Sullivan's Woman by Nora Roberts

question had been rhetorical. “I want more than an illusion. I want passion. You’ve passion in you, Cassidy, more, by heaven, than I need for this painting.” He turned to face her again, and she felt the room vibrate with his tension. Her heart began to quicken in response. “I want a promise. I want a woman who invites a lover. I want expectation and the freshness that springs from innocence. Untouched but not untouchable. It’s that you have to give me. That’s the essence of it.” In his frustration, the cadence of his native land became more obvious. The fire of his talent flickered in his eyes. Fascinated, Cassidy watched him, not speaking even when he stopped directly in front of her. “There would be a softness in your eyes and just a trace of heat. There would be a giving in the set of your mouth that comes from having just been kissed, from waiting to be kissed again. Like this.”
    His mouth took hers quickly, stunningly. He framed her face with his hands, thumbs brushing her cheeks while he took the kiss into trembling intimacy with terrifying speed. His lips were warm and soft and experienced. His tongue plundered without warning. Somewhere deep within her came an answer. Passion, long overlooked, smoldered, then kindled, then licked tentatively into flame. She tasted the flavor of power. As quickly as his mouth had taken, it liberated.
    Though she was unaware of it, her expression was exactly what he’d demanded of her—expectant, inviting, innocent. Fleetingly he dropped his gaze to her mouth; then, taking his time, he removed his hands from her face. Impatience flickered in his eyes before he turned and strode to his easel.
    Cassidy tried to steady her spinning brain. Reason told her the kiss had meant nothing, a means to an end, but her heart thudded in contradiction. In a few brief seconds he had stirred up a hunger she hadn’t been aware of having, had stirred up desires she hadn’t been aware she had. It was more a revelation, she thought bemusedly, than a kiss. Forcing her breathing to slow, she tried to keep the quick encounter in perspective.
    She was a grown woman. Kisses were more common than handshakes. It was her treacherous imagination that had turned it into something else.
Only my imagination
, she decided as she calmed, and his utter effrontery. He’d taken her totally by surprise. He’d kissed her when he’d had no right to do so, and in a way that had been both proprietary and intimate. No man had ever been permitted either of the privileges, and his seizure of them had left her shaken. Cassidy could justify her reaction to Colin by intellectually dissecting the scene, its cause and results. She turned her emotions over to her mind and plotted the scene. She examined motivations. Still, something lingered inside her that could not quite be rationalized or explained away. Disturbed, she tried to ignore it.
    â€œWe’ll stop now,” Colin stated abruptly and put aside the charcoal. He glanced up as he cleaned his hands on a paint rag. She thought perhaps he saw Cassidy St. John again for the first time since he had set the pose. “Relax.”
    When Cassidy obeyed, she was surprised to find her muscles stiff. “How long have I been standing there?” she demanded as she arched her back. “A good bit more than twenty minutes.”
    Colin shrugged, his eyes back on the canvas. “Perhaps. It’s moving nicely. Do you want coffee?”
    Cassidy scowled at his casual dismissal of the time. “Twenty minutes is quite long enough to stand in one position. I’ll bring a kitchen timer with me from now on, and yes, I want coffee.”
    He ignored the first two-thirds of her statement and headed for the door. “I’ll fix some.”
    â€œAm I allowed to look?” She gestured toward the canvas as he drew back the bolt.
    â€œNo.”
    She made a sound of disgust. “What about the