Succubus Shadows Page 0,52

been attracted to me from the first day. Nonetheless, a sense of propriety and professional boundaries made him keep his distance. This was something I intended to change, and I frequently stayed with him while he worked on the wall, knowing it would only be a matter of time before he gave in to my charms.

"Ovid didn't know anything about love," I told him one day. I was lounging on a sofa, caught up in one of the literary discussions we so often stumbled into. His ability to engage in these talks added to his allure. He looked up at me with mock incredulity, pausing in his painting.

"Nothing about love? Woman, bite your tongue! He's the authority! He wrote books on it. Books that are still read and used today."

I sat up from my undignified repose. "They aren't relevant. They were written for a different time. He devotes pages to telling men where to meet women. But those places aren't around anymore. Women don't go to races or fights. We can't even linger in public areas anymore." This came out with more bitterness than I intended. The artistic culture of this time was wonderful, but it had come with a restriction of female roles that differed from those I'd grown used to in other places and eras.

"Perhaps," Niccol貌 agreed. "But the principles are still the same. As are the techniques."

"Techniques?" I repressed a snort. Honestly, what could a mere mortal know about seduction techniques? "They're nothing but superficial gestures. Give your ladylove compliments. Talk about things you have in common - like the weather. Help her fix her dress if it gets mussed. What does any of that have to do with love?"

"What does anything have to do with love anymore? If anything, those comments are particularly applicable now. Marriage is all about business." He tilted his head toward me in a speculative manner that was typical of him. "You've done something with your hair today that's extremely pretty, by the way."

I paused in return, thrown off by the compliment. "Thank you. Anyway. You're right: marriage is business. But some of them are love matches. Or love can grow. And plenty of clandestine affairs, no matter how 'sinful,' are based on love."

"So your problem is that Ovid is ruining what love is still left?" His eyes drifted to the window, and he frowned. "Does it look like it'll rain out there?"

The zeal of this topic seized hold of me, making his abrupt interruptions that much more annoying. "Yes - what? I mean, no, it won't rain, and, yes, that's what he's doing. Love is already so rare. By approaching it like a game, he cheapens what little there is."

Niccol貌 abandoned his brushes and colors and sat down next to me on the couch. "You don't think love is a game?"

"Sometimes - all right, most of the time - yes, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't - " I stopped. His fingers had slid to the edge of my dress's neckline. "What are you doing?"

"This is crooked. I'm straightening it."

I stared and then started laughing as the ruse revealed itself. "You're doing it. You're following his advice."

"Is it working?"

I reached for him. "Yes."

He pulled back. This wasn't what he'd expected. He'd only intended to tease me, proving his point with a game. Averting his eyes, he began to rise.

"I should get back to work...." He was rarely thrownoff, and I'd disarmed him.

Gripping him with surprising strength, I jerked him back to me and pressed my lips to his. They were soft and sweet, and after a few stunned moments, he responded, his tongue moving eagerly into my mouth. Then, realizing what he was doing, he drew away once more.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..."

I could see the longing in his eyes, the desire he'd held back since working for me. He wanted me, but even a roguish artistic type felt it was wrong to do this with an unmarried, upper-class woman - particularly one who'd employed him.

"You started it," I warned in a low voice. "You were trying to prove me wrong about Ovid. Looks like it worked."

I put my hand behind his neck, pulling his mouth back down to my own. He still initially resisted, but it didn't last. And when his hand began slowly pushing up the folds of my skirts, I knew I'd won and that it was time to retreat to the bedroom.

Once there, he abandoned any attempts at decorum. He pushed me down onto the bed, the