PaintedPassion

by Tamara Hunter

  When she finished, she wrapped her arms around her middle. “Someone wants me out of the way.”

  He tugged her to her feet before leading her to the sink. “Are you cut anywhere?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  He ran a towel under cool water then patted her face with it.

  “I don’t want this to be the last event of my birthday.”

  He spotted fear in her eyes, hated to see its existence. “I know.”

  She grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. “Ugh. I need to brush my teeth.”

  Giving her privacy, Carlos rejoined Miguel, who had cleaned the floor and returned the now-broken frame into the box.

  “I was heading over to my girlfriend’s, but I can stay if you need me to.”

  Carlos shook his head. “No need. I’ll take care of Trella.”

  “What about the painting?”

  “I’ll pass it along to Jose in the morning and let him take it to the crime lab. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  Miguel picked up his car keys. “Call if you need me.”

  Carlos locked the doors behind Miguel then set the alarm. Instead of heading to his room, he climbed the stairs to check on Trella.

  “Get undressed,” she said as he entered her bedroom.

  Was this a delayed reaction? “Excuse me?”

  “Take your clothes off.”

  At her words, he jammed his hands in his pockets to disguise the thickening flesh behind his zipper. "Do you have a theory on why that particular painting was sent?”

  “No.”

  He worked the image over in his mind. “Why were flames igniting the clothing of the couple featured in the painting?”

  She disappeared into the walk-in closet, leaving him standing in the middle of the room.

  Was this a weird reaction to someone defaming her work?

  By the time Trella returned, she wore a pale-pink scrub top over the caftan. Over her arm, she carried a man’s suit.

  “I need to paint.”

  He advanced into the room. “Wouldn’t you rather rest? Talk?”

  “I don’t need to rest.” She handed him the suit. “Take this in the bathroom and put on the pants and shirt only. Leave the jacket off.”

  He eyed the clothing doubtfully. If the outfit belonged to Louis, the pants would be three inches too short. “Was this Louis’?”

  She shook her head. “I guessed at your size.”

  He shot her a look of disbelief.

  Trella shrugged. “I keep some clothing for when I have models sit for me.”

  Still uncertain she wasn’t operating on stress overload, he accepted the clothing. In the bathroom, he changed into the shirt and slacks, which proved a perfect fit. He buttoned the crisp, white shirt as he joined her in the small studio.

  She switched on the CD player, sending instrumental jazz through the room. She pointed at the daybed.

  Painting is how she deals with stress. “Lie down? Sit?”

  She stood in front of him, staring, but he knew from their previous sessions not to disturb her as she visualized the finished project in her mind.

  Trella looked at him then studied the bed. “Stand beside it. Where’s the jacket?”

  He handed it to her. She arranged it atop the bed.

  She gripped his shirt, and he held his breath as she undid the buttons, her short nails lightly raking his chest. The shirt billowed open, and she smoothed her hands down his chest to the top button of the black slacks. He moved his hands to cover hers, stopping any further movement.

  She swatted his hands away. “Pretend you’re fastening cufflinks on your left sleeve. Look down at the task as if it’s the most important thing to you.”

  Carlos held the pose as Trella hurried to the canvas. As the soft swish of the brush accompanied the music, he zoned out, imagining himself preparing to take her out, show her off as his woman. They’d be chronically late to every event. Distracted by Trella’s gorgeous body, he’d no doubt keep dragging her back to bed for just one more round of hot sex.

  He envisioned her lying on her back, running her hands over her breasts in a silent invitation for his touch. What type of lover would she be? Quiet? Vocal? Did she enjoy different positions or prefer missionary?

  “Doing okay?” she asked.

  He nodded as images of her begging for his kiss dissipated from his mind like steam. Aided by the soft breeze from the open doors, he identified her sensual and earthy scent.

  “Did Louis ever sit for you?”

  She was silent so long he wondered if she heard him. He considered repeating the question but decided against it, not wanting to interrupt her concentration.

  He chuckled inwardly. If he and the guys had known Louis was sitting for Trella, they’d have given him endless grief.

  “How long have you been a fan of Santana?” she asked.

  He wasn’t surprised she didn’t choose to answer his question. He wanted her to open up to him and share herself, but he had to take his time. She wanted him. He knew enough about women to recognize the signs. As much as he loved Louis, he didn’t want to be his substitute.

  “I’ve been a fan ever since I can remember. My parents listened to his music.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  Taken off guard by her request, he broke the pose, glancing over at her. He wondered how much Louis had mentioned to her. “They emigrated from Mexico. Married young. My mother was the daughter of a renowned ballet dancer. Her parents were not at all pleased she fell in love with my father, who was a farmer.”

  “No siblings? You seem close to Miguel’s mother.”

  The rich undulation of her voice wrapped around him, drawing him into her, and he wanted to share his past. “She’s my father’s sister. My mother was advised not to have any more children due to the strain on her health.” He smiled. “Food and fun. That was our motto. Louis’ parents, Alfonso and his wife, as well as Tia Elena helped raise me after my parents died.”

  She stopped painting, pinning her soft gaze on him. “I’m sorry you lost them at such a young age. How did you move beyond blaming the drunk driver?”

  Carlos hadn’t talked about the accident in years. But oddly, he didn’t mind talking about it with her. “I blamed myself a long time for being unable to pull them to safety before the car exploded.”

  Her unwavering attention prodded him to continue. “My parents were hardworking, God-fearing people. Eventually, I realized it wasn’t my fault.” He gave a faint smile. “I know they’d be proud of what I’ve accomplished. I didn’t have them for long, but the times we shared were some of the best in my life.”

  A mournful sax filled the silence. He decided his parents would have liked Trella had they met her.

  She cleared her throat. “Louis never sat for me. Francois thought it had something to do with me not wanting to put my marriage on display.”

  He held her gaze, praying she wouldn’t shut down. “Did it?”

  Several brushstrokes later she answered him. “No.”

  He waited for her to continue, but she said nothing else. “Doesn’t matter if Louis wasn’t a subject of one of your works.”

  “I try not to feel guilty but—”

  “Don’t bury your feelings, Trella. Otherwise, you’re existing, not living. Acknowledge the guilt and move on. No one should judge you for what you feel.”

  Trella laid the brush on the palette. “When did you feel alive again after losing your parents?”

  Her whispered question provided Carlos with the impetus to move from the daybed to stand in front of her. The heat from her body warmed him.

  “Everyone’s process of moving on is different. When it’s time, it’ll happen.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I think this is my time,” Trella whispered after a pregnant pause. She placed her palms against his chest, fingers toying with the sprinkling of hair between his pecs. “You were right about what you said earlier this week. Our kiss ended too soon, and I liked
it,” she whispered. “I want more.”

  She couldn’t fight her need for him. Maybe after giving in to him she’d have better luck at controlling her desire. She peeled off the top then threw it behind her. His eyes widened, but she saw the flicker of arousal staring back at her.

  He stepped closer, dwarfing her in her personal space. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Heart racing at the decision to stop fighting her body’s response to him, Trella lost herself in his dark-chocolate eyes. “Too bad. I know one thing I’d enjoy happening to me.”

  She leaned forward. The enticing musk of his scent filled her nostrils. She drew her tongue across the surface of his nipple.

  His groan filled the room. He curved a hand around the back of her neck, encouraging her to continue. She touched her mouth to the other nipple, sucking the hardened nub then soothing it with her tongue.

  Straightening, she slid her hands down his taut torso to his waist. His hold on her loosened, and she moved closer to stand flush against him.

  The kiss occurred so fast she didn’t have time to process the fact before his full lips descended onto hers. At their firm touch, her lids fluttered closed. Her body heated further, leaving behind the graphite grays of danger and relishing in the sun-kissed golds, burnt oranges and flaming reds of desire. She moaned, allowing her hands to travel his torso, storing every line and valley of his form in her memory banks.

  He would leave once they exposed Hector’s operation. And she would let him go. But tonight, she craved reassurance of a connection to someone. No…not anyone—specifically Carlos. He alone understood what she was going through.

  His arms tightened around her. He lazily entwined his tongue with hers then stroked it in simulation of the action she hoped they would engage in soon. He gripped her bottom, squeezing her rounded flesh before lifting her against him.

  She wrapped her legs around his hips, gasping as he moved the hard ridge of his erection from side to side against her pelvis. Desire and heat ripped through her core, making her tingle with anticipation.

  He lifted his head. “La cama,” he croaked.

  Nodding, Trella cradled his face between her hands. She was positive she’d combust before he took her to bed. “Please.”

  She kissed him, rejoicing when he accepted her tongue, letting her dictate the kiss. Pure female power radiated through her. She poured everything into the kiss. Taking a cue from him, she rotated her pelvis in a slow circle.

  He groaned at her movement. “¿Estas segura?”

  She shifted again, placing her lips against his ear. “I’m sure.”

  He carried her into the bedroom, where he laid her onto her back atop the soft sheets. He remained standing for a minute, staring at her.

  Confused by his quietness, Trella swung her legs beneath her, rising to a sitting position.

  “Didn’t tell you to move, sweetheart.” He grabbed her feet and yanked, returning her to the original position.

  She squealed as he straddled her, a thigh on each side of hers.

  She ran her hands up his firm thighs and around to stroke the tight muscles of his rear. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Lie still.” He captured the zipper tab of the caftan between his teeth and dragged it down to rest just below the rise of her breasts.

  She tried to slow her breathing, but the feel of his warm breath against her skin demolished any attempt at calmness. Maybe next time she’d play coy, but now she couldn’t help reacting to every move.

  He traced the valley between her breasts with his tongue. Shock and surprise arched her back off the bed as he loved her breasts through the silk material. The damp fabric cooled her heated skin. He drew her further from a rational state with wet, insistent tugs on her nipples.

  “Trella?”

  “Yeah?” Her center throbbed, and her breathing grew ragged. She gathered the sheet in her fists.

  “I really adore your real body parts,” he whispered against her flesh.

  His attention switched from the left to the right, from the right to the left, not allowing her the opportunity to recover from each delicious sensation. She panted, struggling to control her breath.

  She’d had no idea her breasts were this sensitive. No one had ever paid such detailed attention to them.

  Carlos lifted his head. “Don’t hold back your response.”

  He returned his attention to her breasts. His mouth, hot and insistent, kissed each nipple, lightly biting then soothing each one with wet swipes of his tongue. Over and over he teased her flesh. Each suctioning tug of his hot mouth caused an answering tingle between her legs that grew into a roaring ache.

  She moved against him restlessly, wanting to feel him inside her. She was floating, suspended somewhere between anticipation and satisfaction. He was the master painter. His hands slid over her as if they were fine sable brushes, learning what made her whimper, gasp and beg.

  He shifted, bringing his thighs between hers, sliding her legs farther apart. He lowered his body onto hers in slow, agonizing degrees. The touch of his erection against the spot where she wanted him caused her hips to wind in slow circles against his.

  Driven by a passion she’d never experienced, she ground against him. Each touch, each kiss was leading her on a journey. Each time he thrust his hardened length against her, he propelled her faster and quicker toward the precipice. His teeth toyed with her nipples. He bit her gently, following each nip with a soft swipe of his tongue.

  She thrust her breasts forward, offering him more. He sucked harder, and the tingling began in her feet, traveled quickly up her legs and exploded at her center, shattering every cell in its wake. Her bones were liquid, body replete with satisfaction. He continued kissing and nipping at her flesh as she came down from her high.

  Her chest rose with each gasping breath. She managed a weak smile. “I wanted to come with you.”

  He rose above her, holding his weight off her. He kissed her, capturing her tongue in a sensual suck before releasing her. “You’ll have plenty of chances to come with me tonight. It’s okay.” He dragged the zipper of her caftan down farther, stopping when he arrived at her bellybutton. He laved the indentation.

  His slow, soft licks against her stomach shot her arousal into the stratosphere.

  “Estrella.”

  He uttered her name in a thick baritone as streams of pleasure flowed through her. He reached up, his large hands covering her breasts, kneading them, pulling gently on her nipples before exerting more pressure. A bit of pain followed by a flood of pleasure.

  She shivered.

  He dragged the zipper of the caftan lower, exposing her black lace boy shorts. He rubbed his face against the front of her underwear. “I love your smell,” he whispered. Sitting on his knees, he divested her of the caftan but left on her underwear.

  Restless for him to touch her again, Trella squirmed in an effort to make him hurry, but he didn’t acknowledge her unspoken request.

  Carlos kissed a line from her navel to the top of her sex. Anchoring his hands beneath her knees, he pushed her legs up, leaving her exposed to him. Lying on his stomach, he pressed a kiss onto her swollen, lace-covered pussy.

  She gasped as waves of pleasure assaulted her. Her body melted at his touch, leaving her nothing more than a mass of nerve endings. Her eyes slammed shut as he slid his tongue up one side of her folds before repeating the action on the other side.

  “I love your taste.” He circled the nub of nerves.

  She clutched the sheet again. Her back arched off the bed. Opening her eyes, she released the linen. She snaked her hands to his head, holding him to her in case he considered stopping.

  “I love how responsive you are.”

  Placing his mouth flush against her, he pushed his tongue into her entrance, the wet lace providing an extra layer of friction. She trembled as he pushed her higher toward a release.

  “Come for me.” He stroked her clit with his tongue, dragging s
low licks against her plump, silky flesh. He caught the bud in a hard suckle.

  She screamed as if someone could save her. Her body jerked in movements she had no hope or desire of controlling.

  He shifted to a sitting position. Her heart danced at the raw look of desire on his face.

  He tugged the drenched boy shorts down her legs. He held them up. “What should I do with these?”

  “Whatever you want,” she whispered.

  He passed them beneath his nose with a long inhale before tossing them onto the floor. “I’d keep them as a souvenir, but I’m sure there’ll be plenty more opportunities.”

  She flushed at the certainty of his words.

  He watched her with hooded eyes. He rose from the bed, divesting himself of the white shirt, which he hung on the back of a chair. He unzipped the slacks, allowing them to fall to the floor, and then stepped out of the puddle of material. He added them to the shirt.

  Her heart raced as she watched him peel off black boxer briefs, exposing himself to her view. His cock jutted toward her, expressing its eagerness to return to her.

  She licked her lips. “Do I get to return the favor?”

  Her question brought a slow smile from Carlos. “Later. I can’t handle your mouth on me right now.” He retrieved a condom from his wallet before sheathing himself. “I’m too anxious to be inside you.” He lay beside her, enveloping her in his arms. “You are so beautiful.” He rolled onto his back, bringing her atop him.

  Sitting on his abdomen, Trella ran her hands over his massive chest. She familiarized herself with his body, thrilling in the fact he was ticklish down the sides of his torso. She lowered her upper body, allowing her nipples to sweep against his chest. She licked along each curve and line of his BB5 tattoo, each swipe marking him hers. He thrust his hands into her hair.

  She shifted lower, his thick erection brushing against her clit. She circled her hips, rubbing against him.

  He groaned.

  She stopped moving. His thighs flexed as he pushed his hips upward in an attempt to penetrate her.

  She leaned forward, allowing her nipples to rub against his chest. “Somebody’s in a hurry.”