‘No.’ His face was expressionless.
‘But the other day... You only saw me for a minute or two and this is—’
‘I’ve only scratched the surface.’
The room seemed to darken as their gazes locked, acknowledging the raw, subliminal connection in that moment when they’d faced one another across Morgan’s office.
A shiver ran through her and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the sun was pouring in through the skylights and Darius was still waiting for her answer. He knew it would be yes...
‘Will I be a limited edition bronze?’ she asked. ‘On display in a gallery window? Like the horse.’
‘It’s possible. If your interior lives up to the promise of the packaging.’
‘My packaging!’
‘It’s very attractive packaging.’
‘An excessive amount of packaging, I think you just said. Will you give me a couple of months to shed ten pounds?’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ he said, taking the pad from her. ‘Are you concerned that you’ll be recognised?’
‘Recognised?’ The tension evaporated as she laughed at the idea of any of his subjects being recognised in the finished sculpture. ‘Unlikely, I’d have thought.’ She hoped. If anyone found out, she knew what interpretation they’d put on it. ‘I might have to make it a condition.’
‘It’s all about trust,’ he said, not joining in, and for a moment she was afraid that she’d offended him. ‘So? Do you have any more problems?’
Problems?
Only one. The fact that she was more interested in the man than his house. She’d forgotten why she was here, that her future depended on getting this right. That problem.
‘How about the fact that you’ll be making money out of your side of the bargain while I’ll be working for nothing?’ she suggested in an attempt to bring them both back to the reason she was here.
‘We might both be wasting our time, Natasha,’ he said, pushing away from the stepladder, suddenly much too close. ‘But if I discover depths in you that are worth exploring I’ll...’ His eyes suggested that his thoughts were a long way from art.
‘Yes?’ The word was thick in her throat. Not just his thoughts—her own were on a much lower plane...
‘I’ll give you a first casting.’
‘So that I can put my “depths” on the sideboard for everyone I know to look at?’
‘You’ll love every minute of it,’ he said. ‘All those horny men running their hands over cold bronze, imagining the warm, living flesh.’
‘No...’ There was only one man she wanted running his hands over her flesh and he was right there, in front of her.
‘Every woman longs for something in her past with which to scandalise her grandchildren,’ he said. His face was all shadows, his eyes leaden, his voice so soft that it was barely audible.
‘How would you know that?’ she whispered.