Her Man with Iceberg Eyes by Kris Pearson Page A

bench-top.
    “Can you get me that bigger canvas? The long
one. I didn’t plan to do it so big, but she looks good, don’t you
think?”
    “She looks beautiful.” Matthew said quietly.
“And who’d have thought she’d wear sexy little panties like that? I
had you down for white cotton, Katie.”
    She seethed, caught so easily when she’d
scoffed at his gift. She stayed silent.
    He chuckled. It took no imagination to see
the corners of his mouth kicking up, his icy blue eyes flashing
with unholy glee.
    Anger and embarrassment surged through her.
Would he never leave?
    She heard a chair drag across the floor, the
rustle of stiff pages turning. His soft grunt of satisfaction as he
found what he wanted.
    Something moved in the corner of her vision.
She slid her eyes around. Matthew sat, tilting a big sketching pad
on his lap, looking directly at her from quite a different angle to
the one Lottie had chosen. His charcoal stick raced over the paper,
capturing her curves. He regarded her intently, and rubbed a finger
to smudge the black to a softer shadow. Eyed her again. Drew some
more. Stroked and blended. Kate became acutely aware of his hands
as the pad of his thumb shimmered along her thigh. Pushed at her
buttocks with a lighter touch, shading and buffing her skin.
    She had no idea what Lottie was doing.
Matthew had taken her over. He worked with absolute concentration
until he was pleased with his sketch, then he ripped it noisily
from the pad. He showed it to Lottie. She passed a quiet
comment.
    Kate heard the scrape of the chair again, and
then he stood right in front of her, and laid the sketch on the
floor for her to see. She drew a sharp breath. Lottie might be
turning her into an ambiguous stretch of countryside, but Matthew
was a consummate draftsman. He’d drawn a flesh-and-blood woman,
faithfully recording her long back and shapely rear end and the
barely-there panties.
    “Great backside,” he whispered. “Butterfly
would look very hot.”
    She squeezed her eyes shut to remove the
devastating image from her brain.
    “This is still comfortable for you, Kate?”
Lottie asked.
    Never been less comfortable in my life.
    “I’m fine,” she called back. “How’s it
going?”
    “Will be good I think. Not too much longer
now—hard for you to hold the pose, even lying down, and the sun
will alter all the shadows soon.”
    Matthew sat again—much closer this time—and
surveyed her in silence. Then he took up the charcoal and she saw
he was roughing in her shoulders and breasts and tumbling hair. His
face became serious as he concentrated. His lips grew sensuously
fuller as he pursed them together, but his eyes stayed alert and
assessing.
    Kate kept her eyes on his lips. Anywhere but
his eyes, she decided desperately.
    He kissed me. Tasted me, teased
me. With that sinful mouth.
    He saw where she’d fixed her eyes and flicked
his tongue briefly out, drawing it down the centre of his top lip
and back out of sight again. Kate felt a devastating slippery flick
much further down her body. She wriggled and caught her breath. He
grinned.
    She clenched her eyes shut and kept them that
way. A short time later she heard him relax, sigh, and lay down the
sketching pad somewhere close.
    “How did I do?” he asked in a husky
drawl.
    She opened her eyes at last and stared at the
black and white woman with the wet lips and peaked breasts and wild
hair.
    He’d captured her more accurately than any
camera. The desire was palpable, the wanting extreme. Did she
really look like that to him? With drowsy come-to-bed-eyes? A mouth
swollen already from kisses? And nipples demanding to be sucked and
bitten?
    He hadn’t showed this one to Lottie. This was
for him, as private at his tattoo, perhaps. And for her, to confirm
the invitation of his kiss.
     

CHAPTER NINE
    Lottie’s wheels squeaked faintly on the
polished timber floor. “Enough Katie—you do very well. I finish
another time.”
    Did that mean she could relax?