Strokes by Ashlyn Chase, Dalton Diaz Page A

didn’t really have time for this but he was so hot she couldn’t resist the opportunity to get better acquainted. And he was right. There was nothing as lonely as the solitary life of a writer or artist. Perhaps, as a stranger in this country, he hadn’t had time to make friends. She didn’t see a computer anywhere, so he probably felt more isolated than she did.
    She wouldn’t change a thing but on her worst days she wondered what would happen if she dropped dead. Would anyone miss her until the rent was overdue?
    With a sigh she entered the ruined apartment and lowered herself onto the chair he had offered. He sat on the edge of a futon and leaned forward. “I’d offer you something to drink but I no longer have anything to put it in. I’m sorry I have been too hurried to socialize. I’ll invite you for a proper Italian meal after I buy new dishware.”
    “You cook?”
    “Yes. I cannot afford a restaurant every night and no one makes lasagna like mine.”
    Darcy’s mouth watered. She could almost smell the melted cheeses and bubbling tomato sauce. “That sounds wonderful, but let me give you some dishes. I have more than I’ll ever use.”
    “That would be very kind. I am sorry I disturbed you earlier.”
    “I’m not,” she said, surprised that she actually meant it. “I never would have come upstairs if I weren’t ready to wring your neck.”
    He looked puzzled. “Ring my neck?” He pointed to his ring finger, which was luckily bare. Relief washed over her. Perhaps she’d flirt with this gorgeous hunk and see where it led.
    “Yeah, you almost bought the farm, baby.”
    He cocked his head. “You have strange expressions but you are most beautiful to look at. You could be a model.”
    She lowered her lashes, embarrassed but insanely pleased at the same time. Erotic images of the two of them tangled in those pristine sheets rolled through her brain.
    “In fact,” he added with a new gleam in his eye, “if you would consider modeling for me, I will cook for you every night.”
    She laughed again but considered the offer. “You know…if I could read while you paint, that just might work.”
    His whole face lit up. “Then we can help each other!”
    “Yes, I guess we can.” Oh yes. He could help her, all right. Help her end her frustration from an unusually long dry spell without a man pistoning between her legs.
    * * * * *
     
    The following night, Darcy joined Paolo for dinner. Fortunately his metal lasagna pan had survived the previous model’s temper tantrum. Darcy’s contribution to the meal was unbreakable dinnerware. He had opened a bottle of red wine to let it breathe before she arrived and welcomed her with a full glass as soon as she provided the wineglasses.
    “Thanks for being so quiet last night. I finally finished and submitted my book review.”
    “ Magnifico! A toast.” He raised his glass.
    “To deadlines met.”
    “ Si .”
    Their glasses met and clinked.
    Darcy glanced around the neat apartment. “I see you’ve tidied up. You’d never know Prude-zilla had barreled through here only yesterday.”
    He grinned. Oh, that smile!
    “I’m glad you arrived when you did. I wouldn’t want to think that all American women were that way.”
    “American men seem to think we’re psychotic as a general rule, but don’t believe them. Some of us are quite stable.”
    “Ha,” he said, “they are simply surprised by the passion beneath a woman’s smooth surface. But it is that passion that makes you alive. I don’t know if I said that right.”
    Darcy slinked over to him and stroked his arm. His muscles flexed and were every bit as hard as they looked. “You said it perfectly.” Whether it was her sultry delivery or the words themselves, she earned another smile.
    Then his expression turned thoughtful. “I think the girl, she was too young—and possibly psychotic.”
    They both laughed.
    He touched her hair. “But you are not too young to model nude, correct?”
    “No,