by Scott, D. D.
His lips skimmed across her ribs, her belly, halting at the edge of her thong. He gazed into her eyes as his teeth latched on and peeled the thin strip low, and with a twist and turn, pulled it down her legs and from her body. She felt the tremor ripple through her and knew he would not have to work hard to get her where they both wanted her to go.
His hair fell forward, shading his eyes. He grasped her waist and brought her forward, until her bottom almost popped off the edge of the table. “I do my best work here, Lai. Want to see?” His hands spread her thighs until she was open before him like a gift.
She lifted her foot to caress the erection tenting the front of his boxers. “Yes.” She barely recognized the anguished voice coming from her throat.
He kissed the inside of her thigh and batted her foot away. “Later, sweetheart. This is your fantasy, remember?” Then, he went to work.
And it was his best, or the best she’d ever had.
She arched into his touch as his fingers slid into her folds, her head and shoulders dipping back until they met the hard line of the table. Her hands tangled in his hair, at first to restrain his movements, then to guide, to urge. He lingered only a moment before pressing his lips to the nub that held the key to her pleasure. She groaned and pulled him closer into her. “There, Just. Yes.”
He hummed low in his throat, the sound gratifyingly tortured. Then, his tongue was caressing, delving, stroking. Heat, unbearable and delicious, rippled through her. When his finger stole inside, a smooth glide that had her lifting off the table, she saw stars behind her eyelids and wondered if she should warm him that she was close. But he knew, working steadily, focused solely on her as no man had ever focused upon her.
She felt cherished, wanted. Alive.
She crested, telling him in a low tone mixed with sighs, moans.
And still he devoured.
The orgasm ripped through her, and she couldn’t control the cry she uttered. Fearing she would rip his hair from his head, she released him to grip the edge of the table. She tried to slide back, away from the ceaseless stimulation, panting and telling him with harsh words that she was breaking apart from the inside out.
“Stay with me,” he whispered and blew a light, teasing breath across her heat.
She pressed her hand to her stomach, breathing as if she’d run a seven-minute mile. She felt gloriously drained, her body singing, stimulated. When her heartbeat slowed enough to allow her to speak, she opened her eyes to find Justin standing between her legs, his gaze hot as he studied her like he would a painting in his gallery. He curled his finger as if to say, “Come here.”
“Just, I seriously cannot move right now.”
His lips quirked in a fast grin. He stepped from his boxers and dropped to a squat, digging in his jeans. The thin trail of hair running from his sternum to his navel completely fascinated her, muscle shifting beneath skin as he searched. As she watched, he opened a condom packet and rolled the latex down his jutting shaft. His eyes stayed on hers as he stood, leaned in, and lifted her high against his chest.
“Where?” She kissed his cheek, the side of his mouth.
He caught her lips beneath his and let her feel the tremors running through his body. “I’m going to have you in my bed. More than once,” he whispered. “But right now, this minute, I need you here.”
Halting by the fireplace, he set her on her feet, turned and flipped a switch to light the gas logs. She tilted her head, a smile growing. “Are you seducing me, Justin True?”
He stopped before her, his amber gaze one to match the fire. “No.” He shook his head. “You’ve seduced me. Always have.” Then he took her face in his hands and kissed her, fully, gently, drawing her into his body, into his soul, until she knew she would never fully climb out. They dropped to their knees, still connected, hands and lips exploring, the sounds of their arousal, their mingled scent, wrapping them in a web of passion as delicate as gossamer.
He laid her back on the rug, going to his forearms as he moved into place over her. She shifted, bringing her knees alongside his hips, his penis hard and so inviting as it nudged her folds. She felt him hesitate, looking deeply into her eyes, searching. Why did she have to love a deep thinker? A man who wanted so much of her, even now?
“Ready,” she said and slid her hands down his back to his buttocks. She wiggled her hips, closed her eyes with a sigh when the head of his penis hit her in a very sensitive spot.
“Yes,” he agreed, sliding inside her in the slowest of degrees, a halting, gradual assault that left her breathless. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek, and she realized he was holding himself back somehow.
She locked her legs around his and arched into him. Inviting madness.
“I see,” he said, and leaning over her, began a very definite, calculated-to-destroy rhythm. She matched each terrifying plunge, each agonizing retreat with everything she had. She closed her eyes to keep the sight of him from sending her into early ecstasy: his beautiful body working above hers, the hard planes of his face drawn, his lips opening on a ragged groan. This was no awkward boy making love to her as if he knew every secret in her mind, every wish…every regret.
“Where did you learn…all this?”
He smiled, his grin truly wicked, his damned dimple flaring to life. “Carnegie Hall,” he said as his lips closed around her nipple.
A quick burst of jealously ricocheted through her, but his hands, his lips, his teeth, stole every thought until she was a quivering mass of nerve endings. She needed, she wanted.
She wanted him.
She forgot her anger, forgot everything but the feel of his arms tensing as he held her close, slick moisture gathering on his chest and neck, bursts of air escaping his lips. He groaned, low and deep, whispering words to her that had no meaning. She brought his mouth to hers when her world began to fracture, kissed him hungrily, desperately, hoping for salvation and relief. She arched and he surged, again and again, until they were a working unit, as efficient as a machine. Thrusting, he worked her across the rug.
She thought he might be waiting for her because the moment she cried out, he dropped to his forearms and buried his head in her shoulder with a muttered oath, his releases consuming him. His shaking hands rose, framing her face for his kiss, sweet and final. She gripped his back, his shoulders, struggling to catch an even breath.
“Jesus,” he whispered. His head rose, blocking out the moonlight steaming through the window. Firelight shimmered across his face and chest. He looked disheveled, endearingly undone. Like an image from her dreams, almost too wonderful to believe. “Are you okay?” he asked, his breathing harsh.
“I’m okay. Better than okay, perfect.” Her body pulsed in places long neglected, long forgotten. Bliss flowed through her like water along a raging river. She pressed her lips to his throat, his jaw, the sweet skin beneath his ear, to keep from telling him that she loved him, had always loved him. Instinctively, she knew he would not want to hear that now. Would not trust the declaration, or her.
If only, oh, if only she could find a way to keep him. She feared, truly feared, that he was going to disappear like a mirage with the rising sun.
Shouldering sweat from his brow, his gaze lowered to where their bodies were still joined. “Hungry?”
“Uh-huh.” She curved her hand around the back of his neck and brought him to her. For this night, and perhaps this night only, Justin True was hers. She would not waste the gift. “But not for food.”
• • •
She came out of sleep slowly, a gray-edged image from her dream locking in her mind: Justin holding her arms over her head as he thrust into her, their bodies bound by tangled sheets and sweat. Her cheeks flushed, something, after what they’d shared the last twelve hours, should have made discomfited blushes ridiculous.
Without opening her eyes, she reached for him and encountered only cool sheets and solitude. She wanted him again, forever. She swallowed past the knot of fear choking her.
Perhaps the obsession was hers—and hers alone.
It was a bitter thought, one sharp enough to snap her fully from sleep.
Squinting, she brought the bedroom into focus: sleek furniture, straight lines, subtle overlays of color, pillows scattered across the floor like flower petals. Justin’s minimalist style carrying through the entire house. She had not noticed anything beyond the softness of the bed he dropped her upon before he swept inside her. Later, they had tumbled to the floor, where he pulled her atop him, and she finally found the true meaning of belonging to one person, body and soul.
Lainey blinked, her hand rising to cover her pounding heart.
Oh, God, what was she going to do if he didn’t want her love? Didn’t want her?
She gazed around the room, searching. And then she saw him.
His long body filled the leather chair pulled close to the window to overflowing. He had on jeans and nothing else, the same worn denim from yesterday morning, the button-fly half done. A pencil in one hand, a pad of paper in the other, head bowed, he sketched madly for a moment, paused, then began again.
She smiled, fascinated, and pushed to a sit, bringing the sheet with her.
He seemed absorbed. So much so that he had not noticed her.
The scent of his cologne and their pairing clung to her, the honeyed taste of his skin still sitting heavily upon her tongue. She flexed her shoulders, marveling at the ache in muscles she wondered how she had possibly used. She should feel exhausted, depleted. Instead, she felt wondrously alive.
Uncertain but alive.
Justin went utterly still, and she watched displeasure tighten the skin around his eyes and mouth. His head lifted, his tawny gaze meeting hers. Their gazes held for a long minute before he dragged his hand through his hair and glanced away.
“What are you sketching?” she asked to break the silence.
His gaze traveled back, slowly, as if he fought with it over where it took him. His hair stood in wild tufts on his head. Dense stubble covered his face and jaw, a bite mark she remembered giving him during their wild foray in the shower sat like an exclamation mark on his neck. His lean belly contracted as he inhaled. He looked as unhinged as she felt, however, he took firm possession of himself, schooling his face into lines of nonchalant regard. Restraint of this kind was a skill she clearly lacked. And one she admired. When he raised his brow in that way of his, one that made anger surge through her, she knew he had retreated fully. “Putting images on paper helps me clear my mind. You know that. Or you used to.”
She laughed raggedly and tugged the sheet higher, past anything he might like to see. “You’ll think I’m crazy, and I’m pretty sure I am, but I almost like your anger. It’s the only time I believe you still care for me.”
Dropping the sketchpad to the floor, he stood and turned to the window, stretched his arms to prop them on the ledge above.
She scooted to the edge of the bed, hoping the sheet would come easily with her. She didn’t feel up to running naked through the house, searching for her scattered clothing. “Why do I feel like I’m not going to like what you have to say?”
He shook his head, laughing softly beneath his breath. “Because you’re not going to like what I have to say.”
She wrapped the sheet around her and stood on shaky legs. Her body felt wonderfully abused: tender, supple and relaxed. “You may as well get it over with then.”
“If I asked you to, would you forget about last night?”
She kicked a pillow from her path, his cross mood transferring to her. “Will you be able to forget it?”
His shoulders lifted and fell with a sigh. “I don’t know. Even if I want to” —he nudged the curtain aside and a narrow strip of sunlight flowed across his shoulder and to the floor— “I don’t know.”
“I’m not asking for promises, Justin. Just a crack in the wall you’ve constructed around yourself.”
“Promises. Hmmm…yes.” He tapped the windowpane once, twice. The shifting muscles in his shoulders and back started a slow fire in her body. “I recall giving those before and being cleanly rejected.”
“You were headed to Dartmouth. On scholarship, for God’s sake! While I begged to get into community college two counties over. You know how many classes I missed senior year bailing my father out of one mess after another. Medical, financial, criminal.” An empty condom packet lay on the floor. Lainey nudged it aside with her toe, the bottom dropping from her stomach. She didn’t want to feel this deeply about an encounter that would end up being a casual dalliance filled with veiled smiles and polite assurances. “And I swear, I’m not telling you this to shift the blame, but your father came to see me three days before I was set to leave for college, and he asked me—”
She stumbled to a halt as Justin’s shoulders tensed, though he kept his gaze focused out the window. “Actually, he told me to leave you alone. That you had a bright future, something I would only screw up for you. That our families were not meant to mix. I thought a lot about it, Just, about the long distance relationship we had planned. I thought you and I had about as much chance of making it as my father did of quitting the horses. So, I ran from both of you.”
“You were setting me free, is that it? How noble. Though I would have appreciated being informed about what I was sacrificing.” He let the curtain flutter, the room again going dark. “My father had no idea what was good for me, what I wanted. Not one day in his life did he understand.” Looking back, his gaze was far from unreadable for once. Anger, passion and bewilderment raced across the distance to zap her like an electric shock. “And you chose the worst person in the world for you. I don’t know how I can come to grips with that.”
“I didn’t leave you for Joey. God, you’re so wrong if that’s what you think. He came back into my life six years after I left Pine Bluff. We saw each other at a bar in Atlanta.” Her hands flexed around the knotted sheet. “I know you won’t believe it, but it wasn’t true love for either of us. We were tired of dating and it was easy. I was lonely and, I think, maybe a little bit scared of the future. It’s a dreadful reason to start a relationship. Trust me, I learned that the hard way.”
He turned to face her, crossing his arms over his chest. “Want to be honest about why you’re here, Lainey? It’s not for this damn festival. I get that much.”
She frowned. How had he known?
“Because I know you,” he said. “And I know something is wrong.”
Backing up against the bed, she secured the sheet against her throat and told him all of it. Of trying to save a young man from an appalling future and watching him do a slow slide to hell, just like her father. Of the helplessness, the guilt and fury. “After his trial, I felt this emptiness, like I was looking out a window and all I could see was fog. Oblivion. In two years, my family gone, my marriage over, my career in peril. I lost my confidence, questioned my judgment.” She drew a fast breath, tears pricking her eyes. “I picked the wrong man and put all my hopes into saving a boy who could not be saved. My father’s house was newly vacant, and I thought, maybe the timing is not coincidental. And then, the first night I’m home, I see you.” She lifted her hand and massaged her temple, her eyes drifting shut. “Is it Kismet or idiocy? And, am I misguided to feel I’ve come home in more ways than one?”
He crossed the room and dropped to his knees before her. She felt the irresistible warmth of his body but was afraid to look into his eyes and risk breaking apart before him.
“Lai, I always believed we were fated to be together. Kismet, yeah, that’s exactly what I thought. And then you left, destroying the only relationship in my life, outside the one with my brothers, that was, in my mind, a sure thing. Talk about questioning one’s judgment. I felt like the biggest ass in the world.” He tunneled his hand through her hair, forcing her gaze to his. “I’ve never let another woman in because of my lingering feelings for you. Thirteen years later, and here I am, all twisted up inside about us.”
She reached without touchi
ng until she felt she could see into his soul. “You’re still angry with me,” she whispered, clearly able to see the spark deep, deep in his eyes.
He nodded. “But I don’t want to be. And that, my love, is a monumental change.”
She drew air scented with sandalwood into her lungs and recorded Justin’s touch, the warmth of his skin and the emotion in his eyes, like she would save a photograph to look upon when she was alone. When he left her, the moment minutes away she suddenly knew, she would hold the memory close. “Just, I—”
Leaning in to halt her declaration, he kissed her softly, a whisper caress. He deepened the kiss, then groaned and pulled away. “One month, Lai. Meet me at the gallery in one month. I need time to think…and so do you. Give me this, please.”
One month, she thought as his lips left hers.
One month.
Seven
Rain shot down the window in his office in angry torrents, matching his mood so faultlessly Justin almost laughed. He gazed at the blueprint spread across his desk without a clue which project it belonged to. He’d been back in New York for three weeks, walking the streets like a madman, hoping the vibrant energy, the urban vibe he loved, would somehow clear his mind so he could figure out what the hell to do about Lainey Prescott.
He’d finally realized that what he wanted was a guarantee that she wouldn’t break his heart.
Realized he was scared to death of loving her again.
“Fuck work,” he said and reached into the lowest drawer of his desk. Breaking into his emergency bottle of Scotch was just what the doctor ordered. The rain continued to dance down the glass in relentless streams as he sipped his drink and stared into the bleak night. Reassurance had not been a big part of his life growing up. In fact, he and his brothers had done what they could to simply survive. Staying out of their father’s way and protecting each other had been the key objective.