  "No," he repeated.

  She sighed. "Do you always work this way? "

  "No," he said again, handing her a mug of steaming coffee. "I have a feeling that your portrait is going to be the best thing I have ever done."

  "Realty?" They were seated in the lounge, Sophie in an arm
chair and Luke sprawled on the sofa his long legs stretched out in front of him, the silk shirt open even farther in his relaxed state to reveal more of his strong muscular chest.

  "I hope so."

  "Why do you think that?"

  "For the reason I have already stated—your coolness and fire will come alive, I hope, under my brush."

  She shook her head. "I'm sure no one else sees me as you do."

  His gaze ran lingeringly over her body. "Perhaps not. You show me a side of your nature I would wish no one else to see."

  Sophie shifted uncomfortably. "You bring out the worst in me."

  "That was not the side I meant," he drawled throatily.

  She got up jerkily. "I think I had better leave now."

  Luke stood up, too, moving with all the languid grace of which he was capable. “You will not stay for dinner?"

  She looked down at her jeans and sun top. "Not dressed like this."

  "There is no one to see you here but me."

  That's what she was afraid of. "I'm sure you must have another appointment, especially as it's a Saturday night."

  He came toward her. "It is something I can put off."

  She laughed shakily. "Not for me, please."

  Luke stood directly in front of her how, holding her close to him simply by the look in his eyes. "There is much I would do for you if you would let me."

  "Oh!" She blinked rapidly in an effort to break from his spell. "I, er, I really think I should leave.

  "If that is your wish." He nodded haughtily, moving away. "You will be here the same time next Saturday."

  "Is that an order or a request?" she bridled.

  He raised dark eyebrows. "What do you think?"

  "The former."

  "The same time next week." He didn't dispute her answer. "And I will endeavor to be dressed. But remember, no bra.

  She blushed. "I most certainly—"

  "No bra, Sophie," he ordered. "You do not need it."

  "Is there anything else about me you aren't satisfied with?" she asked tartly.

  "Do not tempt me," he taunted. “That I have no intention of doing. Goodbye, Mr. Vittorio."

  He watched her go with mocking eyes. He was a tall, lithe man who could wind any woman around his little finger with his Latin charm, including Sophie. She couldn't believe she had actually let him kiss her, had enjoyed it. It was simply the natural reaction to the advances of a seductive charm, she told herself, nothing more.