PaintedPassion by Tamara Hunter

be with
whomever he pleased, live his life the way he wanted. Who was she to judge?
    Her common sense disappeared whenever he was near. She’d
allowed the kiss, and he was right—she hadn’t wanted it to end. She had wanted
more, to feel his hands molding her body to his, the heaviness of his arousal
against her. Just his touch and a single kiss had her primed and ready for sex.
    Did she want only sex from Carlos? Was it simply that she
missed her husband? Good Lord, was she using Carlos as a substitute? Why do I
keep dishonoring Louis by giving in to my attraction to his best friend? Tears welled in her eyes, causing her vision to waver. She stalked into the
bathroom, splashed cold water on her face and patted her skin dry with a hand
towel. She’d deal with Carlos later, but she had more pressing problems.
    If her show was to be a success, she needed to spend more
time painting and less time wondering about Carlos. Returning to the canvas,
she centered herself, allowing the anger to seep away as she focused on
finishing the painting.
    Hours later, when a shadow hit the floor of the studio, she
glanced up to see Carlos standing in the doorway.
    “Can I see it?”
    She set the palette on the adjacent table. “No.”
    “Why not?”
    She pointed a brush at him. “I’m the mistress of this house,
so you do as I say.”
    His gaze darkened, and she cursed at her choice of words.
    “When do you do what I say?” His question broke the
quietness of the room with the force of an erupting volcano.
    Her heart raced at the thought of being at his mercy. She
was losing her damn mind around this man. “What makes you think that’ll ever
happen?”
    He advanced into the room. Struck again by the veiled
strength he exuded, she met him halfway to keep him from seeing the unfinished
work.
    He lifted a hand, and she stiffened, thinking he was going
to touch her face. Instead, he caressed her hair, allowing the strands to float
over his fingers. I’m jealous of my hair. Yep, I’m certifiable.
    “What if doing what I say brings you immense pleasure?”
Carlos whispered the question.
    Her body trembled in anticipation. “I suppose it depends on
the type of pleasure.”
    Nostrils flaring, he snaked an arm around her waist. She
stiffened at the look of hunger in his eyes.
    His overwhelming presence filled the room and made her feel
as if her sanctuary had become his. She swallowed, praying he wouldn’t continue
yet wishing he would.
    “What do you want?” she whispered. Half of her hoped against
hope he wouldn’t give her a three-letter answer—the other half had already
warmed to the idea.
    “I know what today is.” His voice stroked her body like a
soft silk teddy.
    She blew her breath out in a rush, unwilling to investigate
why disappointment filled her instead of relief. “You do?”
    “Be ready in an hour. I hate waiting on a woman to dress.”
He turned on his heel.
    It took a moment for his words to sink into her brain. She
raced after him. “Don’t order me around in my own house.”
    He looked at his watch. “You’re working on fifty-nine minutes
now. It’s up to you if you want to waste the time arguing with me.”
    She leaned over the balcony as he continued down the stairs.
“Carlos!”
    “I’ll leave you if you’re not ready.”
    She didn’t doubt he probably would. “Louis would never treat
me this way,” she retorted.
    Carlos stopped on the last step and looked up at her.
Despite her earlier pep talk about resisting him, a thrill of delight coursed
through her at the naked need reflected in his eyes.
    “There are a lot of things I’d do to you that he didn’t.”
    At the barely concealed promise in his eyes, Trella turned
away. She forced herself not to run to the safety of her bedroom. She closed
the door. Carlos was probably a demanding lover in bed. Would require a woman
to give her all to him. Well, he better forget about me then . She was
too much her own woman. Bambi—or any other female,