Seduction in Mind by Susan Johnson

softly as he bent low and touched her mouth with his. "Now then," he said a moment later, raising his head. "Are you going to insist on the bed again?"
    Wondering how he could bring her to fever pitch with a mere kiss, she drew in a calming breath. "At the moment, I'm not sure I'm capable of insisting on anything save speed."
    He lifted her chin with a crooked finger. "We can do that. Is he gone?"
    "Does it matter?"
    "Not particularly."
    A frisson of excitement flared through her senses at the casualness of his reply.
    "Let's go outside and see."
    "Like this?"
    "What's left of the sun will feel good." He picked up the sheet from the carpet. "So your delicate skin isn't damaged."
    "Or yours, and I'm not sure I can do this in daylight."
    "I'll show you how." Taking her hand, he drew her out into the studio and through the terrace doors.
    He moved with an uninhibited grace, at ease with his nakedness, and she regarded him from under her lashes as they moved outside. As an artist, she viewed the perfection of his form with both an objectivity and a keen eye for detail, and she wondered the degree of activity necessary to maintain the steel-hard muscle tone and the lithe grace of his limbs. He had the body of an athlete, broad-shouldered, lean-hipped, long-legged, and his hand holding hers was callused from riding.
    "So you don't normally make love al fresco," he remarked casually, skirting a beautifully clipped boxwood.
    "I don't even normally make love—only on occasion."
    He shot a glance at her. "I would have thought your dance card full."
    "I have other interests."
    "I see," he said politely, moving down a grassy path alongside a trellis of flowering jasmine. "But not right now."
    "You're much too smug, Ranelagh."
    "Call me Sam." He smiled. "I feel I know you."
    She stopped abruptly and tried to pull her hand away.
    And when he turned to look at her, her temper showed.
    "I've changed my mind."
    He was instantly apologetic. "Forgive me. It was tactless and rude of me"—he suddenly smiled—"but I couldn't resist when you said 'I have other interests' in that decorous, prim tone. And at the risk of offending you further—why the hell did you marry two old men?"
    She was every man's dream standing before him, gloriously naked, her voluptuous body as perfect in person as in the paintings she'd posed for, the auburn hair on her mons still wet from their lovemaking.
    "You wouldn't understand."
    She hadn't moved, but she'd not withdrawn her hand either. An encouraging sign, he thought. "Tell me anyway."
    He seemed taller, standing on her grassy path—larger than life—more perhaps than she could comfortably deal with considering the scope of his wildness. But she wished to find out now that she had him… here, and while her feelings were chaotic and unsure, whether he wanted what she wanted. "Do you want to make love or not?"
    "You don't wish to tell me."
    "No." How could someone like Ranelagh ever understand?
    "I'm sorry I asked… and I do want to make love." He dropped the sheet he was carrying and pulled her close. "I won't ask another question. I'm here only to serve you, ma'am…"
    His cheeky smile matched the impertinence of his remark, but she wanted him, cheeky or not, inquisitive or not, disreputable or not, for the sheer beauty of his lovemaking. She nodded, a moment of truth for herself perhaps, or perhaps only affirmation of his statement. "Good… because I enjoy the quality of your"—she glanced down at his beautifully formed erection—" service."
    He took a small breath, the provocation in her words highly arousing. "Would the grass suit you, my lady?" His voice was soft, low, touched with a tantalizing deference, artless in its single-minded purpose.
    "Perfectly."
    "Is the sun warm enough?"
    "Very."
    "The scent of the flowers—is it adequate?"
    "Completely."
    "Then I should see if you're ready for me," he whispered.
    She felt his words in the heated core of her body, in the fevered rhythm of her heart, and