He had no patience for cowardice. He reached beneath her skirt and snagged her panties, then dropped to his knees and drew them off. He pressed his face into her skirt, against her … His warm breath seeped between her legs. It felt so good. She separated them, just a few inches, and let his breath touch her secret heart.

He pulled her down beside him on that hard limestone floor. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her. The deep, experienced kiss of a man who knew women well.

Together they fell back. Her skirt tangled at her waist. He ran his hands along her legs and pushed them far apart. Then he buried his face between them.

She drew up her ankles, let her knees fall open, and reveled in his lusty, vigorous feasting. Her orgasm was fierce and strong, taking her by surprise. By the time she’d recovered, he was naked.

His body was powerful and fine. She opened her arms, and he plunged inside her. With her fingers curled into his hair, she took his deepest kiss, wrapped her legs around him. Her spine dug into the hard floor beneath. She winced as he plunged again.

He stopped, stroked more gently, then turned them so his body took the punishment of the floor. “Better?” He reached up to cup her breasts as they swung before him.

“Better,” she replied, finding a rhythm that pleased them both.

As they moved, the paints on the canvases seemed to swirl around them, the colors growing brighter, turning liquid. Their bodies worked together, awash in hot sensation. Finally neither of them could bear it any longer, and all the colors of the universe shattered in an explosion of bright, white light.

She came back to herself slowly. She was lying on top of him, her blouse and skirt bunched at her waist. She’d fallen under a spell. The man had cast a spell over her as surely as his paintings had.

He groaned. “I’m too old for floors.”

She leaped off him, scrambling awkwardly to cover herself. “I’m sorry. I’m—I’m so heavy. I must have crushed you.”

“Not this again.” He rolled to his side, winced, and slowly rose to his feet. Unlike her, he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get his clothes back on. She refused to look. Instead, she pushed her crumpled skirt down, noticing at the same time that her panties lay on the floor at his feet. She couldn’t manage her bra, so she pulled the front of her blouse together, only to have him catch her hands and still them over the buttons.

“You listen to me, Lilly Sherman. I’ve worked with hundreds of models over the years, but I’ve never had to stop painting to seduce one of them.”