Surrender of a Siren by Tessa Dare

Author:Tessa Dare [Dare, Tessa]
Language: ind
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Tags: Romance, Adult, Historical, convert, Art, Conversion is important., conversion, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9781615236039
Google: -Xk0FMs9Y2MC
Amazon: 1615236031
Goodreads: 6014614
Publisher: GagasMedia
Published: 2009-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

ABC Amber ePub Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abcepub.html

broad for fashion.”

“Is that so?” He chuckled as he undid his cuffs. Sophia stared as he turned up his sleeves, baring one tanned, muscled forearm, then the other.

“What style of garments would best suit me, then?”

“Other than a toga?” He rewarded her jest with an easy smile. Sophia dabbed at her canvas, pleased to be making progress at last. “I think you need something less restrictive. Something like a sailor’s garb. Or perhaps a captain’s.”

“Truly?” His gaze became thoughtful, then searching. “And even dressed in plain seaman’s clothes, would you still find me handsome enough? In my own way?”

“No.” She allowed his brow to crease a moment before continuing. “I should find you surpassingly handsome. In every way.” She mixed paint slowly on her palette and gave him a coy look. “And what of my attire? If you had your way, how would you dress me?”

“If I had my way … I wouldn’t.”

A thrill raced through Sophia’s body. Her cheeks burned, and her eyes dropped to her lap. She forced her gaze back up to meet his. Now was not the moment to lose courage. Nothing held sway over a man’s intentions like jealousy. “Gervais once kept me naked for an entire day so he could paint me.”

He blinked. “He painted a nude study of you?”

“No. He painted me. I took off my clothes and stretched out on the bed while he dressed me in pigment. Gervais called me his perfect, blank canvas. He painted lavender orchids here”—she traced a small circle just above her breast—“and little vines twining down …” She slid her hand down and noted with delight how his eyes followed its path. “I feigned the grippe and refused to bathe for a week.”

Desire and jealous rage warred in his countenance, yet he remained as immobile as one of Lord Elgin’s marble sculptures. What would it take to spur the man into action? Frustrated, she blew a wisp of hair off her face and nodded in the direction of his arm. “Would you pass me the little pot of red?”

He frowned down at the scattered cakes of pigment. “Which one is the red?”

“The vermillion. Just there at your elbow. You see it.”

“This one?” He handed her a pot of Vandyke brown.

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