Flirting With Forever by Gwyn Cready (books for 20 year olds TXT) 📗

entwined in the carved wooden handle. It was a fine detail, and she was determined to add it to her manuscript when—if—she returned. Distracted, she chewed without thinking, but the cheese’s smooth, buttery flavor was hard to ignore. She wondered if she could hide the removal of the phone in another movement, like the fil ing of her glass.

She adjusted her body so that her back was between the purse and Lely, and popped the flap open. She turned to check on him. He was out of sight. She’d ease the phone out, walk to the window and she’d be golden. She turned back, slid her hand forward—

Lely lifted the bag from her knee.

Oh.

“Try this,” he said, the purse and the decanter of white wine in one hand, a glass outstretched in the other.

“Um …” She took the glass. It was fil ed with the same white wine as the decanter. “You do not care for the red?”

“Not for our work.” He placed the bag on a table by the easel.

Out of ideas, she tossed back a gulp. The wine was cool and velvety. Unlike a Pinot or Chardonnay or, in fact, any other white she’d ever had, this wine boasted the intensity of a brandy or sherry. Prickles of warmth stung her cheeks.

Yowzah! It was heavenly. The Macal an of whites. She took another sip and suddenly the wool of Lely’s coat began to feel warm. She flipped it off her shoulders and caught him observing her.

He looked away but not before another round of warmth rose up her neck. She liked the way he looked at her. It was neither intrusive nor surgical. It was warm and admiring.

“Won’t you pour one for yourself ?”

“I don’t drink while I work.”

Cam wished she had something on which to take notes.

Lely was emptying powders and liquids from different jars into tiny ceramic bowls. She thought it might be alcohol, but when the scent reached her nose, she knew it was turpentine. The techniques of Lely’s time were the subject of a certain amount of conjecture by art historians. She watched his preparations with interest. She watched his face with more interest.

“That’s quite a selection,” she observed, gesturing toward the shelves stacked with supplies.

He shrugged. “Tools of the trade.”

“I thought you asked for Stephen to prepare your palette.”

“There are a few colors I’d prefer to do myself.”

The fire began to do its job, and he loosened a button under the hol ow of his throat. The linen fel open and a narrow swath of chestnut hairs came into view. Cam took another long sip and watched them sparkle in the firelight.

“This is real y strong wine.”

“Rhenish,” he said without lifting his eyes from his work.

“Finish it and pour yourself another.”

Ah, so that’s how it worked, was it? The wine loosened the tongue, then the inhibitions, then the dress. She thought of the woman with the peony and that pale, unfettered breast. Had that been the gleam of Rhenish in her eye? Is that what that finishing touches of white in the iris had captured? And what had come after the finishing touches?

Or in an artist’s garret like this, were the finishing touches something quite removed from the canvas? Cam turned her gaze to that low, cushioned settee and drained the glass.

She had been seduced a handful of times—not that she intended to al ow Lely to seduce her, of course—but she didn’t think she had ever been so acutely aware of the machinations of seduction in a man who had not touched her and who, in fact, had barely spoken to her. It was unusual and intriguing.

He finished his table work and gave her a long, considering look.

“The blue,” he said. “It wil not suit.”

She almost laughed. If he intended to strip her of the dressing gown, it would take more than a simple declaratory sentence.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She refil ed her glass and stretched out on the chaise. “It’s stunning.”

“It brings out your eyes,” he said, raising the tray of the easel a few inches, “which are stunning. But in this portrait your hair wil predominate. We need a paprika or an olive. If you do not mind, find something pleasing in the wardrobe.

There’s a mirror. Make certain it puts flames to your curls.”

Cam was flattered he had chosen to pay homage to her hair. She knew exactly the colors that set off the