“And if I don’t?”
“You will,” he said confidently.
“Arrogance is not an attractive trait.”
“Don’t all artists have to have a little arrogance just to survive?” he taunted.
“But you say you’re not an artist,” she reminded him, regaining her equilibrium. “And for the moment, I have no real proof to the contrary.”
He laughed. “But you seem so certain, Ms. Expert.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been known to be wrong.”
“When?”
“That’s not something I like to spread around.” She gave him a thoughtful look. “Perhaps if I were to see a few more paintings, I could be sure.”
“Nice try,” he told her, laughter dancing in his eyes. “You’ll have to be a bit more persuasive than that, though. I still don’t know what’s in it for me.”
Kathleen fell in with his lighthearted mood, because it got her out of the far more dangerous territory they’d been in only moments before. “I’ll give that some thought,” she promised. “Since money and fame don’t seem to matter to you, I’m sure I can come up with something else.”
“I can think of one thing,” he said.
He made the claim in a suggestive way that threw them right back into the same dangerous fires she was so sure they’d just escaped.
“Something other than that,” she said, ignoring the eager racing of her heart.
He laughed. “Too bad. If you come up with something—I doubt it could be better—keep me posted.”
“You’ll know the minute I do,” she assured him, an idea already taking shape in her mind, something that would render him incapable of forgetting about her for a single second without putting her own flagging defenses to the test.
Already lost in her planning, she gave him a distracted kiss. “Good night, Ben.”
Before he could recover from his apparent surprise, she stepped inside and shut the door in his face.
The doorbell rang almost immediately. Fighting a smile, she opened it.
“Forget anything?” he asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Sure you did,” he said, stepping into the house and dragging her into his arms.
He kissed her till her head spun, then walked back outside and closed the door behind him.
Kathleen stared at the door and touched a finger to her still-burning lips. There was no escaping the fact that this latest round had gone to him. She wasn’t sure whether to start plotting a way to get even or to run for her life.
Ben was getting far too much enjoyment out of rattling Kathleen. He was forgetting all about protecting himself. He needed to lock himself in his studio and get back to work. It was the most effective way he knew to block out the world.
And up until a few days ago, it had been more than enough for him. He hadn’t craved anyone’s company, hadn’t yearned for any woman’s kisses. Maybe he could get that back again.
Not likely, he concluded a few hours later when Kathleen breezed in with a bag of freshly baked banana nut muffins and a large latte. She was like a little whirlwind that touched down, left a bit of collateral damage and was gone an instant later. He stared out the door of his studio after she’d gone, fighting the oddest sensation that he’d imagined the entire visit.
But the coffee and muffins were real enough. So was the edgy state of arousal in which he found himself.
“Well, hell,” he muttered and tried to go back to work.
Inspiration eluded him. All he could think about was the faint scent of Kathleen that lingered in the air.
She did the same thing the next day, this time leaving him with an entire blueberry pie and a container of whipped cream. His vivid imagination came up with a lot of very provocative uses for that whipped cream that had nothing at all to do with the pie.
By the weekend he was the one who was rattled, which was exactly what she’d obviously intended. He was also vaguely bemused by the fact that not once had she lingered in his studio or attempted to sneak a peek at his paintings. She’d come and gone in a heartbeat. In fact, one day she’d paid her mysterious visit even before he got to the studio. He found raspberry tarts and another latte on the doorstep, as if to prove that she hadn’t even attempted to take advantage of his absence to slip inside the unlocked studio for a look around.
Ben sat in front of his easel, munching on a tart and considered not the painting he was working on, but Kathleen and these little sneak attacks designed to get under his skin without putting her own very delectable skin at risk. He couldn’t help wondering if the baked goods were meant as bribes or simply as taunting reminders of her. He suspected she intended the former, while the effect was most definitely the latter.