Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
When I gave into the overwhelming need to paint him and blurted it out to him I hadn’t properly thought about a plan of how I would accomplish that. I swallow and try to marshal my wayward thoughts. Obviously, I can’t ask him to come to my tiny caravan and there isn’t enough space in the backroom of the shop.
“Perhaps you can come up to my house,” he suggests silkily.
I stare at him. Why do I feel as if I have stepped into a trap that he set for me? After all, painting him was my idea.
He smiles. “I’m not a spider, Autumn. And you’re not a hapless fly I want to eat. Well, not in the traditional sense, anyway.”
My eyes widen with shock, and between my legs I become wet. Did he just allude to wanting to eat me out?
Chapter 13
Rocco
Even from here, I can scent her arousal. It is so strong and sweet it takes all my control not to lay her on the table, open her legs, and suck her sweet cleave. I pick up the wine glass and inhale the scent of old grapes to distract me from her tantalizing scent.
I watch the twin spots of color appear in her cheeks. She lays her knife and fork down with trembling fingers. It is as impossible for her to eat as it is for me. I am starving, but not for food, for her. For a taste of her.
“What do you really want from me, Count Rosse… Rocco?”
“When someone asks you out to dinner what do they usually want from you?” I parry.
“It’s usually one of two things. A) They want to go to bed with me. B) They want to go to bed with me.”
If she only knew. I lean back. “I want more.”
She leans forward. “You want more than sex? Why do I find that hard to believe?”
“Why is it so hard to believe?”
“You are a man of the world. A Count. A man who thinks nothing of spending $100,000 on a painting by an unknown painter. You bought a mountain, then narrowed the roads to stop people going up it, for God’s sake. You must have access to the most beautiful women in the world. What could you possibly want with me? I’m totally unglamorous. Everything I’m wearing today is borrowed because my whole wardrobe is old sweatshirts and jeans. I live in a trailer park, and I’m boring. I spend every moment I’m not working painting.”
“Perhaps you intrigue me as much as I intrigue you.”
“You only intrigue me so much as I want to paint you.”
“Since you are immune to… my charms you have nothing to worry about. Come up to my house and paint me.”
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. The delicate skin around it turns white. My stomach clenches and coils with thick need.
“What are you scared of little Autumn? Me or yourself?”
She takes the bait beautifully. “I’m not scared of myself,” she denies hotly.
“Then it is settled. You will come to my house to paint.”
“How will I get there?” Her acceptance is grudging.
I smile with satisfaction. “I will send Raoul to pick you up. Just let me know when and where.”
She licks her lips, her face uncertain. “The thing is I like to paint late into the night… when everyone is asleep.”
I lift my glass and inhale the fumes of the wine deeply, in the hope it will distract me from the rich scent of her arousal. It’s so strong now, it’s starting to affect me. It’s actually getting hard for me to stay calm and seated.
“I’m an insomniac so that would be no problem,” I tell her.
“Uh… tomorrow night Larry is hosting a cheese and wine affair at the gallery for some of his artists and I have to clean up after them, so it’ll be a late night for me, how about the day after? Your man can pick me up from the shop at 8.00 p.m.”
“8.00 pm Tuesday, it is,” I confirm softly.
She nods and looks down at her unfinished plate of food. Like me she is unable to eat and the food has gone cold.
“Would you like some dessert?”
Keeping her eyes on her plate she shakes her head regretfully. “It is a crime to waste such great food, but I simply don’t seem to have the appetite today.”
“Would you like the chocolate fudge cake to go?”
Her body tenses and her head jerks up, her eyes are wide. “How did you know I wanted to have that?”
I smile at the suspicion in her eyes. “I thought all girls like chocolate. It is our bestseller.”
“I’m not a girl,” she snaps defiantly. Her eyes are brilliant with emotion. It makes her even more beautiful. The image of her lying amongst tubes of paint and brushes on the floor, a baseball bat rolling next to her, comes back. She’s a fighter. I like that.