Her Man with Iceberg Eyes (11 page)

She lounged there, stunned, exposed, and
embarrassed beyond belief. She dared not move and upset the pose
for Lottie. Or display herself still further to Matthew.

Neither could she possibly stay like this
with him in the room. Obviously he’d crept up the stairs instead of
using the elevator. The predator had caught his prey.

She flinched as something touched her foot.
She jerked her head sideways. He stood right there, far too close.
And he gently lowered a soft concealing bed-sheet over her. She
closed her eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He stepped away, out of sight. She heard him
set down a plate and glass for Lottie, then he moved back in her
direction, pulled a hard-backed chair across, and sat, knees apart,
so he could move in close. One hand held a half full tumbler of
wine and the other a plate of tiny bite sized sandwiches. He
propped a drinking straw into the tumbler and raised it to her
mouth. She drank gratefully. He fed her the tiny ham and camembert
sandwiches one by one, with sips of wine between each. She barely
needed to move—the pose would not be ruined.

“So what do you think of the studio?”

It was such a normal question that she could
have been walking through town with him instead of lying naked
under a thin sheet.

She did her best to find some insouciance.
“Extraordinary. It must be wonderful for Lottie to have everything
she needs so close.”

“And quite a few things she
doesn’t
need.”

“Yes. Well.” That had Kate at a loss for
further words.

“You can see why she needs her own
Superwoman. She’s an artist, not an organiser.”

Kate nodded silently, opening her mouth so he
could slide the final tiny sandwich in. Matthew held it just out of
reach. She glanced up at him. He ran his tongue around his top lip
and she snapped her mouth shut.

“I thought you were being nice to me now,”
she hissed.

“You’ll know when I’m being nice to you,
Katie. You’ll know when I’m being a lot more than
nice
.” His
reply was the softest whisper, inaudible to Lottie, fifteen feet
away. He held out the little sandwich and she opened her mouth for
him again. He tucked it in very slowly, pushing it home with his
forefinger, intruding, invading, entering right into her body. She
closed her lips around the finger and bit, quite hard.

He smiled, tolerating the pain until she
released him. He licked his finger clean. Still holding her eyes,
he drew up the last mouthful of wine through the straw and
swallowed it. She watched the muscles and tendons moving in his
strong golden neck, thinking that she could strangle him for his
game.

He glanced across at Lottie, and apparently
finding her turned away, bent and kissed Kate swiftly on her
relaxed and unsuspecting mouth.

She froze rigid. Made no sound. Didn’t move a
fraction to draw any attention to what he had done. And continued
to lie there stunned as he drew the sheet off her body again in a
soft and devastating caress.

He’d take a chance like that? In front of
Lottie?

The danger had a powerful effect on Kate.
Every tiny hair on her flesh stood up. Her skin tingled and
twitched. Her arms and legs felt lead-heavy—there was no way she
could jump to her feet and flee.

Her mouth burned, tasting of wine and
surprise and wanting.

The insistent throb was back in her belly—but
worse—warmer and wilder than before. Her blood pulsed, thick and
heavy. She felt it travelling around her body, making her heart
pump harder, stiffening her nipples and preparing a welcome between
her thighs.

This was outrageous! She had no answer for
such arrogance. Well—none that she dared acknowledge. If he really
wanted her, she knew she now had very little resistance left. And
she could never
ever
let him know that.

Lottie moved her plate out of the way. Kate
heard it scrape across the bench-top.

“Can you get me that bigger canvas? The long
one. I didn’t plan to do it so big, but she looks good, don’t you
think?”

“She looks beautiful.” Matthew said quietly.
“And who’d have thought she’d wear sexy little panties like that? I
had you down for white cotton, Katie.”

She seethed, caught so easily when she’d
scoffed at his gift. She stayed silent.

He chuckled. It took no imagination to see
the corners of his mouth kicking up, his icy blue eyes flashing
with unholy glee.

Anger and embarrassment surged through her.
Would he never leave?

She heard a chair drag across the floor, the
rustle of stiff pages turning. His soft grunt of satisfaction as he
found what he wanted.

Something moved in the corner of her vision.
She slid her eyes around. Matthew sat, tilting a big sketching pad
on his lap, looking directly at her from quite a different angle to
the one Lottie had chosen. His charcoal stick raced over the paper,
capturing her curves. He regarded her intently, and rubbed a finger
to smudge the black to a softer shadow. Eyed her again. Drew some
more. Stroked and blended. Kate became acutely aware of his hands
as the pad of his thumb shimmered along her thigh. Pushed at her
buttocks with a lighter touch, shading and buffing her skin.

She had no idea what Lottie was doing.
Matthew had taken her over. He worked with absolute concentration
until he was pleased with his sketch, then he ripped it noisily
from the pad. He showed it to Lottie. She passed a quiet
comment.

Kate heard the scrape of the chair again, and
then he stood right in front of her, and laid the sketch on the
floor for her to see. She drew a sharp breath. Lottie might be
turning her into an ambiguous stretch of countryside, but Matthew
was a consummate draftsman. He’d drawn a flesh-and-blood woman,
faithfully recording her long back and shapely rear end and the
barely-there panties.

“Great backside,” he whispered. “Butterfly
would look very hot.”

She squeezed her eyes shut to remove the
devastating image from her brain.

“This is still comfortable for you, Kate?”
Lottie asked.

Never been less comfortable in my life.

“I’m fine,” she called back. “How’s it
going?”

“Will be good I think. Not too much longer
now—hard for you to hold the pose, even lying down, and the sun
will alter all the shadows soon.”

Matthew sat again—much closer this time—and
surveyed her in silence. Then he took up the charcoal and she saw
he was roughing in her shoulders and breasts and tumbling hair. His
face became serious as he concentrated. His lips grew sensuously
fuller as he pursed them together, but his eyes stayed alert and
assessing.

Kate kept her eyes on his lips. Anywhere but
his eyes, she decided desperately.

He kissed me.
Tasted me, teased
me.
With that sinful mouth.

He saw where she’d fixed her eyes and flicked
his tongue briefly out, drawing it down the centre of his top lip
and back out of sight again. Kate felt a devastating slippery flick
much further down her body. She wriggled and caught her breath. He
grinned.

She clenched her eyes shut and kept them that
way. A short time later she heard him relax, sigh, and lay down the
sketching pad somewhere close.

“How did I do?” he asked in a husky
drawl.

She opened her eyes at last and stared at the
black and white woman with the wet lips and peaked breasts and wild
hair.

He’d captured her more accurately than any
camera. The desire was palpable, the wanting extreme. Did she
really look like that to him? With drowsy come-to-bed-eyes? A mouth
swollen already from kisses? And nipples demanding to be sucked and
bitten?

He hadn’t showed this one to Lottie. This was
for him, as private at his tattoo, perhaps. And for her, to confirm
the invitation of his kiss.

Lottie’s wheels squeaked faintly on the
polished timber floor. “Enough Katie—you do very well. I finish
another time.”

Did that mean she could relax? Could escape?
Could try to recover her dignity? She sagged down onto the
cushions, finally hiding from Matthew behind her curtain of
hair.

She’d not acknowledged his drawing. Would
not. Could not. She was totally drained with the effort of holding
still for so long, and from her pent-up emotions. She’d never
survived anything like that before. Hoped never to have to
again.

She heard Matthew stand. The sketchpad
rustled up from the floor. And a warm finger landed gently between
her shoulder blades. As he stepped away he drew his finger slowly
downward, slid it under the thong, pulled, and let the elastic snap
back against her flesh. Her humiliation was complete.

If Kate was a mass of nerves, Lottie seemed
not to notice.

“Come and see how you’re looking.”

Kate knew how she was looking—hot and
bothered, naked and knackered, mad as hell.

She snatched up the sheet and wrapped it
around herself; then stepped over to the easel in front of the
wheelchair.

Matthew had disappeared, and just as well,
too. The studio was full of sharp objects, just right for skewering
him...

She surveyed the partly finished painting.
She saw her hip, the slope of her back, the jut of a shoulder, a
long thigh. Or did she? Translated into countryside colours she
almost disappeared. But it was a softly contoured range of hills
that Lottie played with—in contrast to her more usual dramatic
landscapes.

“I wouldn’t know it for a Janssen,” Kate
said, relaxing a little now she saw the way she looked. She
compared the painting with the photo. It was her and yet
not
her.

“Can I rip the other one up?” she asked
hopefully.

Lottie nodded, and poked around on the table
without finding it. “Maybe on the floor?” she asked.

But when Kate bent and looked, there was no
sign of the first photo. Still, the studio held so much mess you
could probably lose the Titanic...

She wriggled into her clothes again as a
drained-looking Lottie took care of her brushes and palette
knives.

Kate drew a deep breath. If she was supposed
to be looking after her famous charge, now was the time to start.
“It’s probably time for your painkillers,” she suggested. “And
shouldn’t you be resting, so soon out of hospital?

Lottie gave her a faint smile. “Ya. I do that
next, I think. For two hours maybe? And you wake me up with
coffee?”

Kate surveyed the messy kitchen area. “I’ll
have a little tidy-up while you’re lying down. Just kitchen work,”
she added, when Lottie looked alarmed.

“The kitchen—okay, but not the
paintings?”

“I wouldn’t dare touch them.”

She helped Lottie from the wheelchair onto
the bed, brought her pills and a glass of water from the attached
bathroom, and got to work. Collecting up mugs and glasses and
plates was kitchen work—even if they were scattered out amongst the
paintings. She restored a small amount of order, ignoring the
dishwasher, and scrubbing energetically at long-crusted items. She
presumed the plates and glasses Matthew had brought up to the
studio should go back downstairs. She included them in her wash-up
and carried them away. He was busy in his office—something whirred
as she tried to slip by.

“Kate.”

Darn. Either he had eyes in the back of his
gorgeous head or his hearing qualified him as a guard-dog.

She stopped one pace inside the door.

“I’m sorry you didn’t think my drawings were
good.”

She flinched at the memory of his eyes on
her. At the wanton woman he’d turned her into. “Your drawings were
excellent. I just wasn’t comfortable with the subject,” she replied
stiffly.

He looked at her for a long moment. “I
thought the subject was utter perfection.”

“Don’t. Please don’t. You tease me and make
fun of me and it just makes things so difficult.”

“What things?” His voice was dangerously
quiet.

“Helping Lottie. Being in the house. I’m only
here until Sunday and then I’m gone.”

Something hot and angry flared in his heart.
Dammit—she was beautiful, and lively, and drawing her had turned
him on outrageously. All of a sudden, he cared a little less about
the possibility of her being a spy for Rob Pleasance. He threw
caution to the wind. “You were by far the best person for the job.
And Lottie likes you. When can you come back?”

She shook her head.

“Katie?”

“I can’t. Just make use of me for the next
few days and call it quits...” Her voice trailed off.

“We’ll need to change your mind somehow. What
will it take?”

“
What?
”

“We’re not without the means.” He waved his
hand at the surrounding land.

“No.”

“My treat—anything you want.”

Kate stared at him, horrified to feel so
tempted.

I want
you
,
but
you’re not on the menu.

“Chilli prawns, fried rice and a green
stirfry,” she blurted, remembering the combination she sometimes
chose from the Asian takeaway at home in Auckland.

“You’d stay for that?”

“No, of course not,” she said, back-tracking
madly, aware how strange her request must have sounded. “Sorry. It
just slipped out. I’ve never been offered the choice of anything I
wanted before. It threw me.”

He regarded her steadily and then nodded.
“It’s a start anyway. Chilli prawns for dinner and we’ll see what
else we can come up with.”

She stepped a little further into his office
and he swung his chair around so he faced the huge computer screen
again. His finger hit the keyboard and the image in front of him
disappeared.

“Sorry,” she said, backing off, presuming he
was working on something confidential.

“Just playing,” he said. A smile twitched at
the corner of his mouth. “It’s amazing what you can do with modern
technology. Photography’s come a long way from Lottie’s old
Polaroids. I can’t persuade her to use a tablet in the studio. Come
back in ten minutes or so?”