by Maggie Cox
Was it her? Karen couldn’t help wondering if he was regretting that explosive hungry kiss they’d shared last night. Maybe she should bring the matter up? Tell him that it meant nothing and suggest they start again on a more businesslike footing? Yeah, right. She could just imagine how that little suggestion would be received. He’d probably laugh mockingly and tell her to grow up.
With a sudden ache in her heart, she smoothed down an imaginary crease in her shirt, then almost choked on her tea when she caught Gray studying her with indisputable heat in his eyes—heat that scorched her even when there was a distance of a good three or four feet between them.
‘It was good of you to replace the old furniture,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s nice and cosy now.’
‘I should have done it a long time ago,’ Gray replied, unsmiling. ‘Anything else you can think of that you’d like?’
Karen’s fingers tightened round her mug of tea. Unable to meet his gaze just then, because his question had elicited a rather risqué response in her brain, she jerked her head vaguely towards the windows. ‘I was going to ask if I could give the walls and window frames a fresh coat of paint. I’ll buy it myself. I’m a dab hand with a paintbrush.’
‘Sure, I’d be happy to come up and do the job for you myself, darlin’,’ Sean piped up, blue eyes wide as he contemplated the unknowingly stirring picture Karen made with her long slender legs encased in tight faded denim and her waist-length honey-gold hair tumbling freely over her shoulders in the plain lilac blouse that she managed to elevate to ‘classy’ just because she was wearing it. ‘Sure, I could even get you the paint. What do you say, boss?’ The younger man glanced at Gray, whose unsmiling countenance appeared immediately forbidding.
‘If anyone’s going to paint this house it will be me,’ he said tersely, his aloof glance clearly berating Sean for imagining anything else.
‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’ Fielding the surge of embarrassment that flooded her, Karen folded her arms uncomfortably. Of course she hadn’t expected her landlord to offer to come and do the job himself. She suddenly wished she had just gone ahead and done it and suffered the consequences afterwards if he really didn’t like it.
She watched Gray get up and stalk to the small galley kitchen to rinse out his mug. When he came out again he walked straight to the front door and wrenched it wide. ‘I’ll be back around ten tomorrow to make a start,’ he said and disappeared outside.
Karen exhaled a long slow breath.
Amused, Sean got to his feet, leaving his mug and plate on the coffee table.
‘Don’t let him get to you, darlin’. Sure, his bark is worse than his bite. And, by the way, that cake was out of this world. The best I’ve ever tasted and I’m not joking. I couldn’t trouble you for a slice to take home, could I? My sister Liz runs a café with all kinds of home-made fare, and I’d like her to try it.’
‘Of course. Just give me a minute and I’ll wrap some up for you.’
She was back almost straight away with the promised cake, and after thanking her, then winking at her for a second time, the young man left the cottage with a cheerful whistle.
* * *
As a waft of fresh paint floated through the air and assailed her nostrils, Karen stepped out of the kitchen to watch Gray as he crouched low to tackle the skirting. This morning he was again dressed from head to foot in black, his longish hair gleaming even more darkly than his clothing, and as her covetous glance surveyed him Karen knew the most compelling urge to touch him … to make him turn around … to make him notice her. She was beginning to feel frustrated beyond belief that his aloofness seemed to be growing rather than diminishing, and something inside her wanted to try and coax him back to the land of the living—which was quite ironic when she contemplated her own desire for isolation. Still, one step at a time …
‘Why don’t I give you a hand?’ she asked, her voice faltering despite her need to sound confident.
The paintbrush stilled in Gray’s hand. Carefully wiping the drips on the inside of the paint can, then laying the brush across it, he looked up to meet her gaze. Karen’s heart took a slow elevator ride to her stomach.
‘I prefer to get along on my own,’ was the slow but succinct answer she received.
She wasn’t surprised, but when curiosity and downright foolhardiness got the better part of common sense, she folded her arms across the orange tie-dyed tee shirt she wore, willing herself not to flinch beneath that cool-as-a-cucumber gaze of his that would surely freeze out even the most dogged admirer?
‘Why is it that you prefer to do everything on your own?’
‘Does that bother you?’ He looked directly into her eyes.
Every cell in Karen’s body seemed to vibrate with heat. Flustered, she shook her head, wishing she’d never started this. Why couldn’t she just have stayed put in the kitchen, making her scones?
‘No. I mean yes. If I’m honest, it does bother me. No man is an island. We all need a bit of help and support from time to time.’
‘That why you hide yourself out here on your own?’ Gray probed, getting to his feet.
Nervously moistening her lips with her tongue, Karen swallowed hard. His immediately interested glance caught the movement and turned from ice to fire in less than a second. Her knees buckled.
‘I wasn’t talking about me.’
‘What if I told you I wanted to talk about you?’
Somehow his voice had acquired a hypnotic resonance that sent goosebumps scudding across Karen’s skin like out-of-control wildfire. It was all she could do to keep herself from crossing her legs, because the sensation at her innermost core was suddenly hotly, sweetly, demandingly sexual.
‘What do you want to know about me?’ The question left her lips in a hoarse whisper.
‘I want to know if you have a sense of adventure, Karen … or are you the type of woman who likes to play safe?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Her gaze lowered, because the expression in his eyes was too hot for her to handle just then. It was having the same effect as a branding iron held too close to her skin.
‘You know damn well exactly what I mean.’ A dark eyebrow quirked upwards towards his brow.
All the blood seemed to rush to Karen’s head. Inside her chest, her heart throbbed like some heavy tribal drumbeat that she couldn’t make stop, even as her nipples grew almost unbearably achy and hard. If he could do this to her body—make her ache and want and need just with words—what effect would his touch have? Recalling his fierce, bruising kiss the other night, she already knew the answer. There was no question he would set her on fire.
‘I don’t think you should be asking me such personal questions.’ Completely out of her depth, Karen went to turn away, her wary blue eyes widening in shock when Gray gripped her upper arm in a vice and spun her back towards him.
‘Don’t you? Then stop coming on to me with those coy little-girl looks of yours. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into … none.’
Wrenching her arm free, Karen rubbed it with resentment and hurt. ‘I’m not coming on to you! You really flatter yourself, don’t you?’
He gave her a maddeningly knowing little smile. ‘Go back to your baking, sweetheart. If you’re good … or maybe I should say bad … I’ll come and tell you later about a particular erotic fantasy of mine about women in the kitchen.’
‘No, thanks.’ Humiliated and indignant, Karen tossed her head and beat a hasty retreat.
‘I never had you down as a coward!’ Gray called after her, chuckling out loud.
Karen put her head round the door and glared back at him, blue eyes sparking like a firecracker. ‘And I definitely had you down as a sadist,’ she retorted angrily, her jaw aching with the effort of restraining her fury. ‘Sadly, I haven’t been proved wrong yet!’
‘Now you’ve really hurt my feelings.’ Affecting an expression of pained disappointment, then grinning like a schoolboy, triumphant at getting the las
t word, he dropped down onto his haunches to resume his painting.
CHAPTER FOUR
IT HAD started raining again, and Karen’s restlessness grew. Gray was striding in and out from the van, oblivious to the downpour, clearing away dustsheets and decorating implements, evidently not the least bit inclined to attempt conversation of any kind. What was wrong with the man, for goodness’ sake? Apart from his humiliating accusation earlier, about her trying to come on to him, he hadn’t said another word. Every time she’d dared put her head round the door to see how he was doing, he’d been diligently painting, moving the thick paintbrush up and down the wall with sure smooth strokes that were fascinating to observe. It had made Karen wonder what he looked like when he was creating real works of art.
Sighing, she filled the kettle and put it on to boil. When in doubt, make tea—or in Gray’s case strong black coffee. But whether he intended to stay or go Karen would have to wait and see.
Bending down to the oven, she withdrew the tray of newly baked scones, her mouth watering at the tantalising smell they exuded. Picking them gingerly off the tray one by one, she laid them on the wire rack on the worktop to cool, gratified at the way they had turned out—faintly golden on the outside and hopefully moist and soft inside. Just the way she liked them. Unable to resist, she broke one in half and, blowing on it briefly, popped a small wedge into her mouth.
‘Mmm—delicious! Even if I do say so myself.’
As the cake melted on her tongue, Karen genuinely savoured it. She had always loved her food, and wasn’t ashamed to admit it. It was one of life’s greatest pleasures. Akin to reading a good book, listening to a beautiful piece of music or making love …
‘They look good.’
She nearly jumped out of her skin as she glanced guiltily round to find Gray leaning against the door jamb, his face and hair glistening from the rain, a teasing smile on his lips that made her feel like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
‘Would you like one? I was just going to make some tea … or coffee if you prefer?’ Wiping her hand across her lips, she prayed there weren’t any betraying crumbs in evidence.
‘Coffee would be good.’
‘I’ll get you a towel first. You’re wet through.’ Flustered, Karen moved to slide past him. The doorway was narrow, to say the least, and Gray, with his tall broad-shouldered physique all but filled it.
He didn’t move. All of a sudden she found herself wedged between his chest and the door jamb. The damp warmth of his sweater pressed provocatively against her breasts in the thin tee shirt, and she knew with a little zing of panic that he had no intention of letting her pass.
‘I … I …’
Her senses were overwhelmed. Assaulted by the fresh, clean outdoorsy smell of his clothes, the faint woody tang of his cologne and the provocative testosterone-laden scent of the man himself, she felt an answering tremor wing its way through her body, bringing an aroused flush to her cheeks and a soft, discernible tremble to her lips.
Raising her eyes, Karen gazed up into a deep silvery-grey ocean—a wild, storm-tossed sea on a cloudy day—and knew that she was irrevocably captured … a willing prisoner with no desire or even the remotest urge to escape. At that moment she was right where she wanted to be. Just then she could pretend she was once again a woman with no troubled past or uncertain future, because only the arousing present existed, with its tangible heat thrumming like a silent steady current between herself and Gray. And suddenly the little old-fashioned kitchen, with its warm, homely smell of freshly baked scones and a faint, musky dampness from old stone walls seemed like the most romantic, intoxicating place on earth.
With one long lean finger Gray traced the delicate line of her jaw, his touch electrifying her, making her pupils dilate, causing her breath to still for a second while her heartbeat raced hard, like an athlete towards the finishing line. She’d never known it was possible to desire anyone so much until even the mere thought of them could make her want to give him body and soul without a care. Why hadn’t she felt that way about Ryan? Guilt consumed her at the thought. He’d given her everything, yet she had definitely kept something back from him … a vital, important, passionate part of herself that needed expression—and not just through her writing or performing.
‘Gray, I—’
‘Don’t talk,’ he ordered, eyes widening as if suddenly coming out of a trance. ‘Just let me look at you.’
And he did. Gray’s artist’s eye scrutinised her face, noting the exquisitely aligned features with silent but fierce appreciation. Her beautiful blue eyes were her most beguiling asset, he thought, deep and sensual and almost almond-shaped, with fine curling lashes—the kind of eyes that surely most men would willingly drown in. His gaze moved up a little to the smooth dark blonde wing of her brows, then back down to the small elegant slope of her nose and the prettily contoured mouth, with its sultry full lower lip, pink and plump, bereft of lipstick and just begging to be kissed.
In less than an instant blood rushed to the core of Gray’s manhood, and he wanted her as he wanted his next breath. But he didn’t give in to the almost overwhelming urge to plunder and ravish because he knew a sudden, much greater desire to tease and provoke and sensually savour. He’d make the pretty widow want him so badly that every thought of her husband and any other man she had been romantically involved with would be wiped clean out of her head. Only then would he allow himself to take what they both so desperately wanted. And when they did succumb to the desire that was shimmering between them, like an oasis in one-hundred-and-twenty-degree heat, it would need more than a whole fire brigade to put out the conflagration.
For Karen, it took a few seconds longer for reality to sink in. When she realised Gray had no intention of doing anything more than just looking at her, instead of winding his arms around her waist as she needed him to—as she ached for him to—she let her hands drop redundantly down by her sides and dipped her head. It hurt to know that he desired her but wasn’t prepared to do anything about it. What was it about her that put him off? Did he think she came with too much baggage? Was that it? Did he imagine that she would want much more than just an intense physical fling?
She suddenly wished that Ryan was around, so that she could ask him what was the best thing to do, then realised how preposterous the notion was. This was one situation that she was going to have to sort out for herself. Wherever he was, Ryan would only want what was best for Karen—the outcome that would cause her the least pain. Somehow she knew that, as far as Gray O’Connell was concerned, on some level she’d already signed up for a truckload of that particular commodity.
‘Hey …’ His fingers sliding beneath her jaw, he tilted her chin to align her glance with his.
It was amazing how many shades of silver-grey there were in his pupils, Karen mused with wonder. She hadn’t realised how varied the colour could be.
‘I think I’d like to paint you,’ he said.
Karen felt a little throb of panic at the idea. ‘A portrait, you mean?’
‘A life study.’
‘You mean without—without clothes?’ She couldn’t prevent the tremor in her voice.
Gray smiled as if her flustered confusion amused him. ‘Most life studies are nude,’ he told her evenly. ‘Does that bother you?’
‘Not generally, no. But me posing for one definitely does.’
‘Live a little, Karen. Isn’t that what you’d really like to do?’
How many times had she promised herself that very thing? She was only twenty-six, for goodness’ sake! Was she going to spend the rest of her life in recrimination and regret? Ryan would turn in his grave. But, just the same, she had to live a little by degrees. Becoming an artist’s model for this aloof, enigmatic man—posing without clothes on to boot—was too much to expect in too short a time. Even if she was craving his attention a little too much for her peace of mind.
‘I’m not the kind of person who can easily throw caution to the wind,’ she
started to explain, going alternately hot and cold beneath Gray’s laserlike glance, because she had nowhere to hide when he looked at her like that. ‘I’m—’
She tried to summon up words that would adequately describe how she felt about exposing her body without sounding like a complete prude. She’d performed on stage to audiences varying from small to large, yet she was innately shy. Apart from her jeans, her clothes were generally soft and free-flowing, rarely tight or figure-hugging. Even Ryan had teased her about her reticence to show off her figure.
‘Repressed?’ Gray suggested softly, his gaze lingering with deliberate provocation on her mouth.
‘No. I wouldn’t say I was repressed.’ Her face aflame, Karen tried again to pass the man who was holding her prisoner with just a look, and gasped out loud when he caught hold of her arm and pressed her back up against the door jamb.
The kettle whistled to indicate it had boiled. Outside the rain beat a steady tattoo against the windows. The sharp intoxicating scent of fresh paint wafted in from the sitting room, and Karen began to wish that Gray had just got straight in the van and gone after he’d packed up his things.
His intimate interrogation was beginning to make her squirm with unease. It was one thing longing for him to kiss her—quite another allowing him to put her under the microscope as if she was some interesting dissection. But then, what was she supposed to do, when her body was so over-stimulated and yet languorous with need at the same time? What those mystifying eyes were doing to her body would tempt the most devout celibate to give up their vows.
She was helpless to disguise the intensely intimate reaction of her body. Inside her white lace bra her nipples surged and hardened into prickling distended buds, making her squirm in embarrassment as she realised Gray had seen immediately what had happened. His pupils darkened to fierce midnight. Whatever Karen was feeling he was feeling it too … maybe even more so.