His hands began to caress her neck. “More than that, but he only managed to get around to that many that day.”

She huffed a bit indignantly. “And there I thought he was interested in me for marriage; at least that is the impression he gave.”

“Oh, he was.” He grinned. “He did indeed want to marry you.”

“When he kept company with so many other women?” she all but snorted.

“What he would have offered you in a marriage was more money than you could ever imagine. He wasn’t offering faithfulness. He would have been up front about it, though, explaining to you that variety is the spice of his life. It would have been entirely up to you if you wanted that sort of marriage.”

“He actually thought I could be . . . ? Well, bought is the word that comes to mind.”

Vincent smiled, his thumbs beginning to circle her cheeks, then her earlobes. “He had hoped so. You became his newest goal for a while. But he began to see where your true interest was—and mine as well—and bowed out of the running with no hard feelings. Actually, now that he considers me his best friend, he’s quite delighted that you’ve married me instead.”

“A friend, yet he can give you something like that?” she said, nodding at the painting again.

“A joke, sweetheart, in poor taste in that it has nothing to do with love, everything to do with sex, but he meant no harm by it. But then it doesn’t have quite the same effect on me as it does on him.”

“No?”

“Some people are stimulated by what they see, as in the case of the painting. For others, visual makes no difference; touch is their only stimulation; it must be what they can feel. And for still others, there is emotional stimulation; the heart must be involved.”

“You fall into the third category?”

“I’m not sure which might have been the case before I met you, but I’m quite sure which is the case now. Love makes the difference for me. You are my only stimulation.”

She hadn’t been immune to the caresses she had been receiving, but his words thrilled her beyond measure. “I believe we just might have all three categories covered tonight,” she said breathlessly. “Though the latter two are preferred.”

“I’ll get rid of the first,” he offered.

He went to the head of the bed to flip the painting around to the wall. Neither of them was expecting there to be another painting on the back of it, of the exact same scene, just rendered from behind.

They both laughed. “Now, that is too funny,” Larissa allowed. “Even the artist realized that not everyone would appreciate his work. Quite determined, wasn’t he, that it not be hidden from view?”