by BETH KERY
Megan’s life felt too small to contain Christian Lasher for long.
“Are you doing a study of me for a sculpture or are you waiting for me to apologize for being such a jerk earlier?”
She blinked in surprise at his muttered words.
He turned toward her. His hair fell back from his brow. The book dropped to the sofa cushion. His voice had sounded, gruff, slightly amused…self-deprecating.
Megan’s eyebrows rose in speculation as she moved over toward the other end of the couch from where he sat. “Were you a jerk earlier?”
He nodded slowly. “People tend to act like asses when they’re insecure about things. I’m not too secure about my writing—or my career—at this point in my life.”
“Why?”
He leaned his head back on the couch and raked his fingers through his burnished hair restlessly. “I want to make a change in…what I write, but it’s hard to change what’s been a success. People keep demanding I do the same thing over and over again but it’s old and it’s dried up and I’m sick to death of it.”
At the last, his facial muscles tensed noticeably.
Megan didn’t speak, waiting for him to continue. After a moment, the tension in his body lessened with an exhaling sigh. He seemed a little defeated, if resolute.
“I feel like I’m disappointing people who I care about, especially one person. I feel like I’m betraying him. But I just can’t keep doing what he’s asking of me. I won’t,” he added with a fierce glance.
Megan empathized with the pain and conflict she saw on his face. “Creativity is like that,” she said softly. “Once a vein has been mined until there nothing of worth left, you have to abandon it and let your spirit prospect elsewhere. To keep going at the old source is not only useless, it’s somehow hurtful…harmful to yourself…” She trailed off, deep in thought.
“But you have to find a way that takes into account both your creativity and the important people in your life,” she continued after a moment. “Some compromise.”
She realized that Christian watched her with eyes as sharp as drilling blue diamonds.
“I’m not much of a compromiser.”
“Oh.” Megan shrugged uncertainly.
“It’s happened to you, hasn’t it?”
Megan hesitated before she answered. Were they talking about the same thing? Megan doubted that she’d ever fully plumbed the depths of her own creativity or passion in the way that Christian had. Although she didn’t know him that well, she intuitively understood that he was the type of man that had lived life fully and without restraint. Maybe the only thing that they had in common as artists, and as human beings, was that they both felt like a change was in the offing, threatening terrible uncertainty, promising untold riches…
“Probably not. I’m speaking more from a teacher’s point of view than from someone who has actually traveled the tortuous pathway of the artist,” she admitted with a shaky laugh. “But I know what it’s like to care deeply for those around you, to hold dear the organizations, the routines, the established relationships that have taken years or lifetimes to build…and at the same time…to want to shatter those structures, too, so that you can make a whole new mold for yourself.”
“Spoken like a true sculptor.”
She returned his smile.
He brought his knee up onto the couch and turned toward her. He took her hand. Megan glanced over at him in surprise. His movements had been minimal, but suddenly the couch seemed smaller and the space between them had shrunk. The rough pad of his thumb stroked her inner wrist gently.
“What would your new mold be like?”
Her body sprung to life at the rumbling, intimate quality of is voice. She laughed to cover her uncertainty.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’d be a little freer, less doubtful about myself, less unsure.” When Christian didn’t immediately reply, she added. “I know that’s not very original. Most people would probably say the same thing.”
“I don’t know. I think I understand the gist of your meaning, not just from your words, from what I’ve learned about you so far. You know I’m not very convinced that you see everything from the cold, passionless position of the teacher’s podium.”
“No?” she murmured, her stare fixed on his chest. A languorous spell seemed to be falling over her at the sound of his deep, resonant voice. Her head fell back to rest on the back of the couch. She felt relaxed and excited at once, a paradox that she’d never had in her life and yet continually experienced with Christian. She wasn’t alarmed or anxious when he shifted his weight even closer to her or when his other hand came up to span the side of her neck, lightly massaging the appreciative muscles there.
He shook his head. “You read Walt Whitman religiously, which means you’re a closet sensualist. Most people wouldn’t guess that you and old crusty, lusty Walt were soul mates, but against all logic, it makes sense. I can see the passion in your art, too, although it’s nascent.”
His thumb came over and pressed lightly into her full lower lip. He watched his finger rub the firm flesh with slow, hypnotic circles. When her lips parted and a small sigh drifted across his knuckle, his eyes met hers.
“I see passion in your eyes when I touch you,” he murmured huskily.
He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. His mouth was insistent, but patient and unhurried.
Megan sighed with satisfaction and let her fingers sink into his soft hair, then beneath it, glorying in the sensation of corded neck muscles and warm skin. Liking the feel of him so much, she sent her fingers beneath the collar of his shirt, lightly touching the bare skin of his back and shoulders.
Christian groaned and deepened the kiss. Even while his tongue sought out the mysteries of her mouth, he resituated their bodies on the couch, encouraging her to recline, bringing her beneath him. The kiss went on, at times lazy, exploratory, at others bold, relentless…reckless.
Megan was lost, but she had never cared so little about finding her way home.
Her lips turned blindly to caress Christian’s cheek and ear when he buried his face in her neck. His mouth there felt hot and hungry on her sensitive skin. His head and tousled hair felt wonderful pressed against her cradling hand…surprisingly dear. She felt the increasingly familiar pleasurable pull at her breasts. When he covered her lower body with his own, she welcomed his weight, sighing at the way the pressure both gratified the ache at her core and increased it.
She experienced a strong desire for more of his weight, a need to create more friction with their bodies, a mandate to absorb even more of this man onto her, into her.
He settled into the juncture of her thighs with a groan of satisfaction. She opened her thighs to accommodate him; he pressed into her softness. All thought flew from her brain as sensation took center stage.
Despite being caught in the web of passion that he weaved around her, Megan’s eyes opened in amazement when she felt him place his cheek and mouth beneath the lower swell of her left breast and nuzzle upward. Her hands rose to tangle in his thick, silky hair. She pressed his head closer despite the sluggish doubts that started seeping into her awareness.
“Christian.”
“Hmmm?” he asked absently, fully absorbed in his task. His hands were placed innocuously enough—one of them on the couch, bracing him up so that he could reach her while the other delved into her hair. But the motions of his mouth were far from innocent. He continued to nuzzle the weight of her breast with his mouth and nose. He made small, hungry kisses, first on the underside of her breast, then around to the fullness at the top. Megan gasped as heat flashed through her and pooled between her thighs.
“Christian…I don’t think that—”
Her half-hearted protest was cut off mid-sentence when Christian placed his mouth directly over her nipple and suckled gently but insistently.
Even through the fabric of her sweater and bra, Megan felt that hot, sweet tug all the way to her womb. She arched her back, her bod
y granting him access even when her brain was stingier with its consent.
Christian lifted his head and held her gaze. He pulled the bottom of her sweater upward, exposing her pale midriff. He lifted the material over her breasts, allowing his fingers to caress the swells of flesh above her bra. “I just want to look at you,” he assured gruffly.
Megan forgot how to breathe for a few seconds.
“God, you’re so pretty.”
His eyes praised and his fingers worshipped. Megan closed her eyes at the intensity of the sensations that rocketed through her. She bit her lip when she felt his gentle fingers scoop one breast from the lacy confines of her demi-bra and rub his palm along the underside.
She cried out brokenly when he whisked his calloused thumb over the sensitive pink nipple.
“Okay?” Christian asked in a gruff whisper.
She nodded but her eyelids scrunched closed tightly. He brushed a light kiss across her lips.
“See?” he teased gently. “More evidence for my theory. Who would have guessed that you were wearing such sexy underwear under those conservative clothes? You’re full of pleasant surprises, lady.” He molded her breast to his palm. “Open your eyes, Megan.”
She complied dazedly.
“It feels so good,” she said.
His small smile went all the way to his eyes. “You feel so good. Look at how pretty you are, honey.” Megan glanced down. She inhaled raggedly. Her pale breast contrasted starkly with the dark, masculine hand that held her so possessively. The image was potently erotic. Christian caressed her erect nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and then bent down to taste her. She moaned in pleasure when he surrounded the taut nipple with his warm mouth and applied suction.
“Sweet woman,” he murmured huskily after a moment. He lifted his head and admired the effect his mouth had on her. He bent again and soothed her with a warm, laving tongue. After a moment of quieting her, though, he plumped her flesh into his palm and sucked on the aching tip again, this time with more greed. Her fingers tightened in his hair. She lost herself. She moaned and moved restlessly, pressing against him, trying to alleviate the delicious friction at her core.
He kissed her wet, erect nipple chastely and glanced up at her with blue eyes blazing.
“I can’t wait to do that when I’m buried deep inside you,” he murmured as his fingertips glided across the sensitized crest.
The impact of his words hit her like blow.
“What? Did I hurt you?” he asked sharply when he noticed the shift in her expression.
Megan shook her head wordlessly and pulled her sweater down. Christian blinked and closed his eyes briefly. He exhaled and moved off her, sitting at the edge of the couch.
“I’m moving too quickly, huh?” he said.
Megan glanced away uneasily. She touched her cheeks and pressed lightly, as if she were testing out the alien sensations of her own body. He turned his head when she didn’t respond.
“Christ, you’re shaking.” His expression was rigid with concern as his eyes roved her face, searching for answers. He held one trembling hand in his own. He kissed her softly on the cheek. “I’m sorry. Not for kissing you or touching you. I’ll never apologize for that. But I’m sorry for pushing you if the timing isn’t right.”
He didn’t attempt to stop her when she slowly rose and stood. He hunched back into the couch and watched as she righted her clothing.
“You shouldn’t have to apologize,” Megan said in a low voice when she finally turned to face him fully. “I’m sorry. I know you must think I’m sending you mixed messages.”
Megan couldn’t read his expression as he studied her. It only fueled her rising uncertainty. After a moment, he quirked his right eyebrow up and placed his hands behind his neck where it rested on the back of the couch. His posture left him completely exposed. Megan was left in little doubt that his arousal hadn’t yet dissipated.
Not even close.
Christian didn’t seem to mind either his physical state or the fact that she’d taken note of it.
“Mixed messages? Does that mean that at least part of you isn’t completely repelled by me?” he asked, a small grin pulling at his mouth.
Megan knew that he was trying to lighten the suddenly oppressive mood. Still, his words and his composure only reminded her of all the parts of her body that were far from being repelled by Christian.
She suddenly became acutely conscious of her breasts, of the slightly damp spot over her right nipple. She had to stop herself from reaching up to quiet the pinch of desire she felt there. It didn’t help that Christian’s gaze lowered knowingly. Sexual interest reignited like a flash fire, lighting his magnificent eyes. How was it that he seemed more aware of the sensations and reactions of her body than she herself was?
“Megan,” he murmured softly. “If that’s an example of a mixed message, it’s going to be well worth the wait to get your signal at a hundred percent.”
“Christian.”
Laughter rumbled out of his chest. He stood and reached for her.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. His embrace was warm, comforting…non-threatening. Tension slowly seeped out of Megan’s body. She placed her palms and cheek against his chest and began to enjoy the feeling of being held in his arms. She could see what hung on Christian’s gold chain from her new vantage point: a gold cross, similar to her own, but larger. It seemed strange to think that Christian had received his first communion at the same church where she had received hers. They’d murmured their confessions and received penances from the same man.
She wondered if Christian could read her thoughts when he leaned back slightly and asked, “Megan, are you really religious?”
She stared at him in surprise. “Why do you ask that?”
“Is that what this is about? You don’t want to sleep with me because of your religious beliefs?”
Megan inhaled her incredulity and tried to speak at the same time, causing her to choke. “I never said…no, Christian. I mean, my religion does mean a lot to me. But that’s not why… I mean… I’m not a prude.”
She stopped and tried to compose herself, taking a deep breath. “We hardly know each other.”
His grin was devilish. “And I guess you don’t believe in getting to know each other at the same time that we’re having sex, huh?”
Megan shook her head calmly enough, but inside, she felt like she was sinking. How could she make him understand without making a complete fool of herself? “Christian, you and I…we’re very different.”
His facial features tensed. “Wait…is that a blow-off line?”
She met his gaze earnestly. “No. It’s not. I just don’t think that—“
“What?” His grin disappeared, leaving his usual expression—hot eyes in an otherwise cold mask.
“We’re not alike.”
He moved back fractionally in their embrace. It wasn’t a large movement, but Megan felt that small withdrawal deeply.
“What do you mean by that? How would you know whether or not we’re alike? Do you think you know something about me that you haven’t mentioned?”
Megan stared in disbelief at his tone of stark suspicion. Irritation entered her awareness. “Of course not. Give me a little credit for being able to judge character. Just the fact that you even considered that we would sleep together when I just met you yesterday says a lot. It never even entered my mind to—”
“Don’t lie, Megan. It’ll be just one more sin you have to confess,” Christian said softly. He turned and picked up his jacket from where he’d draped it across the back of a chair. “I may not be as morally upright as you, but I know when a woman is turned on and when she’s not. And you were about sixty seconds and a few well-placed strokes away from exploding.”
Her world seemed to swell and shimmer. He glanced at her and muttered an expletive. He started toward her, his hand outstretched as if to touch her, but seemed to think better of it. He raked his fingers through his hair instead
.
“Christ. I’m sorry. Look, I’m an ass. I didn’t expect you to sleep with me. I mean, I did, in all honesty, but not here, not now…” He took in her expression and seemed to realize he was digging himself a deeper hole. He rolled his eyes upward and his mouth drew into a hard line.
Megan stood as if rooted to the spot when he walked past her and headed for the door. He hesitated for a second, his back to her.
“It was that thing you said about us being different that set me off,” he muttered.
The silence seemingly lasted forever, but it paradoxically didn’t last the length of her indrawn breath.
The door clicked softly shut behind him.
Chapter 3
Megan smoothed out the final touches of a clay sculpture with a metal kidney tool. Her absorption was so complete that she only became aware that someone was calling her name by degrees. Reluctantly, she transferred her awareness to the source of the voice. She regretted having to break her deep concentration. Not only was her trance-like focus good for her work, it served as an escape from her troublesome thoughts as of late.
“Hi, Randy. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come up.”
Megan didn’t feel too guilty about being so distracted because Randy Rosenfeld was equally as preoccupied as he studied her latest piece. As usual she tensed with uneasiness as she watched him make a close inspection of her work. She was always self-conscious about having others view her art, but having someone look at this piece made her feel even more prickly with anxiety than usual.
Randy was one of two owners of the Rosenfeld & Epner gallery and the studio where she taught sculpting three times per week. Earth was the shorthand name for the classroom studio, named Earth, Fire, Air, Water, Spirit. Megan thought the alchemical name was especially appropriate for the art of sculpting, since the medium utilized all of those things. But sculpting wasn’t the only class that was taught at Earth. Two other artists, including her good friend Tina, offered classes in drawing and metal sculpture. The artist instructors also had the added advantage of private studio space in which they could concentrate on their own work.