CHAPTER 18

THEY WERE FAST APPROACHING the London station. This train ride had been like an enchanted bubble. She blushed as she remembered how he had disrobed her, disarming her embarrassment with words of encouragement and praise. Once she had run out of protests, he proceeded to drive her insane with ecstasy, using his mouth and talented hands.

But just like a bubble, it couldn't last long, and it was about to burst. Soon she would be back in her normal life. If she found that the prospect filled her with melancholy, she would never let him know.

She had caught his frown as he helped her don her clothes. Receiving his help had been mortifying, but he had insisted. It had been a mistake to allow him to remove her clothes in the light of day. Candlelight and night were more forgiving, but there was no hiding imperfections in the harsh light of day. A man like him, an artist, would be drawn to beauty and a pleasing form. He must be disappointed at discovering her many flaws.

He had given her a precious gift, and she would appreciate it as such and not wish for more. Nothing worse than a clingy lover. She touched his arm, ready to say goodbye with grace.

"Thank you for your help during this trip, and for...everything."

He frowned again, looking at her. "You're welcome, love. But it sounds as if you are saying goodbye, and you won't get rid of me just yet. I'll take you home."

"Oh, that's unnecessary, my lord. I'll take a hackney at the station." No point in prolonging this goodbye.

"Don't be silly. I'll take you to your house and make sure you arrive safely."

She couldn't argue anymore without seeming stubborn, so she dropped the matter. What were a few more minutes? She would use them to engrave his image in her mind. Not that she thought it would ever fade.

But when the marquess's opulent carriage stopped in front of her modest townhouse in Marylebone, instead of saying goodbye, he seized her by the waist and lifted her onto his lap.

"Will you visit me tomorrow?" he asked as he nuzzled her cheek, making her melt for him all over again.

"For what purpose, my lord?"

"You mean besides this?" he said, capturing her mouth in a deep, hard, almost desperate kiss.

It left her breathless, with barely enough wits to reply. "I thought we were through."

If she thought he had been displeased before, she had been wrong. She had never seen a frown so fierce. "I'm certainly not through with you. Have you had enough of me, my muse?"

"I—No, my lord. Not at all. But we never discussed a long-term arrangement. I won't become your mistress."

She didn't want to let go. Not yet. Perhaps never. But she couldn't cheapen their relationship with a mercantile agreement, and the longer they stayed involved, the harder it would be for her to part with him.

"I'm not asking you to be my mistress. We are lovers, and you are my muse. How will I be able to sculpt you if you don't model for me?"

"You really want me to model for you? I thought you were jesting."

"My art is something I never joke about. I already started sculpting your face. But I need you in my study to sculpt the rest of you. Come to my home tomorrow, Thalia. I promise I'll make it worth your while."

His voice was pure seduction. It trickled down her body like warmed honey. It was impossible for her to refuse. She nodded.

"I'll be there tomorrow."

THALIA'S NERVES THRUMMED with anxiety as she knocked on the door of the marquess's splendid townhouse the following day. She was wearing a veil, afraid of being recognized. When the butler opened, she stammered she was there to see Lord Ashford.

She didn't know what she had expected. Maybe derision for her shameless conduct of calling on a gentleman for what could only be considered an assignation. But the butler bowed with the utmost courtesy and guided her to the very back of the house to a glass jewel box of a room.

Shaped as an octagon, the sunroom had been transformed into a creative haven. Sunlight streamed through the domed glass ceiling, casting a golden glow across the room. The glass panels, which stretched from floor to ceiling, offered an uninterrupted view of the lush greenery outside. The air carried the earthy scent of clay and the faint, sharp tang of marble dust.

Thalia's mouth hung open as she scanned the magnificent room. Nearby, a large, heavy-duty easel held a clay bust in progress. By the windows, a long, sturdy workbench was filled with the tools of the trade. Chisels, hammers, and mallets lay neatly organized, while in the center of the room, occupying pride of place, a chaise draped in soft, rich fabrics looked like a perfect place for models to pose in the natural light. Would she expect her to lounge there?

"At last, you are here. I've been expecting you for hours."

She whipped around at the sound of the marquess's voice. He had snuck behind her with a stealth that should not be possible for a man his size.

"Excuse me, my lord, but you did not mention when you expected me to arrive. This is the proper time for a morning call."

"It's afternoon. We are losing daylight." Without giving her a chance to respond, he turned to the butler. "Send tea and then order the staff not to disturb me for any reason unless it's an emergency."

"At once, my lord." The butler withdrew with a bow.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Are you always this high-handed?"

"Always," he said, pulling her against his body. "Next time, don't keep me waiting. I've been burning for you."

With that, he captured her mouth in an incendiary kiss that sent a wave of heat through her body. Her legs gave way, and she grasped at his shoulders while his arm around her waist tightened to help keep her upright. When he had reduced her to the consistency of soft butter, his mouth skated across her face to whisper in her ear.

"I've got new sheaths."

And she melted anew.

The servant bearing the tea tray came in, and he released her slowly while she turned around and tried to cool her flaming cheeks.

"Now, where were we?" he said, coming up and embracing her from behind.

"You were about to sculpt me?" she suggested with a quiver in her voice.

"Hmm, yes. I do need to work you with my chisel." He punctuated his double entendre by pressing his hardness against the small of her back. "But before that...we need to take care of something."

There was a tug on her buttons, and her bodice sagged.

"What are you doing?" she hissed and tried to turn around. His hold on her clothes kept her firmly in place.

"Isn't that obvious? I'm divesting you of these ghastly garments."

"You can't undress me here! This room is made of glass."

"I'm aware. It's why I selected it as my study. It allows the light in."

"But it also means that anybody can see in," she said through her teeth.

"There's nobody in my garden. I have prohibited access to it while I'm working in my studio."

"It will feel as if we are naked outside."

"Mmmm, what a delightful prospect. In Tuscany, I once participated in a naked picnic."

Her gasp was a mixture of shock and arousal. "With other people?"

His laugh was rich as he kissed down her back, lavishing the skin he had uncovered.

"There was only one other person. A certain signorina. The picnic started as a normal one, but the sun was scalding. We had to remove some clothes to cool off, you see."

"Of course," her voice held a hint of sarcasm as she turned around to face him.

"Would you be interested in a picnic au naturel ?" he asked.

She had to laugh at his naughtiness. This man was undoing her. One moment he was all gruff and commanding, and the next playful and naughty.

"What am I to do with you?" she mused.

"Whatever you want. I know several things I'd like to do with you. We can work up the courage to have a naked picnic by practicing in this room."

"I don't know if I dare. I'm still afraid someone will see us."

"No one will see us. But the sense of danger, of being exposed, will add that much more depth to the pleasure."

"You believe that?"

"I know that," he said, lifting the loosened gown over her head and working on the laces of her petticoats. "Besides, you might as well get used to being naked. I plan to sculpt you in the nude."

That drew an outraged gasp from her as her petticoats fell to the floor with a swoosh. "I can't pose nude!"

"Why not? It's just for me. And I've already seen, kissed, and caressed every inch of your body."

"But if you sculpt me naked, everyone would be able to see it!"

"Hmm, you are right." He frowned. "I don't want anybody else to see this luscious body."

He pulled her against him, intimately fondling her arse. "I'll drape you in a sheet, because this is for my eyes only. You are mine. "

Her only response was a moan of delight as his hand slid lower between her legs and his fingers found her flesh through the slit in her undergarments.

"Fuck, you are so wet. And I've barely touched you. You are ready for me, aren't you, my muse? Do you miss my cock between your thighs? Sinking into your sweet cunny, filling you and giving you the satisfaction you crave?"

"Yes!"

"Will you let me remove all your clothes and take you right here?" His voice was mesmerizing, while his touch inflamed her need to a dangerous level, promising satisfaction, but delaying the delivery.

"Liam, please," she moaned.

"Please, what?"

"Please, yes. Take me." She forced the words past her embarrassment.

With a suddenness that left her reeling, he hoisted her in his arms and carried her to the chaise. "Kneel on it and hold on to the back."

"W-what?"

With a few touches, he positioned her how he wanted her, kneeling on the seat of the chaise, her knees spread, her arms resting over the wide, cushioned backrest. She tried to ignore how her bottom would be on display as he yanked her undergarments off and opened the placket of his trousers. She looked over her shoulder at his cock, angry and red, and her core wept with need.

He caught her looking and palmed himself, tightening his fist around his straining erection. "Stay like that, bella. Don't move. I wish you could see yourself right now, how gorgeous you look. With your plump delicious arse up in the air, waiting for my pleasure, while your pretty pink pussy weeps with desire."

Her eyes widened. She could have never imagined how arousing words could be. He took out a sheath and smoothed it over his shaft with fingers that were unsteady with need.

"Do you need me to assist?" she offered.

"No, don't move. I want to watch you."

At last, he was able to tie the ribbon. He grabbed hold of his shaft and ran the tip up and down her center, through her folds, smearing it in her wetness. And arousing her to a dangerous degree. If he didn't enter her soon...

Her thought caught in a gasp as he plunged into her, stretching her flesh with his presence, filling a void she had always had but had never understood until now. Until him.

"Do you want more?" he gritted out.

"Yes!"

He slid almost all the way out, then slammed home again, tearing a scream of pleasure from her.

"More," she begged.

He grabbed her hips, holding her steady while he did it again, and again, until she was sobbing with need.

"Please, Liam."

"Tell me what you want, my muse."

"I want...I need...the release. Give me the release." Her voice was a whimper of need, her eyes scrunched shut, her head thrown back as she strained against him. Shame, embarrassment, and fears forgotten in the face of this unrelenting need.

"I will, darling. I'll give it to you."

One of his hands sneaked around her waist and dipped between her legs, to caress the place where all sensation coalesced. She hid her face in the crook of her arm, drowning a scream as waves after waves of white-hot pleasure pulsed through her. Her flesh spasmed rhythmically around his rod as she extracted every drop of ecstasy from his hardness.

A moment later, his hands clutched her hips as he let out a roar of pleasure, and he exploded inside her. The pulses of his flesh echoing the cataclysm she had experienced.

In the aftermath of satisfaction, he yanked at the ties of her corset, massaged her breasts as he removed her chemise, rolled down her stockings until she was completely naked. All the while, his gaze devoured her with frank admiration as he uncovered her body.

She had no more will to protest. Couldn't even remember why she wanted to protest. Being naked in his presence felt...right. For the first time in her life, her body was not something to be ashamed of. To be covered, hidden, or constrained with stiff corsets. Every curve she had ever hated, he seemed to adore. The feelings that engendered were empowering, liberating.

When her hair tumbled like a waterfall of fire down her back, she realized he had removed the pins. His long, dexterous fingers tunneled through her tresses, massaging her scalp. If she were a cat, she would have purred under his caresses.

"There. Now I have you the way I want. All soft, pliant, and well pleasured, radiating sensuality, with your hair down and your lips swollen from my kisses. Tell me, my muse, am I going to have to seduce you before every session to get you to relax? Because I'd be more than happy to oblige."

She chuckled at that. "Absolutely. I insist upon it."

"There you go. Keep smiling at me like that," he said as he went to his workbench, grabbed a sketchbook and pencil, and proceeded to draw with fast strokes.