When he walked back out, he felt her gaze on him even as she tried to hide the fact that she was watching him. It was adorable the way she peeked from underneath her lashes and the color heightened in her cheeks when he crawled onto the bed beside her.
He offered her the fruit and cheese first and then slipped a glass of wine in her free hand. He offered her bites, enjoying the slight brush of her lips over his fingertips. And she seemed to derive as much pleasure from eating from his hand as he did in feeding her this way.
A dreamy, contented look entered her eyes, some of the earlier shadows chased away as she relaxed. Tension drifted from her shoulders, and they settled, her entire body going slack.
“Hungry?” he asked huskily, entranced by the provocative image she presented.
Finally. In his bed. Just inches away. His body screamed at him to take her, to take what was his even as he mentally chastised it for being an impatient asshole.
“Starved,” she admitted. “I haven’t eaten well over the past few days.”
His expression darkened and anger vibrated once more from his body. “You’ll take better care of yourself from now on. I’ll take better care of you,” he amended.
She smiled. “It’s not solely because of . . . Michael . . . and what happened. I’ve been busy with work.”
He knew well why, but he asked anyway, because it would seem odd not to, and she was offering information, relaxing around him, and he wanted that. Wanted easy communication. No hesitancy or reserve on her part.
“What have you been working on?”
Color tinged her cheeks and he glanced curiously at her.
“I’ve been working on an erotic series of paintings. Not too over the top. Tasteful. Sexy but still classy.”
Excitement gleamed in her eyes as she sat back a moment, refusing further food from his hand.
“I sold all my work that was exhibited in the art gallery where I sell on consignment! It was the most incredible thing. Mr. Downing had told me he couldn’t take anything else of mine because nothing had sold and I had already brought him the first painting in the series I’m working on. Then he called to tell me the news that not only had he sold everything but that he wanted more! And that a buyer was interested in whatever I brought in. I’ve spent the week working on the rest of that series.”
She ducked her head self-consciously and then peeked back up at him from underneath her lashes.
“They’re self-portraits. I mean, not that you can tell who it is, but I used my likeness in a series of nude poses. I have a . . . tattoo, one I designed myself, and it features prominently in the paintings. I . . . I like them. I think they’re good. I hope the buyer will like them too.”
There was a note of anxiety at the end of her statement that made his heart clench. Hell yes he’d like them, and he’d be damned if anyone else even got to see them. They would be his. Only his. And only he would see her without her clothing. That was for him and him alone.
No doubt, Josie was a beautiful woman, and there was also little doubt that men and women alike would be drawn to the paintings. She had talent, no matter what the moron gallery manager had said about her style. It was only a matter of time before others discovered that talent. Ash was just glad he got to those paintings before someone else did. The idea of anyone else having something so intimate of Josie’s made his teeth clench.
“I’m sure your buyer will love them,” he said. Even as he spoke, he made a mental note to call Mr. Downing first thing Monday morning and make damn sure he wrapped and delivered the paintings to Ash’s office. “I’d love to have seen them myself.”