Sullivan's Woman Read Free Page B

dimmed in the fog. They were alone. “I can break a two-by-four in half with my bare hand,” she added when his expression failed to register terror and respect. She noted that the fingers on her chin were strong, and that despite his rangy build his shoulders were broad. “And I can scream very loudly,” she continued. “You’d better go away.”
    â€œPerfect,” he murmured and ran his thumb along her jawline. Cassidy’s heart thudded with alarm. “Absolutely perfect. Yes, you’ll do.” All at once the intensity cleared from his eyes, and he smiled. The transformation was so rapid, so startling, Cassidy simply stared. “Why would you want to do that?”
    â€œDo what?” Cassidy asked, astonished by his metamorphosis.
    â€œBreak a two-by-four in half with your bare hand.”
    â€œDo
what
?” Her own bogus claim was forgotten. Confused, she frowned at him. “Oh, well, it’s—it’s for practice, I suppose. You have to think right through the board, I believe, so that—” She stopped, realizing she was standing on a deserted dock in the fog holding an absurd conversation with a maniac who still had her chin in his hand. “You’d really better let me go and be on your way before I have to do something drastic.”
    â€œYou’re exactly what I’ve been looking for,” he told her but made no attempt to act on her suggestion. She noted there was a slight cadence to his speech that suggested an ethnic background, but she did not pause to narrow the choices.
    â€œWell, I’m sorry. I’m not interested. I have a husband who’s a linebacker for the 49ers. He’s six feet five, two hundred and sixty-three pounds, and very jealous. He’ll be along any minute. Now let me go and you can have the blasted ten dollars.”
    â€œWhat the devil are you babbling about?” His brows lowered again. With the fog swirling thinly at his back, he looked fierce. Abruptly, one black brow flew up to disappear beneath the careless curls. “Do you think I’m going to mug you?” A flash of irritation crossed his face. “My dear child, I’ve no designs on your ten dollars or on your honor. I’m going to paint you, not ravish you.”
    â€œPaint me?” Cassidy was intrigued. “Are you an artist? You don’t look like one.” She considered his dashing, buccaneer’s features. “What sort of an artist are you?”
    â€œAn excellent one,” he replied easily and tilted her face a tad higher. A splash of moonlight found it. “I’m famous, talented, and temperamental.” The charming smile was back in his face, and the cadence was Irish. Cassidy responded to both.
    â€œI’m desperately impressed,” she said. He was obviously a lunatic but an appealing one. She forgot to be afraid.
    â€œOf course you are,” he agreed and turned her head to left profile. “It’s only to be expected.” He freed her chin at last, but the tingle of his fingers remained on her skin. “I’ve a houseboat just outside the city. We’ll go there and I can start sketching you tonight.”
    Cassidy’s eyes lit with wary amusement. “Aren’t you supposed to offer to show me sketches, or is this a variation on an old theme?” She no longer considered him dangerous, merely persistent.
    He sighed, and she watched the quick annoyance flash over his face. “The woman has a one-track mind. Listen . . . What is your name?”
    â€œCassidy,” she answered automatically. “Cassidy St. John.”
    â€œOh, no, half-Irish, half-English. We’ll have trouble there.” He stuck his hands into his pockets. His eyes seemed determined to know every inch of her face. “Cassidy, I have no need for your ten dollars, and no plans to tamper with your virtue. What I want is your face. I’ve a sketch pad and so