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Category: Erotica/Erotic Romance/Romance
Description: Kaitlyn Storm has loved Brett McGregor since she was seventeen, even before he pulled her into his arms and kissed her until she was breathless. But Brett pushed her away, not wanting to subject Kaitlyn to the demons inside him. Ten years later Brett is a widower with a dark secret he hides from everyone, especially Kaitlyn. He doesn't want her to get close, doesn't want to risk hurting her. Though he owns a prominent New Orleans art gallery, he no longer paints. Not since that black day six years ago when his wife died. And no matter how much Kaitlyn begs him, he won't paint her nude portrait, even though her lush body and sensual nature haunt his dreams at night. But Kaitlyn won't take no for an answer. She's determined to use all her powers of magic to convince Brett to start living and loving again, even if she has to seduce him while posing nude for a painting. And in the game of seducing the man she loves, Kaitlyn is relentless.
eBook Publisher: Ellora's Cave, 2005
eBookwise Release Date: August 2005

9 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [215 KB]
Words: 50664
Reading time: 144-202 min.

Kaitlyn Storm felt like a voyeur.

Standing outside Belle Saisons, Brett McGregor's art gallery, she watched him through the picture window, her heart climbing into her throat and nearly strangling her. He stood with his back to her, leaning over the counter talking to Marie, the receptionist. Tailored black slacks hugged his firm ass, the white shirt clinging to his muscular back. Her throat went dry. She licked her lips, suddenly very thirsty. Only one thing could quench her thirst. One thing she couldn't have.

Why did he always make her feel like she was seventeen again, tongue-tied and in the first throes of lust? That was a long time ago.

But the feelings had never gone away. Just looking at him tightened her nipples and made her wet. She should have long ago outgrown her teenage crush. After all, he'd married someone else, though he was a widower now. But he had been and always would be a friend of the Storm family and her brother Aidan's best friend, too.

He was also the one man she'd wanted with a hunger that refused to dissipate, despite the years and life events that had kept them apart.

He'd kept them apart, but she never could figure out why. Even at seventeen she'd tasted the hunger in his kiss, the way he'd crushed her against him in desperation, as if he wanted to devour her right on the spot. But then he'd pushed her away, and had left. Married someone else. Even six years after the accident resulting in his wife Amanda's death, he still avoided her.

She shook her head and forced the unwanted thoughts away. Business. She was here on business and nothing more. Lusting after a man who obviously didn't want you was a lesson in futility.

He walked through the double doors leading into the gallery. Inhaling sharply to calm the butterflies in her stomach, she swung open the front door, the soft tinkling of the little bell a welcoming reminder of the many times she'd heard that sound over the years. Recognizing Marie at the front desk, she waved and stopped there first, engaging the woman in quick catch-up conversation before heading back toward the gallery.

She moved through the double doors and down the long hallway toward the gallery. Polished wood floors shone like brand new, the white walls deliberately stark to take nothing away from the art hung there. She paused to examine an oil painting of her favorite French Quarter patisserie. Art was her passion, the only thing other than her job as Events Coordinator for the Rising Storm Hotel that made her breath catch and her heart race.

This painting caught her eye more than others. The sharp reds and whites of the awning sparkled under a midday summer sun. Casually dressed patrons sat at tiny round tables. Matching black wrought iron chairs peppered the fenced-off exterior the occupants of the chairs sipping café au lait and eating French confectionaries that made her mouth water. She imagined that first bite into her favorite warm pastry, powdered sugar flying off the flaky crust and into her mouth. Sweet, warm filling would burst from the center of the confection and slide over her tongue, the molten, sugary cream like an orgasm for her taste buds. She sighed, licked her lips and made a promise to herself to eat there tomorrow morning.

"Makes you hungry just looking at it, doesn't it?"

Startled, she whipped around at the sound of Brett's deep voice.

No, it wasn't the pastries. He made her hungry, made her pussy weep with need, her womb tighten, her nipples harden and her mouth water for a taste of him. Ten-year-old memories of being hauled against his chest and kissed with a passion she hadn't known existed still flamed so deep it was like she'd been branded. His one kiss had burned a memory into her brain cells that refused to go away.

How could it? Some men exuded sex. Brett McGregor was one of them. And he teased her with it, tantalized her with potent male sexuality that he held just outside her reach, dangling it like the proverbial carrot. Pretended he had no sexual interest in her when she knew damn well he did. Men like him should be outlawed.

And she had no business staring at him this way, had no business allowing her body to light up like a bonfire just from looking at him.

Then again, he had no business being so damn sexy he took her breath away. He had no business letting his dark brown hair grow a little too long, making her itch to brush it away from his face. He had no business having eyes the color of aged whiskey, the kind that burned a hole through a woman's clothes when he looked at her. He had no business having a perfect six-foot frame chiseled in all the right places. He had no business making her crazy like this for all these years.

She was getting tired of playing this game.

Using her anger as a shield, she arched a brow. "Well, you're still alive after all," she said, forcing calm into her voice, pasting a polite, businesslike smile on her face.

He arched a brow and offered a half-smile. "Was there ever any doubt?"

Even his voice sounded like sex by candlelight.

"You've broken three appointments in the past two weeks. The art council fundraiser is drawing near and I need your input, since you are the fundraising chairman and in charge of this event."

"Isn't that why I hired you in the first place? To take care of all the details so I wouldn't have to?"