Art-Crossed Love

by Libby Rice

  Cole didn’t reply. Instead he stroked the side of her canvas and slowly turned his head to gaze at her. Suddenly the dry, cold air cackled between them. They’d been here before, but this felt different. In the past, Lissa had detected a need in Cole to pounce, controlled sexual heat fringed with undeniable ulterior motives.

  This time, his hands gently gripped her shoulders like he wanted to soothe. The smell of lemon soap and wind swirled in her senses when he leaned in, sharing the warmth he seemed to collect in his long, lean body.

  Focusing on the vee of exposed skin at his throat, Lissa didn’t realize his initial intention when he held her still, pressing generous lips to the woolen material covering her forehead. She jerked into the sweetness of the innocent kiss, letting a deep, pulling longing melt into the little pockets of rigidness that kept her upright.

  Flip.

  A rush of Lissa’s own heat swept through her limbs, bringing chilled muscle and bone back to life. With the added motor skills came possibility. She could push him away, could stay the course, could keep the focus on whether he’d offer his stamp of approval.

  But she wouldn’t.

  Somewhere along the line, Lissa had decided Cole couldn’t be had only once. Steady progress on the project was no longer enough. Getting along and working cohesively wouldn’t do. Some would call her choice true to form, and in this instance, it was at least true—Lissa wanted it all.

  More than that, if she couldn’t have Cole and success, she wanted Cole then success. The shift in priorities had crept up on her, wrestling to break her from aging chains while threatening her distrustful heart.

  Not since a band of cruel children had decided Lissa Blanc would never amount to anything but that one guy’s daughter had she allowed a measure of patience in her quest for achievement. Patience was dangerous, though, a scant inch from the complacence others placed at her door.

  Yet the treacherous order of her priorities didn’t budge, not with Cole’s lips pressed against her forehead, and definitely not when he grazed his cheek down the side of her face until they quietly breathed the same air. Stark elation broke open in her chest, pinching too near the center. The ache demanded she sideline her quest for a special exhibition at the Guggenheim and brake for blue eyes and ridged abs and a sly smile that rarely came to play.

  Obviously sensing her acquiescence, Cole reached up and flicked her stocking cap into the snow at their feet, shoved his big hand into her hair at the roots, and dragged her forward against his long, hard body. This time his intent was evident.

  Lissa stayed put, melting when he let out a little growl.

  “Perfect,” he said, right before his head bent to hers.

  Chapter 22

  Cole finally admitted he wasn’t in control and never had been. After weeks of fighting off the constant ache of an insistent erection in favor of the growing, and grudging, respect he felt for his short-time partner, he gave up. Who gave a shit if he couldn’t resist? He no longer cared, and the hot, searching lips that grazed his neck said Lissa didn’t either.

  All she wanted was a rosy ending. His Lissa deserved that. He did, too.

  Their blazing interludes from weeks ago had merely whetted his appetite. She felt as good as he remembered, maybe better for the wait. Her sweet, welcoming heat invited him to gorge.

  He intended to.

  But then he remembered how he’d left after their only night together, how she’d let him. Lissa had feigned sleep—he knew that, of course—while he’d faded into the night as if sliding inside her had been a dirty secret. Afterward, she’d reverted to business and kept her distance, proving that his forced isolation had hurt. Yet she hadn’t compromised her ideals. Every day Lissa painted like a wild thing and smiled like a drunken idiot when he gritted his teeth. Succeed or fail, she’d make it on her own terms. Nothing—not his influence over her struggling career, not his vocal disapproval, not even a chance at fulfilling the desire he knew she hid—had bent her to his will.

  His Lissa painted hot-pink mountains, then speared him with an equally hot gaze that invited him to pound sand if he didn’t like her interpretation.

  The thought gentled his hands. Pulling back, he slid off a glove and traced one of her dark, arching brows before slipping lower to cup her cheek. Her skin felt cold and smooth, as though he caressed frosted glass.

  “Why can’t I stop?” he wondered aloud, shaking his head even as he explored the curve of her upper lip. “I don’t want to want—”

  Lissa’s eyes went glassy, and she nipped his drifting finger. “Me either,” she admitted. “You, with your judgment and superiority, and don’t get me started on your issues. Plus—”

  “I think I get the point.” Cole forced his tone to go as dry as a seven-year drought, a difficult task under the circumstances. With her body so close and his so hard, he didn’t care if she maligned his character with every breath, just as long as she did so while the honeyed vee of her legs straddled his thigh.

  Without another word, he shifted, pressing his leg up and into the one place he knew she defied the cold. “You can’t”—he rocked forward and back, gritting his teeth—“stand me.” Right. Her lies were nearly as big as his.

  Lissa’s mouth immediately closed around the finger she’d bit, tongue circling. Then she pulled away, letting the wind bite the flesh she’d warmed so sweetly. “But none of that seems to matter,” she continued. “I get within five feet of you and I…”

  Cole’s detached curiosity evaporated. “Want,” he finished. Believe me, I know.

  Layers and layers of wool and fleece and Gor-Tex shielded the softness Cole desperately wanted to touch. He wrenched the zipper of her outer shell and reached inside, only to feel her trembling violently.

  “You’re cold.” Too cold for what he had in mind. Real warmth couldn’t be had, but he could scrounge up a windbreak and plenty of body heat.

  Tell her.

  Lips compressed against encroaching words, Cole entwined their fingers and tugged her toward the truck.

  “My easel,” she protested halfheartedly. “My painting. That’s the one.”

  Goddammit, tell her.

  He couldn’t. Lissa was ready. India loomed in her very near future, but that had nothing to do with how badly he wanted to shred her clothing and fall on miles of soft, fragrant skin. Telling her now would inextricably link sex with approval. He wouldn’t let her think his decision hinged on the orgasms she was about to receive.

  “Later,” he said, tugging on her hand. They ran across the meadow and onto the gravel bike path that led to the truck. There, he propped her against the side of the vehicle. Damn, warmth waited inside, but he had to get his mouth on at least part of her. Now.

  When he kissed her, he couldn’t hold back the groan that escaped against her parted lips. Cradling her face in his palms, Cole flicked inward, giving her a preview of what he saw in her future.

  Only lower and wetter and, if possible, even more decadent than the satiny depths of her mouth.

  Tiny fists rose to clutch at his hips, urging him on. But then she pulled away, glancing up without making an effort to mask her need.

  “My Lissa wants more than a kiss?” He’d been thinking of what that might entail for weeks, couldn’t wait to give it to her.

  She nodded, letting the impassioned flare in her eyes say what she, for once, could not. No worries, though, he got the message, if not from the look, then from the yearning stamped in every hitch of her breath and inviting contour of her body.

  “In you go, then.” Cole eased Lissa to the side and jumped in the truck, where he revved the engine, threw the manual transmission into neutral, and set the emergency brake. Both ends of the bench seat had internal warmers, and he cranked them to high.

  Crawling out of the cab, Cole flattened his palms on either side of Lissa’s shoulders and leaned in close. Not even the cold dispelled her sweet spice, like arousal-tinged apple cider. Lucky for him, he planned to do more than bite his ow
n watering tongue. Nothing would do but another mouthful of this most infuriating, delicious woman.

  But first he had to make sure she was with him, as in all in. “Have you ever made love to a tongue, Lissa? Been fucked by a tongue?”

  She stared at him, mute with shock. God, he loved stealing this woman’s words. The only thing more glorious than a ranting Lissa was a speechless one.

  “From behind,” he enunciated, pressing inward, “while you rock against the warmth. It’s so soft, Lissa, not like a cock. It’s forgiving and indulgent and, I’m told, mind-blowing.”

  “Jesus,” she breathed, “even you—”

  “No, not licked, baby. Not sucked. Fucked. In and out until you come from the smallest of invasions.”

  She squeaked. Actually squeaked, and he swallowed hard. Yup, all in. “Let’s get you situated.”

  Recognizing the last few minutes had been a lot to take in, and that was without the sub-zero temps for a decidedly indoor girl, Cole turned her slowly, so that his driver’s seat met her ribcage. “You all right?”

  Please, please be with me on this.

  Her head moved, more a jerk than a nod, but the message was clear.

  “That’s my girl.” He lifted her hips upward, higher and higher until she could easily crawl forward on the seat and into the path of the hot air streaming from the vents.

  “Feels good already, doesn’t it?” he crooned behind her. “In a minute, I’ll get this door shut, and we’ll get some of those clothes off. I bet you’ll like the warm air on your nipples. Are they cold?”

  “Cole,” she sobbed. “I—I’m not sure what I’m doing.”

  Of course she was confused. They’d been avoiding the unavoidable like professionals. “No, baby, shhh. Just relax. Get warm. It’s time.” For so many things. “Now stay still.” He climbed in behind her and slammed the door. Balancing on his knees to hover over her, he reached around to her front. With infinite care, Cole spread her outer shell, then the fleece jacket beneath. Tapping her left wrist, he ordered, “Lift.”

  After stripping the two coats from one side, he moved to the other. In no time, Lissa wore only her sweater up top.

  “Sit back for a second,” he said, pulling on the knit and easing her shapely ass toward her thighs, just until he could slip the sweater over her head and off the arms that no longer supported any weight. “Now back up.”

  Her pert little breasts swung free. “The layers,” she began, almost shyly, like she felt she owed an explanation for leaving the house sans undergarments, “they make a bra unnecessary.”

  “You do what you want with that,” he rumbled. Never wear one. Always bare. Always free. Whetting his fingertips in his mouth, he reached around and circled each of her budded nipples, one after the other. Never touching directly, he stroked in a gentle ring that grew ever closer.

  “Cole… Ooooh, the air. The vents.”

  He’d imagined how her glistening nipples would pucker with the warm air rushing over them. “A good thing?”

  She moaned, shimmying her shoulders in a tiny dance.

  “You need to tell me yes, baby.”

  “Yes.”

  Again, then. This time when he reached round her front, he brought two fingers to her lips and pressed. “Suck for me,” he bit out. His voice had dropped a register, and the command came out rougher than he’d intended.

  She obeyed, and after seconds in her scorching heat, he forced himself to extract his fingers and circle the tips of her breasts again. This time when she started mewling softly, he rewarded her with slow, long tug to one peaked tip.

  Chest bucking, she said again, “Yes.”

  Yes was exactly right. “I didn’t ask anything, though.” He teased her with a smile. Lissa didn’t have to ask. Shit, yeah, he already knew what to provide.

  Outside the flurries had intensified. Hissing bursts of windswept snow stung the windshield. Lissa didn’t notice, but Cole’s attention snapped to the hazy, barely discernable outline of her easel the moment it crashed to the ground.

  Could he make her sacrifice a worthy one?

  She whimpered beneath him, and he knew the answer was one she’d already given—hell, yes. He didn’t have a choice.

  Thankful for the truck’s protection… and isolation, Cole reared back and pulled her jutting hips in line with his, her rear to his front. The snug jeans that molded to her elegant curves had become his favorites. He flicked the top button and stripped them away to the music of a splitting zipper and Lissa’s surprised gasp. Almost desperate, he dragged the denim past her bent knees to bunch along sleek calves, riding the tops of her boots, just enough to let him part her thighs.

  And zero in on an honest-to-God Christmas-tree thong.

  “Jesus… Christ.” Saliva pooled on his tongue as he traced the strap of red lace that circled her hips and plunged between the high, firm globes of her ass. A sprinkling of tiny green trees, complete with multi-colored twinkles he pegged for holiday lights, stood out against the red.

  Cole thought back to the dresser in her room at Melina. The last time he’d had her practically nude and in his sights, she’d cast a quick look to its closed drawers. What other surprises would he find hidden inside?

  Straying from the panties, Cole palmed her smooth skin. He ran his hands down the backs of her legs, brushing the indentions behind her bent knees. There he paused to gauge her reaction, making sure she was still with him. It only took a heartbeat before she shook that flawless behind in his direction, filling the cabin with her desperate pants.

  “Seems we’re still going with yes?” he rasped.

  “Mmmhmm.”

  Her low murmur buzzed through his entire body, ending with a shot from up the length of his dick. Easy, or you’ll never get to that tongue-fucking you promised. “Can you go to your forearms for me?” He wanted the perfect angle.

  She did, and he carefully slid those saucy panties over her hips, caressing them downward until they met her jeans. Intact. He wanted to see them again.

  “Now lean forward with your whole body… that’s it.” Bless the angle of the truck seat, the cant of her lithe body. The movement showed him everything he dreamed of, opening her up, especially the soft slit he sought. He could see… God, she was warm and wet and so fucking perfect.

  Cole couldn’t help it—he licked his lips. “I hope you’re ready.” Nothing but bodily restraint could stop him now.

  “Cole, I need you. Please.” An erotic sigh floated back to him, music to his ears.

  He lived to serve. Stuffing his lower body to the floor by the gas pedal put him at a perfect, angled height. The way she scooted toward the edge of the seat, following him, was a sign that blared brighter than any green light in his history. As she arched her back to bring her hips a little higher, he caught another glimpse of the glistening core he sought.

  And he surged forward and took her with his mouth, immediately penetrating the very center of her with his tongue.

  Her scream layered over his groan, a discordant sexual symphony. He’d known. It wasn’t like Lissa’s flavor was completely new. But this was hotter. Better.

  Tastier.

  Spiced cider could never compare to Lissa Blanc.

  ******

  Lissa was sure she couldn’t breathe. Air. Air. She needed it. With a whoosh, she drank in a breath that only came screaming out again as she cried Cole’s name.

  Gone were the tender questions and gentle positioning. Cole gripped her thighs hard. His mouth worked the entrance of her body even harder.

  She hadn’t believed this could feel so real. Like sex, as he’d said, only more sensual and more over the top. Clearly Cole offered a gift she couldn’t find wrapped under a tree.

  Behind her, he was a huge presence that controlled her pleasure with pistoning softness, not a heavy length of muscle and bone that held her down. With a slight forward rock, she could evade his touch just as easily as he’d slipped from her bed that first night. Easier, actually.
<
br />   He was giving her that choice, along with his gift.

  So, of course, Lissa pressed back.

  “Right, Lissa, move,” he growled. “On me, around me. Take from me.”

  Yes, please.

  Establishing a rhythm, Lissa rocked against Cole’s mouth. Each delicate slide of his soft, wet tongue upped her frenzy. It felt so damn good.

  And that was before he began to alternate each penetration with a slow, thorough lap across the top of her sex. Every plunge went deeper, and every sinuous drag got harder, until the very heart of her unfurled, opening and relaxing in a way she’d never imagined possible.

  There wasn’t time to tense. Spasms already threatened from an epicenter deep within her core. “Cole? I’m—I’m going to—”

  His answer was smug. “I know.”

  Two more cycles—plunge and drag, plunge and drag—and Lissa crumpled forward on the seat.

  He followed her, keeping up as her channel seized and rippled, letting her body hold his mouth for ransom. Letting her demand everything.

  The pleasure raged on. “Keeps coming.” She gasped. “What the hell is happening to me? Holy… shit…”

  Finally the outpouring ebbed. Lissa didn’t move. She remained absolutely still, trying to control her heavy breathing. Cole’s movements gentled and tapered away to soft licks and then what felt like a closed-mouth kiss. He rose behind her and pulled her torso upright so that she sat back on her knees and shins against his chest.

  “Definitely mind-blowing,” he said against her the curve of her ear.

  That simple truth could have made her weep, mostly because she knew he meant for him, not her.

  He had no idea.

  Almost embarrassed by her naiveté, Lissa admitted, “I didn’t know that could work—from the back? It really did feel like sex.”

  “Because it was.”

  True, she supposed. “I mean, I felt like you were absolutely inside me.”