Ian

by Kate Hoffmann

  “I thought, after the last time we spoke, you wanted to slow things down.”

  “It’s just a bath,” she repeated. But they both knew where it would lead.

  “I don’t think it would be just a bath, Marisol.” He paused and shook his head, sending her a reluctant smile. Then he grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it off. Ian knelt next to the tub and took the sponge from her hand, then slowly ran it over her breasts. She reached out and drew a damp finger along his chest.

  He did have the most incredible body, long limbed and lean, yet muscled in all the right places. There was a perfection about him that she’d never seen in another man, every part of him in balance, from his broad shoulders to his flat belly and narrow hips, and his long legs.

  “That feels nice,” she murmured. Marisol leaned back and closed her eyes. She felt his lips on her breasts and she moaned softly. He kissed the curve of her neck. “I’ve missed you,” he said.

  A tiny thrill raced through her and she opened her eyes. “You’ve missed me? Or the sex?”

  “You,” Ian said as if insulted by her insinuation. He chuckled. “And the sex, a little bit.”

  Marisol’s eyebrow shot up.

  “All right, a lot.” He ran the sponge along her arms. “Funny. I can’t really remember why we decided not to see each other.”

  “You said you’d call me and you didn’t,” Marisol said.

  “No, I think you said you’d call me.”

  In truth, she knew exactly why she hadn’t called him. And the reason was now hidden in the back of a storage room in her apartment. For almost a week, she’d been trying to contact her father about that damned painting, but it was as if Hector Arantes had dropped off the face of the planet. She’d left messages with his landlady, who had assured Marisol that her father was well. But that didn’t go very far to explain why he’d suddenly disappeared.

  The more time that passed, the more Marisol thought she might have overreacted to the whole mess. After all, Ian wasn’t about to come banging down her door with a search warrant and a reason to arrest her. He knew nothing about her father and she wasn’t about to enlighten him. There were secrets in her life she wasn’t required to tell a lover-or even the man she loved.

  “How is your work coming?” he asked, drawing the sponge over her shoulder, then following it with his mouth.

  “Not well,” she said, enjoying the soft caress of his lips on her skin. “I’ve lost my momentum. I’m going to put off the opening for a few more weeks. I need one important piece and I don’t have it.”

  “Is there something I can do?” he asked.

  Marisol turned, stretching her arms along the edge of the tub. “You can make love to me,” she whispered, running her hand over his cheek. “That always helps.”

  His gaze flickered, and for an instant, she thought he might refuse. “Is that all you want from me?” he asked, a sober expression clouding his face.

  “What do you mean?”

  He paused, as if he were carefully measuring his reply. Then Ian smiled. “Nothing,” he murmured. He bent closer and kissed her, his lips soft against hers, his tongue tracing the crease of her mouth.

  Marisol smoothed her hands over his chest, the warm water of the bath heightening her sense of touch. Ian slipped his hands beneath her arms and pulled her up until she knelt in the tub. Slowly, he soaked the sponge and then squeezed water over her body, watching as it ran along her skin and between her breasts. Then, he leaned forward and captured her nipple between his lips, sucking gently until he brought it to a tight peak.

  Marisol inhaled slowly and tipped her head back, a wonderful shudder running through her body. Her skin prickled with goose bumps as the air dried it, but she wasn’t cold. She reached down and ran her hand over the crotch of his shorts, his shaft growing hard at her touch.

  She wanted to feel him inside her again. It would be so easy to crawl out of the tub and push him back on the floor, to sink down on top of him until he filled her completely. But when she moved to do just that, Ian sat back on his heels, his hand resting on his thighs.

  “I think I’d better leave you to your bath,” he murmured. “I’ll go get supper started. You relax.” He grabbed the bottle of wine and poured her a glass, then set them both beside the tub.

  A moment later, he was gone. Marisol stared at the door for a long time, trying to understand what had just happened. Until now, she’d been able to read Ian’s responses quite well. He’d always wanted her as much as she wanted him. Had something changed for him over the past few days? Had his desire ebbed?

  She sank down in the water until it reached her nose, her hair floating up around her. This was not the way she’d anticipated the evening would go. But then, nothing had gone as planned from the moment she arrived in Bonnett Harbor.

  IAN POKED AT THE CHARCOAL with an old spatula, sparks drifting up into the night air. He took a sip of his beer, then glanced over his shoulder at the light coming from the bathroom window. By all rights, he should be up there now, making love to Marisol. But from the moment he first saw her in the grocery store, his need was tempered by an odd new reality.

  This wasn’t just about sex anymore. When he saw her, he felt more than just a physical reaction. He was genuinely happy to hear her voice and to see her smile. He found himself wanting to sit with her and talk, to learn more about the woman he knew so well, yet barely knew at all.

  But the prospect of feeling something deeper for Marisol frightened the hell out of him. He’d never had a real relationship and wasn’t even sure what was expected of him. Suddenly, this affair was moving far too fast and he felt it was about to careen out of control.

  Ian heard the back screen door slam and he waited. Marisol probably wasn’t aware what it had cost him to walk out of the bathroom and walk away from her. But he’d never cared about the women he’d been with in the past, not beyond the momentary pleasures they might have offered.

  He slowly turned and watched her approach. Her hair was wet, the ends making damp streaks on his flannel robe. He thought about the body beneath the faded fabric, the body he’d grown to crave, and realized he liked her dressed in his clothes, bathing in his bathtub, walking through his house. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  She nodded and watched him as he tended the fire. “If you-” Marisol paused and took a deep breath. “If you don’t want me anymore you can just tell me. I’ll understand.”

  Ian turned to stare at her, stunned by her statement. Was that what she thought? God, how could she ever believe that, especially after what they’d shared together? Ian doubted that he would ever stop craving her body.

  “It’s all right,” Marisol said. “We both knew what we were getting into when we started this. And it was fun. But I really don’t want any messy endings. So please, just be honest.”

  “You want the truth?” Ian asked.

  She sent him a sideways glance, then looked back down into the fire. Her head bobbed in a reluctant nod.

  Ian tossed aside the spatula and took her face in his hands, kissing her thoroughly. A tiny cry of surprise slipped from her lips, but then she gave herself over to him, opening her mouth and tasting him fully. He undid the tie on the robe and brushed aside the soft fabric, running his hands over her naked skin.

  When he drew back, her lips were damp and her eyes half-shuttered. “My problem is that I want you too much,” he murmured. “Every second of my day is spent wondering when I’m going to be with you again and how it’s going to be between us. Does that scare you, Marisol? Because it sure as hell scares me.”

  She laughed softly, her fingertips coming up to his face to touch his smile. “I’m not afraid,” she said.

  “Then maybe I shouldn’t be, either.” Ian smoothed her damp hair back from her face and looked deeply into her dark eyes. How the hell was he supposed to know where this was going? And did it make any difference? He’d always imagined that falling in love was a leap of faith. Everyone knew the odds were f
ifty-fifty at best.

  Throwing himself into a full-fledged love affair with Marisol Arantes was just as hazardous. This wasn’t a series of one-night stands for him. He wanted more, something concrete, defined. But what? Until he knew for sure, perhaps it was best to keep his real fears to himself.

  “Sometimes I wonder if I can get through the day without kissing you or touching you or…or having you inside of me,” she said. “But there’s nothing wrong with wanting each other. It’s perfectly natural.”

  His hands skimmed over her body, smoothing over the soft curves of her hips and buttocks. “Obsession is natural?”

  “Are you obsessed?” she asked.

  “It feels that way,” Ian admitted, as he pulled her against his body. “Hell, I’ve arrested guys for stalking and wondered how they could be so stupid, so weak. These last few days, I’ve had to fight the temptation to drive by the gallery, to knock on your door and see if you’re there, just for a chance to seduce you all over again.”

  “Then do it,” Marisol challenged. “Seduce me.”

  “No,” Ian said.

  “No?”

  He ran his thumb over her lower lip. “Not until you tell me three things about yourself that I don’t know.”

  Marisol frowned. “Why?”

  “Humor me,” he said.

  “All right. But if I confess three things, then you have to confess three things, as well.”

  “You start,” Ian said.

  She thought for a long moment, then smiled. “I hate being tickled. That’s one.” She paused. “My favorite spot on a man’s body is that little indentation at the base of his spine. And…I like it when you whisper in my ear when you’re moving inside of me.”

  His brow arched. “I thought maybe you might tell me your favorite color or your birthday or where you grew up. But I guess that will have to do for now.”

  “Now you,” Marisol said. “And I don’t care about your birthday or your favorite color. I want to know intimate things.”

  “I don’t like eggs for breakfast,” Ian began. “And I like it when you don’t wear underwear and I’m the only one who knows. And I love the way your hair brushes against my chest when you’re on top of me.”

  She smiled. “And I like it when I first touch you, when I wrap my fingers around you and you stop breathing for a second.” Marisol reached out and slowly unbuttoned his jeans, then touched him.

  Ian growled softly. “I like that, too.”

  “Are you happy? Do you know everything you need to know?”

  “It’s a start,” he said.

  “Now will you seduce me?” Marisol asked.

  Ian glanced around, then took her hand and led her to a hammock in a secluded corner of the yard. The high fence shielded them from the view of nosy neighbors and an old apple tree provided shadows in which to disappear. He helped her into the hammock, waiting until she was stretched out before he lay down behind her, cradling her body against his.

  Ian ran his hands over her, touching her through the thin flannel. Slowly, he drew the robe up along her thighs and hips until he could slip his hands between her legs. His fingers brushed the tiny triangle of hair before slipping into the warm, damp slit beyond. When he touched her, her body belonged to him. He was the only one who could make her shudder with ecstasy.

  Marisol moaned softly as Ian began to stroke her, back and forth in a gentle rhythm that made her writhe in his arms. Almost immediately, he saw the signs she was close to the edge and he slowed his tempo, willing to wait as long as he could.

  She reached around to touch him, but his jeans got in the way. Ian took care of that with his free hand, releasing himself as he shoved the jeans and boxers down.

  Marisol rubbed back against him and when she felt the heat of his erection on her skin, she shifted until he was pressed between the soft curves of her backside. Gently, she took him in hand and guided him between her legs. And then, suddenly, he was inside her.

  Ian sucked in a sharp breath, the instinct to move almost overwhelming him. He knew he ought to use a condom, but the feeling of her body surrounding him, hot and damp and tight, was too perfect to resist. He slowly pushed forward, then drew back, knowing he was tempting fate.

  “Don’t move,” he said, knowing it wouldn’t take much for him to come.

  “I have to move,” Marisol replied. “It’s all right.”

  He pressed a kiss into the curve of her neck. “Is it?” She nodded, reaching back to run her hands through his hair. Usually, Ian would never take the chance, knowing what an unplanned pregnancy could do to a guy’s life. “No babies?”

  “No,” she said, moving against him. “That’s covered. And so are the other things.”

  He’d never had sex without a condom, yet had always wondered what it would feel like, to touch a woman in the most intimate way, to leave part of himself inside her body. He slowly began to move again, indescribable sensations coursing through him as he sheathed himself in her heat.

  The hammock pressed their bodies together and he could barely move his hips, but it was enough to bring him right to the edge. He reached around her and continued to caress her clitoris.

  Ian nuzzled her ear. “You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice ragged.

  She moaned softly and arched against him, her fingers tangling in his hair. He never changed his pace, but instead drove deeper with each stroke, withdrawing even more slowly. She whispered his name and the pressure to surrender grew inside him. Every movement sent a frisson of desire racing through his body, setting his nerves on fire until he knew he’d die if he didn’t come soon.

  And when he felt her tense in his arms, he drew back and drove deep. The orgasm hit her hard and she cried out, her voice echoing in the night air. And then, buried inside her, he came, spasms of pleasure shooting through him.

  Slowly, Ian began to move again, taking the last of his orgasm to bring her down from hers. But he continued on, long after they were both spent. To his surprise, he stayed hard and within minutes, brought her to another orgasm.

  They lay snuggled in the hammock, Ian’s arms wrapped around her, their legs tangled together. “Even now, I want you again,” he murmured, trailing kisses along her shoulder.

  “I don’t think it will ever be enough,” she said, turning so that he might kiss her mouth.

  “I hope not,” Ian replied. He caught her lower lip between his teeth and bit gently. “I hope it’s never enough.”

  THE SHRILL RING of the phone split the silence of the gallery. Marisol wiped the paint off her hands, then strolled to the worktable and grabbed the cordless phone. Ian had promised to call and make plans for dinner for that evening, but it was barely noon.

  “Gallerie Luna,” she answered. “This is Marisol.”

  Her father’s voice replied. “Mari?”

  “Papi? Where are you? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for a week now!”

  “I’m here, in this town of yours.”

  “Don’t come here,” Marisol warned. “Not now. Tell me where you are and I’ll meet you.”

  “There is a rest stop on the highway just north of town. Meet me there,” he said.

  The line clicked dead and she stared at the phone for a moment, then dropped it on the table. Grabbing her car keys, Marisol raced to the door, then paused, tempted to get the painting and give it back to him. Her mother had begged her the first time her father had been in trouble to distance herself, but Marisol had stuck by him. She had more to lose this time, so much more. Was she willing to risk it for her father?

  She locked the gallery door behind her, then hurried to her car, parked halfway down the block. Glancing over her shoulder, she pulled out into traffic, muttering to herself as she drove. As she headed out of town, she ignored the speed limit, deftly avoiding an elderly couple trying cross in front of the post office.

  Marisol had spent a week trying to figure out what to do with the painting. If she could only be certain it wouldn’t be traced bac
k to her father, then she’d simply drop it off at the front door of the Templetons’ Newport mansion. But when it came to art forgery, there would be very few suspects on the short list, a list that would inevitably include her father.

  There was nowhere to turn for help. If David was involved, then he’d protect his own interests at all costs. He’d never been the altruistic sort. And she couldn’t possibly ask Sascha to endanger her reputation. There was no legal way to get the original back where it belonged, if she indeed had the original.

  But there were some illegal ways, she mused. If art could be stolen, then it could be returned just as easily. And if she made friends with Mrs. Templeton, perhaps she’d gain a way inside. Now all she had to do was find a willing art thief who’d do his job in reverse. Perhaps her father could provide a name.

  She was only a mile from the rest stop when she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the police car following her. A sick feeling settled in her stomach and she waited, hoping that the officer was on another errand. But then he turned the lights on and blasted the siren and Marisol had no choice but to pull over.

  She waited as the officer got out of the car then let out a tightly held breath when she realized it was Ian. He smiled as he approached, removing his sunglasses and squatting down beside the car. “Hey there,” he said. “This is becoming a habit.”

  “Did I do something wrong, Officer?” Marisol asked, sending him a nervous smile.

  “Actually, you did,” Ian replied. “You ran the stop sign on Perry Street and Vine. And then you didn’t yield to the pedestrians on the next block.”

  Marisol gasped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even realize.” She touched her temple. “I’m a little distracted. Tired, too.”

  He frowned at her. “Is everything all right?”

  “Of course,” she said in a cheerful tone. “I just-we just didn’t sleep much last night and I’ve been working since early this morning.”

  Ian grinned. “Well, I guess since I’m the cause of your distraction, I really can’t write you up,” he said as he stood. “I’ll just give you a warning this time, but be more careful. I don’t want anything happening to you.”