Sullivan's Woman by Nora Roberts Page A

others?” Her gesture took in the canvases against the wall. “Are they a secret, too?”
    â€œHelp yourself. Just stay away from the one I’m working on.” Colin disappeared, presumably to fetch the promised coffee.
    Making a face at the empty doorway, Cassidy set down the nosegay and wandered toward the neglected canvases. They were stacked here and tilted there, without order or design. Some were small while others were large enough to require some effort on her part to turn them around. Within moments, whatever minor irritation she’d felt was eclipsed by admiration for his talent. She saw why Colin Sullivan was considered a master of color and light. Moreover she saw the sensitivity she had detected in his hands and the strength she had felt there. There was insight and honesty in his portraits, vitality in his city scenes and landscapes. A play of shadows, a splatter of light, and the paintings breathed his mood. She wondered if he painted what he saw or what he felt, then understood it was a marriage of both. She decided that he saw more than the average mortal was entitled to see. His gift was as much in his perception as in his hands. The paintings moved her almost as deeply as the man had.
    Carefully she turned another canvas. The subject was beautiful. The woman’s undraped body lounged negligently on the couch that now sat empty at the far end of the studio. There was a lazy smile on her face and a careless confidence in the attitude of her naked limbs. From the milky skin and gypsy eyes, Cassidy recognized the model Gail had spoken of that morning.
    â€œA lovely creature, isn’t she?” Colin asked from behind. Cassidy started.
    â€œYes.” She turned and accepted the proffered mug. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman.”
    Colin’s brow arched as he moved his shoulders. “Of a type, she’s nearly perfect, and her body is exquisite.”
    Cassidy frowned into her coffee and tried to pretend the stab of irritation didn’t exist.
    â€œShe has a basic sexuality and is comfortable with it.”
    â€œYes.” Sipping her coffee, Cassidy spoke mildly. “You’ve captured it remarkably well.”
    Her tone betrayed her. Colin grinned. “Ah, Cass, it’s an open book you are and surely the most delightful creature I’ve met in years.” The thickened brogue rolled easily off his tongue. Better women than she, Cassidy was certain, had fallen for the Gaelic charm.
    She tossed her head, but the glare she had intended to flash at him turned of its own volition into a smile. “I can’t keep up with you, Sullivan.” She studied him over the rim of her mug. Sunlight shot through her hair and shadowed the silk of the dress. “Why did you settle in San Francisco?” she asked.
    Colin straddled one of the abandoned wooden chairs, keeping his eyes on her. She wondered if he saw her as a person now or still as a subject. “It’s a cross section of the world. I like the contrasts and its sordid history.”
    â€œAnd that it trades on that sordid history rather than apologizing for it,” Cassidy concluded with an agreeing nod. “But don’t you miss Ireland?”
    â€œI go back now and then.” He lifted his coffee and drank deeply. “It feeds me, like a mother’s breast. Here I find passion, there I find peace. The soul requires both.” He glanced up at her again and searched her face. The violet of her eyes had darkened. Her expression revealed her thoughts. They were all on him. Colin turned away from the innocent candor of her eyes. “Finish your coffee. I want to perfect the preliminary outline today. I’ll start in oil tomorrow.”
    ***
    The morning passed almost completely in silence while she took advantage of Colin’s absorption to study him. She had read of the dark devil looks and fiery blue eyes of the volatile black Irish, and now she found them