She shivered again but nodded. “Are we going to… make good on our arrangement again tonight?”
He trailed his knuckles up and down her neck, touching her there only while his gaze devoured the rest of her. “Most definitely. But not this very moment. Right now”—he dipped down and sipped from her lips so she tasted the wine on his tongue—“I need to draw you.” He brushed a thumb over her nipple, and the shiver that had danced along her spine sent a jolt of red-hot lust to her center. She closed her eyes to savor it, but the world tilted. The slightest push of her shoulders toppledher into the chair, and by the time she’d opened her eyes and straightened herself, he had disappeared behind the frame.
“Naked?” she asked. “You want to draw a silhouette of me naked?”
“If silhouettes are to help us remember, then I want to remember you like this.”
Remember her when? Because everything they were doing was to ensure she remained with him, even though to stay once all this melted away seemed a death she wasn’t prepared to suffer. But she would not be this person when she returned with him to England. She’d be Mrs. Dart again, and Mrs. Dart did not strip bare to sit for a silhouette.
It was Amelia he wanted to remember, then. And it was Amelia she wanted to be now and forever. Not part of the agreement. He’d agreed to a small time of passion in exchange for Mrs. Dart. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes tightly closed as he disappeared behind the frame.
“Can I take this one down?” he asked. “Will you be able to paint it later?”
She nodded, unable to speak.
The paper fell away from the frame, and she popped her eyes open, schooled the pain from her expression as he secured another bit of paper in place.
“Now sit still, Amelia.”
She nodded, bit her lip, and froze.
“Let that lip free. I want the full curve of it. And turn more to the side. I want the full curve of your breast as well.”
“You cannot draw my body!”
“I can. I will. I want to remember that, too. There is not an inch of you I’ll abide forgetting.”
And under the fierce heat of his words, her fear and pain melted a bit. Just enough to sit up straighter and arch her back,to find a posture not poker stiff like Mrs. Dart, but one curved for pleasure like Amelia had discovered so recently.
“Perfect.” The single word a dark purr from behind the silhouette frame. “Hold just there now, Amelia. Be quite, quite still.”
She closed her eyes and relaxed her muscles into stillness. The scratch of a pencil curving across paper filled the space between them. He never lifted the pencil, and after one, long continuous journey down the paper, it was over.
“Do you have paint?” he asked.
“N-now?” she choked out, her body aflame. She wanted his hands onher, not on a blasted paintbrush.
“Yes, now.”
“On my writing desk.”
He stepped into sight from the edge of the frame, rummaged at her desk to find what he wished, and returned to this spot behind it without a single glance her way.
She moved to join him.
“Sit back down, Amelia. I need your shadow still. To help guide any mistakes I might have made.”
She poured herself back into another still shape as close to the one she’d assumed before as possible, unable to disobey his commands when they were couched in such a sultry tone. He worked in silence, and large, curvy portion of the paper began to appear with the spread of dark paint across the paper’s surface. Not clearly visible. Her body blocked the light, the few flickering candles behind her the only heat in the room not found within and between their bodies. Hers entirely bare. His so close to being so, yet still covered. A pity. She should rectify it. Did she have the boldness to do so?
“Done?”
“Al-most.” A hesitation of silence, then, “Yes. Done. You may move now.”
She knelt to retrieve her wrapper.
“No. Leave it there.”
He must have seen her shadow, guessed her intentions. She remained squatted. Whether or not she followed this command depended on how well he followed hers. “Only if you disrobe as well.”
