‘No...’ he began, then caught his breath as she used her hands to work the soap between his thighs.
‘The Cornwall holiday fell through so I offered them a week in the country in return for a little light housework.’
‘I can’t ask your family to clean my house,’ he said.
‘You didn’t—I did,’ she said, getting down on her knees and working the foam behind his knees, over his totally gorgeous calves. ‘Patsy’s volunteered, too.’
‘Patsy?’
‘I saw her in the street. She said I should run that by you.’
‘The whole damn street will know every detail within an hour of her coming home.’
‘It’s just an old house,’ she reminded him. ‘A lot of dull portraits, a couple of four-poster beds and a kitchen out of the Ark. I just need you to tell Ramsey and the security people that we’ll be there,’ she said. ‘Now you can turn around.’
He turned and for a moment the breath stopped in her throat. He might not have been to bed in a week, but one part was still wide awake and ready for action.
Everything slowed down as she dropped the sponge and used her fingers between his toes, his ankles, the tender spot behind his knees, the smooth skin inside his thighs. Then she stood up and soaped his chest, his stomach.
At one point he reached for her but she tutted. ‘No touching...’
His legs were trembling by the time she reached the parts that did not know when to lie down and quit.
‘Sweet heaven,’ he said, leaning back, clutching at a rack holding a pile of towels, his eyes closed as she took him in her palm, stroking him until, with a shuddering sigh, he spilled into her hand. And then she flipped off the water, put her arms around his neck and kissed him very gently. ‘Now, go to bed.’
Darius, dazed, barely able to speak, reached up and pulled a towel down from the rack, wrapped it around her and pulled her warm, wet body against him. ‘Stay with me,’ he begged.
‘Is that what a muse would do?’ she asked, looking at him, her eyes dark, intense, searching. A smallest of frowns defeating her smile. ‘Be there so that when you wake up you can draw her sated, replete, every desire satisfied?’
‘I left a note,’ he said. ‘I left the picture...’
‘Why?’
‘You were sleeping. Taking it would have been as if I was stealing something intimate from you.’
‘Oh.’ She leaned her forehead against his chest so that he shouldn’t see her eyes. See what she had been thinking. ‘If you want it, Darius, take it. It’s yours.’
He took a step back, lifted her chin, reading her as easily as most people read headlines. ‘You thought it was a kiss off?’ he asked. ‘A Darius Hadley sketch in return for some hot sex?’
‘No! Maybe.’ Her shoulders dropped. ‘I don’t know you, Darius.’
‘No, you don’t,’ he said, pulling another towel from the rack, wrapped it around his waist. ‘If I ever did anything that skanky I would sign and date it so that it would be worth something. A realisable asset.’