Sullivan's Woman by Nora Roberts Page A

for, she would wait. Before Colin there had never been any temptation to do otherwise. Still, when she returned to his studio, she was prepared to stand firm against him. Her preparation proved unnecessary.
    Colin spoke to her only briefly, and when he set the pose his touch was impersonal. But there seemed to be some surge of emotion just under the surface of his face, something that just stirred the air. Whether it was temper or passion or excitement, Cassidy had no way of knowing. She knew only she was vitally aware of it . . . and of him.
    They passed the days with only what needed to be said, and long gaps of silence filled the sessions. By the end of the week Cassidy’s nerves were stretched taut. She wondered if Colin felt the tension, or if it was simply within her. He seemed intent only on the painting.
    ***
    The sun fell over Cassidy warmly, but her muscles were growing stiff from holding the pose. Colin stood behind his easel, and she watched his brush move from palette to canvas. He could work for hours without a moment’s rest. Cassidy tried to imagine how he had painted her.
    Will I hang in The Gallery or face the wall in a corner up here until he decides what to do with me? she thought. Will I be sold for some astronomical price and hang in a manor house in England? What will he title me?
Woman in White. Woman with Violets.
She tried to imagine being discussed and pondered over by an art class in a university. A century from now, will someone see me in some dusty gallery and wonder who I was or what I was thinking when he painted me?
    The idea gave Cassidy an odd feeling, one she was not certain wholly pleased her. How much of her soul could Colin see, and how much would be revealed with oil and canvas? Would she, in essence, be as naked as the model who’d lounged on the couch?
    Colin swore roundly, snapping her attention back to him. Her eyes widened as he slammed down his palette.
    â€œYou’ve moved the pose.” He stalked toward her as her mouth opened to form an apology. “Hold still, blast you,” he ordered curtly, adjusting her shoulders with impatient hands. His brows were lowered in annoyance. “I won’t tolerate fidgeting.”
    Cassidy’s mouth snapped shut on her apology. Swift and heated, her temper rose. With one quick jerk she pulled out of his hands. “Don’t you speak to me that way, Sullivan.” She threw her nosegay on the windowsill and glared at him. “I was not fidgeting, and if I were, it would be because I’m human, not a—a robot or a dime-store dummy.” She tossed her head, effectively destroying his arrangement of her hair. “I’m sure it’s difficult to understand a mere mortal when one is so lofty and godlike, but we can’t all be perfect.”
    â€œYour opinions are neither requested nor desired.” Colin’s voice was as cold as his eyes were heated. “The only thing I require from a model is that she hold still.” He took her shoulders again, firmly. “Keep your temper to yourself when I’m working.”
    â€œGo paint a tree, then,” she invited furiously. “It won’t give you any back talk.” Cassidy turned to stalk to the dressing room, but Colin grabbed her arm and spun her around. His face was alive with temper.
    â€œNo one walks away from me.”
    â€œIs that so?” Cassidy lifted her chin, infuriated with his arrogance. “Watch this.” She turned her back on him only to be whirled around again before she had taken two steps. “Let go of me,” she ordered as blood surged angrily under her skin. Nerves that had been stretched for a week strained to the breaking point. “I’ve nothing more to say, and I’m through holding your blasted pose for the day.”
    His grip on her arm tightened. “Very well, but there’s more between us than painting and talking, isn’t there?” He bit off the