Tessa Dare by Surrender of a Siren

Author:Surrender of a Siren [Siren, Surrender of a]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-06-08T12:34:40+00:00

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

She said his name, and it pierced him. Like a needle-thin dagger that threaded right between his ribs to embed itself in his heart.

And like any sudden wound, it caught him completely off-guard. It hurt. It sent him into shock.

What had just happened? He’d been reading; she’d been painting. They’d argued over paint, discussed colors. He’d teased her until she blushed, and she’d teased him back. She’d touched his face. Oh, how she’d touched him. Then suddenly he was viewing the most erotic display he’d ever witnessed in his life. And that included several erotic displays he’d paid good money to watch.

He’d said things to her. Wild, depraved fantasies he’d never voiced to any woman without paying her handsomely first. Perhaps a few things he’d never said to any woman at all. And she’d listened, and complied. Willingly. With sensual abandon and such sweet trust, it made his heart ache. He’d said anything and everything that came into his mind, to keep her going. To bring her to that peak of pleasure and watch her while she came.

That much was good. Very good.

But then she’d cried, and he’d said more. He would have said anything, promised her everything to soothe her. Now he stared into her red, weepy eyes, suddenly realizing how very close he’d come to doing just that—promising her everything—and it scared him into a cold sweat. She dragged that soft, soft thumb across his cheek, and his knees actually trembled. Trembled, damn it!

Gray had no idea what the hell was happening to him, but he knew that it had to be bad. Very bad.

Her lips were pouty and swollen with passion and just begging to be kissed, long and slow and deep. His groin was still throbbing with the memory of her erotic little gasps, her back arched in ecstasy.

Oh, Gray, she said. Oh, Gray, indeed. As in, oh Gray what the holy hell has come over you and what the devil do you intend to do about it?

He took the coward’s way out. He looked away.

“I thought you were painting a portrait. Of me.”

She turned her head, following his gaze to her easel. A vast seascape overflowed the small canvas. Towering thunderclouds and a violent, frothy sea. And slightly off center, a tiny ship cresting a massive wave.

“I am painting you.”

“What, am I on the little boat, then?” It was a relief to joke.

The relief was short-lived.

“No,” she said softly, turning back to look at him. “I’m on the little boat. You’re the storm. And the ocean. You’re … Gray, you’re everything.”

And that was when things went from “very bad” to “worse.”

“I can’t take credit for the composition. It’s inspired by a painting I once saw, in a gallery on Queen Anne Street. By a Mr. Turner.”

“Turner. Yes, I know his work. No relation, I suppose?”

“No.” She looked back at the canvas. “When I saw it that day, so brash and wild … I could feel the tempest churning in my blood. I just knew then

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