The Chatsfield Collection Books 1-8. Annie West
see her worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Something fisted in his chest when he saw the reddened patch of beard rash on her chin. If he had done that to her face what had he done to her with his trying-to-prove-a-point-to-himself lovemaking?
He got his answer when she rose from the bed. She winced as she took her first step but tried to disguise it by turning her back to him as she hunted for her glasses.
‘Lottie?’ He put a hand on her arm and handed her the frames he had taken off the bridge of her cute little nose the night before. ‘Are you sore?’
She put on glasses and a brave smile all at the same time and his gut fisted again. ‘I’m fine.’
He gently tipped up her chin. ‘You’ve got beard rash. I’m sorry.’ He touched her lower lip with his thumb. ‘I should’ve toned it down a bit.’
‘It’s fine … I’ll put some concealer on it.’
He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. ‘A warm bath might help. Want me to run you one?’
‘That would be lovely.’
A few minutes later Lucca sat on the edge of the Jacuzzi-size bathtub and watched like an indulgent parent as Lottie played with the soap bubbles. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had a bubble bath,’ she said. ‘I’d forgotten how much fun it is.’ She cupped a handful of bubbles and blew them towards him. ‘It’d be more fun if you were in here with me. There’s heaps of room. I could practically do laps. Why don’t you join me?’
‘You know why.’ He picked up a handful of bubbles and piled them on her tawny head like a crown.
She gave him a shy little smile and then gathered some more bubbles and placed them on the tops of her bent knees, watching with what seemed studious intent as they wobbled there precariously for a moment before sliding down her legs. ‘Do you run bubble baths for your other lovers?’
‘No, but I had a hot tub orgy once.’
She made a business of scooping up two more kneepads of bubbles, positioning them just so. ‘Was it fun?’
Lucca didn’t have to think too long before he answered. ‘Not particularly.’
She looked at him then, her gaze direct. ‘Why do you use sex as an outlet when you’re such a talented artist? Why not put that energy into your drawing and painting instead?’
He got up from the bath’s edge and brushed the suds off his thighs. ‘You shouldn’t stay in too long. You’ll get all wrinkly like a prune.’
She turned in the tub to face him, sending bubbles over the edge of the bath like lava flow. ‘Why are you running away from your talent? Why are you hiding it from everyone?’
‘Talented artists line every street throughout Europe.’ He wiped his hands on a towel and stuffed it back on the rail haphazardly. ‘Didn’t you see some of them the other day outside that restaurant we went to in Nice?’
‘Then why aren’t you out there with them? At least then other people will get to see your work.’
Lucca resorted to his tried and trusty friend—scorn. ‘Oh, yes, I can see that headline. Hotel Chain Heir Touting Amateur Wares on Back Streets of French Riviera. Yeah, that would work.’
‘You don’t believe you’re talented.’ She said it as if it were a total shock to her.
It wasn’t to him.
He knew his limitations. He knew what it took to get a foothold in the art world.
And it wasn’t family money and bedroom charm.
Lucca turned his back on her frowning expression. ‘I’m going to see what’s happening about this crazy quarantine. The manager was supposed to call me an hour ago to update me.’
‘I’ll pose for you.’
He stopped at the bathroom door and turned to look at her. She was standing in a sea of bubbles, her hands cupped across her breasts and her feminine mound like a modern-day version of Sandro Botticelli’s Birth of Venus.
His breath snagged in his throat like a fine cotton shirtsleeve catching on a nail. She was all that he was not: innocence and beauty. Trust and honesty. Decency and integrity. Sweetness and sincerity.
Her gaze challenged his in a little lock that made her eyes look like green sea glass. ‘I want you to draw me, Lucca.’
‘I’ve drawn you.’
‘Not like that.’ Her hands fell from her body to hang by her sides. ‘Like this.’
Lucca let his gaze soak up the sight of her. She had never looked more beautiful than she did right now. How could he not want to draw her? To capture this moment when her body told him a story that only he and she knew. A private sensual tale of two opposites finding something in the other that no one else could ever understand. He didn’t understand it himself. It was a story he was still uncovering. Page by page. Chapter by chapter. Scene by scene. Word by word.
Discovering layers to her and of himself he had not realised were there until now. ‘Why?’
‘Because I want to see how you see me.’
‘I’ve never done a nude before.’ He gave her a flash of his bad-boy smile. ‘Well, not like that, I mean.’
‘That will make it even more special. Something that’s just between us. No one else has to see it. I wouldn’t want anyone else to see it. It’ll be totally private.’
He rubbed a hand over the back of his head, still wrestling with his conscience. It was a surprise to him that he still had one. A big surprise. He saw the trust shining in her bright clear gaze and felt like something dark and dirty inside him had been cleansed. ‘I thought you said art was to be shared?’
‘It will be shared.’ Her dimples appeared as she smiled. ‘By us.’
‘Can I look now?’ Lottie asked the following afternoon.
‘No, sit still while I get the angle of the light falling across your shoulder.’
‘But I’m getting cold.’
‘Hey, sweetheart, this was your idea, remember?’ He dipped his paintbrush and bent back to the task, his concentration fiercely played out on his features, making him look formidable and cross rather than playboy handsome.
Lottie wasn’t cold so much as she was dying to see what he had done. They were due to fly back to the island tomorrow now the quarantine had been lifted. The bug had been identified as food poisoning, ironically from a bakery that supplied the hotel. Only a handful of guests had been affected but the authorities had taken conservative measures to keep the infection contained.
The time spent with Lucca had more than made up for any inconvenience. She could not remember a time when she’d felt as happy and contented in someone’s presence. The private Lucca was not the public Lucca, or maybe she brought out a different side to him. She didn’t delude herself with the thought their relationship—fling—would last longer than it took for Madeleine and Edward to drive out of the Chatsfield Hotel driveway with Just Married written in shaving foam on the back windscreen.
But at least she would have something of him to keep with her always. His painting of her would be a reminder of the first time in his life when he had committed to something—someone—for more than a few hours.
‘Right.’ He sat back and wiped his forehead with a paint-smeared cloth that looked suspiciously like a Chatsfield Hotel hand towel. ‘It needs a few more touches but I’ll do that when we get back. This coat has to dry before I add any more detail.’
Lottie stepped out of the bath and quickly dried her feet and ankles on a towel before coming to look over his shoulder. ‘Do I really look like that?’
He frowned. ‘What? You don’t like it?’