Sullivan's Woman by Nora Roberts Page B

sourball.
    â€œHow did that get in there?” she mumbled. Her eyes flew up when Colin opened the door. “Oh. Hello.”
    He inclined his head at the greeting, then dropped his eyes to her laden hands. “Looking for something?”
    Cassidy followed his gaze. Embarrassed, she dumped everything back into her bag and fumbled for poise. “No, I . . . nothing. I didn’t think you’d be here so early.” She shifted her purse back to her shoulder.
    â€œIt appears it’s fortunate I am. Have you lost your key, Cass?” There was a smile on his face that made her feel foolish and scatterbrained.
    â€œNo, I haven’t lost it,” she muttered. “I just can’t find it.” She walked past him into the studio. Her shoulder barely brushed his chest and she felt a jolt of heat. It wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d thought. “I’ll change,” she said briefly, then went directly to the dressing room.
    When she emerged, Colin was setting his palette and gave her not so much as a glance. His ignoring of her brought a wave of relief. There, you see, she told herself, there’s nothing to worry about.
    â€œI’m going to do some work on her face today,” Colin stated, still mixing paints. His use of the impersonal pronoun was further proof his thoughts were not on Cassidy St. John. She denied the existence of the ache in her chest. Keeping silent, she waited until he was finished, then stood obligingly while he set the pose. She would, she determined, give him absolutely no trouble. But when he cupped her chin in his hand, she stiffened and jerked away.
    Colin’s eyes heated. “I need to see the shape of your face through my hands.” He set the pose again with meticulous care, barely making contact. “It’s not enough to see it with my eyes. Do you understand?”
    She nodded, feeling foolish. Colin waited a moment, then took her chin again, but lightly, with just his fingertips. Cassidy forced herself to remain still. “Relax, Cassidy, I need you relaxed.” The patient tone of the order surprised her into obeying. He murmured his approval as his fingers trailed over her skin.
    To Cassidy it was an agony of delight. His touch was gentle, though he frowned in concentration. She wondered if he could feel the heat rising to her skin. Colin traced her jawline and ran his fingers over her cheekbones. Cassidy focused on bringing air in and out of her lungs at an even pace. She tried to tell herself that his touch was as impersonal as a doctor’s, but when his hand lingered on her cheek she brought her eyes warily to his.
    â€œHold steady,” he commanded briskly, then turned to go to his easel. “Look at me,” he ordered as he picked up his palette and brush.
    Cassidy obeyed, trying to put her mind on anything but the man who painted her. Even as her eyes met his, she realized it was hopeless. She could not look at him and not see him. She could not be with him and not be aware of him. She could not block him out of her mind with any more success than she could block him out of her heart.
    Would it be wrong, she wondered, to let myself dream a little? Would it be wrong to look for some pieces of happiness in the time I have left with him? Unhappiness will come soon enough. Can’t I just enjoy being near him and pay the price after he’s gone? It seemed a small thing.
    Cassidy watched him work, memorizing every part of him. There would come a time, she knew, when she would want the memories. She studied the dark fullness of the hair falling on his forehead and curling over his collar. She studied the black arched brows that were capable of expressing so many moods. The planes of his face fascinated her. His eyes lifted again and again to her face as he painted. There was a fierce concentration in them, an urgency that intensified an already impossible blue.
    She couldn’t see his hands, but she