Free PortraitofPassion by Lynne Barron Page B

from her happily rediscovered breasts to her
face. She tilted her head to the side and studied him, a smile still teasing
her lips.
    “Easton, are you all right?” she asked quietly. “You haven’t
said a word, well apart from that bit about the butler.”
    “And the part about you just rising from your bed,” he
reminded her just as quietly and watched her eyes widen before she laughed—a
dark and husky laugh that rolled over him like a wave.
    “I thought I should be proper and ignore that part,” she
said. She turned and walked across the room as she added, “After all, one of us
should be. And today it seems it shall be me.”
    Simon swallowed a bite of lemon muffin quickly before he
could choke on the chuckle that tried to escape.
    “You? Proper?” he teased. Mabel’s head swung around and she
glared at him.
    “I can be, you know.” She had stopped in front of the sink
and he saw that she was pouring milk into a glass. She turned and started back
across the kitchen before continuing. “I know how. I simply choose not to be.
Much more fun that way.” She handed the glass to him and stood watching while
he took a sip before handing it back to her.
    He stood in absolute awe as she proceeded to take a long
swallow from the glass he had just handed back to her.
    “What do you think?” she asked, licking the foam from her
upper lip.
    Think? How could he possibly think? How could he think when
he was standing in the kitchen with her looking up at him while she licked her
lips? How could he be expected to think when she was wearing what had to be her
nightgown with her hair still in its braid from the night before? How was he to
think with her bare shoulders and bare toes on display?
    He looked over to his right to find that Mabel had risen
from her stool to lean one plump hip against the table, her arms crossed over
her ample bosom. She was beyond glaring at him now, she was shooting daggers.
    Beatrice followed his eyes and whatever Mabel saw in her
gaze had her huffing and puffing toward the other door, the one that must lead
to the dining room. She cast one final look over her shoulder before slamming
through the door with such force it bounced against the wall and swooshed back
and forth before finally stopping.
    Simon turned back to find that Beatrice had stepped closer
to him. She was so close that he could see tiny flecks of amber in her brown
eyes, close enough that he could smell her scent, floral and minty. She
continued to regard him silently for three beats of his heart. He knew it was
three, he counted. Three slow beats. Time seemed to stand still.
    “Do you like it?” she asked in the softest of voices.
    “Yes,” he whispered back, though he hadn’t a clue to what
she referred. Her bare shoulders? Her bare toes? Her braided hair? Her
ridiculous dress? Her kissable mouth?
    “Good,” she said. “Here, wash it down with some more milk.”
    Simon looked from the glass she had handed him to the
half-eaten muffin and let out a bark of laughter.
    “The muffin!” he exclaimed before taking a quick sip of
milk.
    “What did you think I meant?” she asked as she stepped back.
The twinkle in her eyes told him she knew. “Did you think I was fishing for
compliments?”
    “It crossed my mind,” he replied, stepping farther into the
room to set aside the now empty glass and his hat. He leaned one hip against
the table, much as Mabel the Hun had done, and withdrew a handkerchief from his
pocket to wipe away the crumbs from the muffin.
    “Don’t be silly, Easton,” she said. “I have no need to fish
for compliments from you.”
    “No?” he asked. God, she was beautiful. The light from the
window above the sink drifted over her, bringing out myriad colors in her hair
and bouncing off the freckles on her shoulders. Her entire countenance shone
with happiness and warmth.
    “No,” she said looking him straight in the eyes. “I know
that you want me.”
    Would she ever stop surprising