PAINTING PENELOPE Page 2

  If only Walter had recovered from his wounds, this never would have happened. If he’d only survived long enough for them to marry, she would be a widow instead of a spinster and a discreet affair with a handsome officer would not be impossible.

  What a disloyal thought. Captain Wilding was a bad influence, indeed. She glanced at him again. No doubt he was a handsome devil. No one would believe their time together was an innocent pursuit of art. Of course, how innocent was it really when he wanted her to disrobe?

  That night she came to him, wrapped in the same nondescript brown cloak she’d worn earlier. But this time she was naked underneath, her smooth skin glowing with pale gold undertones.

  “Penny,” he whispered hoarsely.

  She let the cloak drop to the floor and held out her arms to him. Her hair rippled around her shoulders like a cloud of flame-tinged honey. Pert, peach-colored tits peeked out from between the strands.

  “Love me, Logan,” she commanded in a husky voice.

  He took her in his arms, pulled her close, and grasped her mane of hair to pull her head back. Her mouth opened and he possessed it with his own, his tongue probing, dancing with hers, simulating an act as old as time.

  Her hands twined in his hair as she kissed him back with all the passion he knew she possessed. With impatient hands, she pushed the robe off his shoulders and danced her fingers through the hair on his chest, over his nipples. He sucked in a breath. Then she found the sash and untied his robe, pushed it to the floor, and took his cock in her hands. Skillful hands that sent bolts of pleasure through him.

  Pushing him down on his cot, her mouth replaced her hands, licking and sucking until he thought he’d explode. When he knew he was nearing the point of no return, he swept her onto her back, her body open to his view. A nest of auburn curls hid her mound of Venus.

  When he joined her on the bed, her hips lifted in a sensuous invitation. He closed his mouth over one puckered nipple while his fingers probed her pussy, testing her readiness. She was already slick and wet.

  She reached for his cock, caressing him with the instinctive movements of a woman who knew how to please her man. “Now, Logan,” she demanded. Wrapping her legs around him, she pulled him to her.

  Without hesitation, he thrust his eager cock into her body as she arched to meet him, giving herself with heated abandon. Each steady thrust brought him closer to climaxing. He groaned her name. “God, Penny, what you do to me.” He thrust one more time, draining his seed into her body.

  Finally sated, Logan awoke to find himself alone in his small cot, clutching a wet mass of cotton.

  Bloody hell, he’d fucked his pillow. Again.

  Cursing a blue streak, he got out of bed, threw on his robe and poured a glass of brandy. This was killing him. How many times had he awakened like this? And the woman he wanted so desperately had yet to remove a stitch of clothing.

  Painting Penelope was going to be torture. The only question was, who was the victim and who the torturer?

  The next day Penelope woke early and spent the morning cleaning the rooms she shared with her father. But no matter how hard she worked, all she could think about was Logan Wilding and what he wanted her to do. No decent, respectable young lady would ever do anything so deliciously wicked.

  But Penelope couldn’t help thinking that all her life she’d been a good girl, and what had it got her? She was a spinster with no prospects beyond that of taking care of her father for the rest of his natural life, however long that might be, since he seemed determined to go to the devil as quickly as possible. She sighed. And after that, what? Companion to a crotchety, old lady or governess for a passel of other people’s brats? Lovely.

  Until Logan came along, she’d never been tempted to stray from the straight and narrow, but the chance to pose for him was almost too irresistible to pass up. If she were going to end her days an aging governess, at least she could be one with a delicious secret.

  Donning her old cloak, she left her rooms and headed for Logan’s, enjoying the warm fall day. Bright sunlight shone on the whitewashed buildings and copper roofs of the city. Everything she saw was a study in contrasts, not soft and muted like the English countryside she’d grown up in.

  Upon arrival at Logan’s rooms, she threw off her cloak and walked directly to the table where, once again, two glasses of sherry awaited her. She picked up one and drained it, letting the warmth of the wine trickle down her throat to heat her insides. She set it down, picked up the second glass, and downed it as well.

  “Liquid courage?” he asked quietly.

  “I suppose,” she said, turning to the screened-off area. “I imagine this is where I disrobe?”

  He cleared his throat. “Uh, yes. Are you sure, Penny?”

  She turned to face him, savoring the look of surprise on his face. “What other choice do I have, when you hold my father’s fate in your hands? I will keep my part of the bargain. I expect you to do likewise.”

  He nodded curtly. “Very well. I’ll prepare my paints while you undress.”

  Behind the screen, she received another shock. It wasn’t just a changing area; it was his sleeping area. She stared at the neatly made bed, picturing him lying in it, draped only by a sheet, a come-hither look in his azure eyes. The image made her senses spin with longing for what could never be.

  Abruptly, she turned away and began to undress. Her fingers trembled as she untied the tapes to her dress and let it fall to the floor. She picked it up and draped it over the screen then removed her shoes and stockings. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her shift over her head.

  She’d never taken her clothes off in front of a man before. Not even Walter. She thought back to that night they’d let their passion for each other reach its logical conclusion. There had been no long seduction…just loosen the bodice, toss up the skirt, a brief flash of pain and it was over.

  Why are so many people so eager to do the act, if that was all? Of course, most of them were men. It must be better for them. Everything was, or so it seemed.

  Lastly, she pulled out her hairpins and let the long tresses cascade down. Grateful for the coverage of her long mane, she drew a deep breath and stepped around the screen. The floor was chilly under her feet, but the look on Logan’s face sent a wave of heat coursing through her.

  His gaze raked boldly over her, from her face to her breasts, her torso and legs, then back up until he met her eyes. “You are lovelier than I imagined.”

  His words warmed her to the core. No man had ever called her beautiful, not even Walter. Her steps faltered at the memory of her fiancé. What would he think if he could see her now? Was she betraying his memory? She bit her lip to hold back the sob that rose in her throat. What did it matter? Walter wasn’t here and never would be again.

  “Come here, Penny,” Logan said in a gentle tone, holding out a hand.

  Shyly she moved toward him. He turned her to face the mirror and brushed her hair back over her shoulders.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I want you to see how lovely you are,” he murmured in her ear, his breath warm on her neck.

  A shiver shook her body.

  “Such a lovely, long neck,” he whispered, trailing his fingers down her neck to rest on the pulse point at the base.

  She swallowed hard.

  His hand moved down over her breastbone and traced a circle around one breast. Her nipples beaded as sensations flooded through her body.

  “Magnificent,” he breathed, circling the other breast, his hand barely brushing the sensitized tip.

  Her heart beat a frantic tattoo and she felt a curious swooping pull at her innards. How could she retain her virtue under these circumstances?

  He moved his hand moved lower still, circling her navel, the tip of one finger dipping inside, and she broke away, laughing nervously. “I believe you have made your point, Logan. Shall I pose now?”

  On shaky legs, she moved to the chaise and perched on the edge, more uncomfortable t
han ever at the thought of lying back to expose her woman’s mound. Muscles she rarely remembered she possessed tensed at the junction of her thighs. Her heart pounded even harder when Logan walked slowly toward her, his gaze intent.

  He knelt on the floor beside her and took her cold hands in his warm ones. “Don’t be nervous, Penny. I’ve done this several times before.”

  “Who were your other models? Were they your mistresses?” She was certain now he had seduced them as he was attempting to seduce her.

  His gaze skittered away. “Some of them,” he admitted softly.

  Just as she had thought. The pang of jealousy that followed his words surprised her. After all, Logan Wilding was nothing to her but a temporary complication in her life.

  “They don’t matter now, Penny.”

  No, she admitted silently. But there was something important that concerned her, and it was something she had to deal with before this went any further.

  She cleared her throat. “Logan, what will you do with the painting? Promise me you won’t hang it in the officer’s mess.”

  His brows jerked upwards. “Do you think so little of me? I’d never do that. No, this is one painting I’ll never sell. It’s for me and me alone.”

  “Oh,” she said. That did relieve one of her fears. If no one else saw the painting, then perhaps her reputation would not suffer unduly. As long as no one notices me coming to his rooms.

  But he was a soldier. What if he died suddenly?

  “I’m glad to know you’ll never sell the painting, but will you promise me you’ll order it destroyed in the event of your death?”

  He winced. “You don’t mince words, do you, love?”

  She shrugged, her hair gliding over her skin like a lover’s caress. She hadn’t spent all those hours in the hospital tents without learning how fragile army life could be. “You’re a military officer on active duty. Any one of us could be killed at any moment. I have no wish to be the talk of the officer’s mess.”

  “I’ll have a will drawn up. Would you like the painting when I am gone?”

  She bit her lip. “No, probably not. But I would not mind having one of your drawings of me.”

  “Done. Now lie back.”

  She did so, sliding her legs onto the chaise, never taking her gaze from his face. When she had assumed the pose of the day before, he lifted his hand to smooth her hair over her shoulders again, leaving her breasts completely bare. She felt heat start in her chest and move upward to her cheeks.

  He smiled at her. “Lovely.”

  Then he tipped her chin up with one hand and covered her lips with his. She gasped and his tongue invaded her mouth to touch her own, entwining with hers. It had been a long time since she’d been kissed, and never like this. It was so sensual, so wicked…

  He moved his hand to caress her bare breast, circling the nipple until it hardened, then gave the same treatment to its mate. She stiffened and pushed at his shoulders, forcing him to break the kiss. “Logan, what are you doing? I do not remember agreeing to let you—”

  “Hush.” His finger covered her lips, stopping her words. “For the painting, I want you to look like a woman who has been well and truly loved. Now rest your arm as I showed you yesterday.”

  She did so, noting that her body was now even more sensitive to touch—any touch. Without warning, she remembered last night’s dream in which Captain Wilding had spent more time touching her than painting. Now that was exactly what her traitorous body seemed to want.

  “Good girl. Now, don’t move.” He stood and went to the easel to begin painting.

  How could he be so indifferent? Here she was, lying here, body exposed and aching for…well, something. No, she knew exactly what she ached for. She wanted him to kiss her again, touch her, as he had a few minutes ago. Touch her the way a man touches his wife, with his entire body. And all he cared about was his art!

  Logan had been right. Painting Penelope was torture, pure and simple.

  For the fifth day in a row, she lay on his sofa, bare-arsed naked, with her dormant sexuality awakened, and all he could do was stand here and paint a bloody picture. Not an easy thing to do with his cock growing harder and more insistent by the second. Doggedly, he worked on, mentally picturing himself touching her smooth, ivory skin instead of the canvas as he painted the creamy curves of her body.

  Sweat trickled down his back as he fought for control. Concentrate, he ordered himself, trying to focus on the play of light and shadow as it highlighted the peaks and valleys of her lush body. The afternoon sunlight glinted on her ivory breasts, taunting him with their shapely beauty.

  He loved the female form, so warm, soft and inviting, in all its guises. He had painted women of many races and colors, from Ireland to India to Egypt. But none as special as Penny. And none he knew he should not touch. He remembered the feeling of her mouth opening to his tongue and the weight of her breast in his hand. The memory excited his need all the more.

  He concentrated on the sound of a guitar playing softly outside and the odor of frying fish wafting up from the wine house below, mingling with the smells of his paints. The lazy, sultry afternoon was better suited to pleasure than work and he decided to call a halt to his attempts, putting his brush aside to clean the paint from his hands. Best to remove the source of temptation now before he did something they’d both regret.

  When he told Penny, she sat up and stretched lazily, her peach-tipped breasts, full and firm, thrusting toward him. His gaze riveted to the sight, he groaned out loud. “Penny, if you keep that up, I can’t be held responsible—”

  She stood, an impish smile on her face. “What? Do not tell me you find me irresistible, for I shan’t believe it.”

  He moved toward her, one arm outstretched. “Come here and I’ll show you just how irresistible I find you.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, backing toward the screen. “You’re covered with paint.”

  He glanced down at his smock. “So I am.” He pulled off his smock, kicked off his shoes and started to unbutton his trousers.

  Her expression was now one of mild panic. “Logan, what are you doing?”

  “Preparing to finish what you seem to have started.”

  “I haven’t started anything,” she stammered, backing away.

  “No? Then why were you asking about my previous lovers and flaunting your breasts in my face?”

  She stopped moving, clearly wavering.

  “Come here, love.” He held out his hand. “I won’t hurt you.”

  As if in a daze, she walked into his arms. He held her close, running his hands over the smooth skin of her back. He kissed her, tentatively at first, until she returned the pressure of his lips. When he probed with his tongue, she opened her mouth, her tongue mimicking his earlier movements.

  She was a fast learner, his Penelope. He wanted to enjoy her as greedily as possible, but suspected it was her first time. He had to act now, before his arousal passed the point of no return.

  He cupped her sweet arse and pulled her closer, letting her feel his erect cock. Her hands tightened on his shoulders, but she didn’t pull away.

  “Penny, will you let me love you?”

  Penelope looked at him through glazed eyes. She didn’t know what was happening to her, but it felt better than anything she’d ever experienced in her life. Vague longings fluttered through her body, invading spots she usually ignored. Her breasts felt heavy and her lower parts throbbed with need.

  “Yes,” she whispered, hungry for his touch. “Love me, Logan.”

  One arm around her waist, he led her behind the screen. She scooted onto the cot while he removed his trousers. The black hair covering his muscular chest narrowed to a vee between his legs where his man-root jutted forth proudly. Her eyes widened at the sight. “I’ve never seen one so large before,” she said nervously.

  He laughed as he climbed into bed. “How many naked men have you seen, love?”

  “A lot,” she said defensively, “I ha
ve helped out in the hospitals, you know.”

  His expression sobered. “Yes, but that is different. I assure you, my…er…member is no larger than any other man’s.”

  “Oh,” she said. Tentatively, she reached out and touched it, surprised by how smooth the stretched skin was. She marveled at the texture, smooth as silk yet hard as steel.

  He groaned and pushed her hand away. “Not now, love, or it will all be over before ‘tis begun. You can play with that later.”

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, his hands soothing her fears as they stroked her shoulders, her back. When the kiss ended, he nudged her down onto the pillow and lowered his head to kiss first one breast then the other, suckling on the puckered tips until she gasped in pleasure and began to writhe with need.

  Next thing she knew, his hand was between her legs, stroking her woman’s mound. She gasped at the intimacy, but didn’t complain. The sweet throbbing at her core increased. “Oh, Logan,” she moaned.

  He grinned up at her. “Like that, do you? Well, let’s see how you like this.”

  He trailed kisses down her stomach and replaced his hand with his mouth. She moaned when he flicked his tongue over her sensitized nub. She squirmed, seeking fulfillment. His hand probed her opening, his finger moving inside.

  “You’re so slick and wet,” he murmured.

  His hand continued to probe her most intimate areas and stroke over her aroused flesh. Involuntary tremors convulsed her body. She was pulled into a whirling vortex of sensations, like a rain cloud about to burst. Then the storm peaked, leaving her drained and satiated.

  She let out a huge sigh. “Oh, Logan, that was… incredible.”

  “That was just the opening salvo, love. The main action is still ahead of us.”

  He kissed his way up her body, paying special attention to her breasts, his tongue and hand tantalizing the sensitized peaks. She tugged at his hair. “Kiss me again, Logan.”

  His deep laugh vibrated against her stomach. “Bossy, little puss, aren’t you? Well, I always aim to please.”