Thomas's Muse: A Quidell Brothers Novella by Kris Austen Radcliffe

Author:Kris Austen Radcliffe [Radcliffe, Kris Austen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781939730091
Barnesnoble:
Publisher: Six Love Erotic Romance
Published: 2013-11-28T05:00:00+00:00

10

Samantha

Tom settles into brilliant intensity and I’m hypnotized. He sits three feet away behind his paper but I feel his gaze on me, assessing, reading, wanting. He moves his hands to draw an arc and I feel his fingertips on my skin. My need for him lifts away with his artist’s touch, but it doesn’t leave. It floats above my hip like a ghost waiting to be given permission.

He tilts his head and my frozen soul lifts up as well. I feel the ice that’s been locking me into one place hover now just outside my mind. Like it’s a separate thing that’s been too close for me to see. But Tom draws a line, makes a sweep of color, and pulls it to his paper, giving the phantom a visible shape.

I’ve been, I think, a mirror to Rick, reflecting back his physical attraction to himself. He banks it, lives it, sells it, but it’s flat and thin.

But when Tom watches me, I can tell he sees the dimensions he wants to lay down on his page—and, from the brilliant hard-on outlined in his pants, to touch. He’s not flat. Or thin. And I want, more than anything right now, to get rid of my phantoms. To let in this living man.

Slowly, carefully, I unbutton my blouse. If Tom is willing to look beyond my surface to find what’s below the mirror, I’ll show him. I’ll open up.

I hear his pastels scrape across the paper. The candle flickers and the scent of vanilla fills the air, and Tom’s gaze wraps his strong will around my body. Tom yanks away the sheen I’ve been using since college to reflect back to the men I want to bed what they want to see.

Somehow, it became my cover. I could have as much sex as my body wanted but I never showed my partners me. Mostly, they didn’t want to see me, anyway. They just wanted their cocks sucked.

But Tom wants me. He wants to see. I don’t think he wants a relationship with someone who hides from him, and with each fill of gold or blue on his paper he’s demanding I tell him the truth.

His hand stops for a moment as he watches me undo my blouse, but he doesn’t set down his work.

I know why. He’s not seeing me yet. That mirror is still there, and I’m still behind it. I feel it, drifting over my skin. It’s cold, frosty. And I need to shed it.

Slowly, I arch my back and slip off the blouse. A groan rolls from his throat, a deeply male vibration. His fingers set down the pastel and without looking at his paper he flips it over to a fresh page.

He’s taking in the curve of my back and the line of my legs. His gaze stops at my hip and he tilts his head again, his eyes piercing, but he doesn’t ask me to take off my skirt. He only watches.

I unhook the button and undo the zipper, easing the fabric down my legs.

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