She could have said she didn’t want him to go in the first place. She could have teased him. She could have reveled in her righteous female victory.
Instead, she was humbled. He had put thought into whether starting an intimate relationship was acceptable. That showed a man with integrity, something she was only used to seeing in Jonathan and a few of her clients.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered against his jaw. “Mrs. Patch is watching.”
He glanced across the street, then opened the screen door and moved them inside, kicking the main door shut with his foot. “Mr. Patch has been gone a long time. Probably gave her a thrill.”
Summer ran her tongue around the edge of his ear and quivered when he trembled. “I’ll buy her a romance novel tomorrow,” she murmured.
Tom chuckled against her hair, squeezing her against him in a moment of shared humor. He climbed the stairs, taking each step carefully—not because she was heavy, there was no sense of that. No, there was more of a sense of anticipation, of awe and respect.
She feathered kisses down his jaw line. “No regrets, please.”
He didn’t answer until he’d laid her across her bed, on the red and white patterned quilt that contrasted against the simple dark wood bed frame. The fact that they were there, in a room that must have seen many moments of pure joy, made the moonlight reflect those promises.
He slipped off her paint-splattered canvas shoes. “No regrets. I think I’ve wanted this since I first saw your picture.”
She rubbed her naked feet against the skin of his thighs and let the hairs tickle her skin. He pulled his T-shirt off over his head and stood in light meant for romancing—all sinewy muscle and strength, just like her dream.
She should have been self-conscious. She should stall him and take a shower, come back to him polished and sexy. She had paint all over her hands and elbows. She could even see a splotch of red on her feet. Her hair was a tangled mess. And the lust inside was hot and streaming like a flooded river through a dam. She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to spoil the moment trying to make it any more perfect than it already was.
That should have scared her, but she lost the unwelcome feeling the minute Tom settled his weight next to her and his warm hands lifted her midriff T-shirt and coaxed it over her head. She hadn’t bothered with a bra when she’d woken mid- night, and for a moment, she wanted to cross her arms to shield herself. But he stroked her skin, over her shoulders, across her collarbone and around her breasts, molding and testing their weight. Light, easy strokes that made her lose her train of thought. Then she saw the look in Tom’s eyes and had a moment of clarity, a thought from their dinner at the park.
He’d be amazing in bed.
Caution and inhibition tossed aside, she wiggled out of her raggedy denim shorts, sans panties, dropped them to the floor and slipped her hands to Tom’s waist. “Naked. Get naked. I want to feel all of you against me.”
“Wait.” Tom lifted away from her and pulled his wallet from the shorts, extracted two condoms and threw them on the nightstand. His wallet landed alongside them. She felt his shorts rub down her leg and the metal snap hit the hardwood floor with a clack.
His skin touched hers. A long sigh escaped from her then from him. And when his lips settled against her neck under her ear, she damn near launched off the bed.
This was bad. Never before…
More…
Her thought process fragmented while her nerve endings rioted. She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him on top of her.
“We’ve got time.” He extracted her arms and rolled partially away. He nuzzled her hair, kissed the tip of her ear, and whispered, “Slow. I want to touch you, feel you, kiss every inch, draw this out and remember it.”
She softened deep in her heart, yielding to a man intent on what might possibly be the best seduction, the only seduction she’d ever experienced.
He moved away. “Roll over.”
She frowned. “I want to touch you too.”
“Trust me. This will be worth it.”
When she complied, he stroked her from shoulders to the base of her spine with a firm touch that left her groaning. It was followed by a feather soft fingertip exploration of her spine.
“Your skin against my fingers is pure bliss.”
His deep voice said the words in a soft rhythm, nudging up the hunger inside, until she wanted to squirm, to beg. He rubbed and kneaded, repeated and repeated, murmured and teased those sweet nothings until muscles tightened from too many hours in front of an easel released.
Then his lips took over the fingertip stroking, down and up—who knew her spine was so sensitive? “Tom, I need to touch you.”
He didn’t answer, just reached up with one hand to lace his fingers through hers and kept kissing her back, across her bottom and up again, detouring to the underside of one breast and then the other. A finger slid between her legs and parted her, stroking her core. Moisture rushed, her nipples shrank to tiny pebbles, and she felt that falling off moment overwhelm her.
His weight eased onto hers, his hands slipping underneath to cup her breasts, his mouth—that clever mouth—skimmed from hairline to temple to earlobe, inciting a rush of tingles and leaving her gasping for air.
She had to turn over, had to touch him. “Tom, oh lord, let me turn over.”
He eased up so she could twist around. He settled between her legs and pulled her hands to his lips, kissing one finger at a time. Then he took her mouth and her body, and her breath away.
The sweet nothings had stopped, but he sighed when he entered her like his world had just settled into place. He filled her completely, and she paused to get her breath back. She slipped her arms around him and finally touched him from shoulder to hip, stroking and kneading in her own reciprocation of what he’d done to her. His skin slid across hers, strength to softness.
He muttered an expletive and started to pull away. “Condom.”
It took him a moment to match word to action, then he sank back, sank in deeper, stretching her. He started a rhythm that she was happy to counter and the colors washed over her—the barest hint of blue from his eyes in the moonlight, the tan that brought his skin to life, the black of his hair, the red of the comforter where their hands were laced.
He laid gentle lips against hers, all the while demanding she meet him stroke for stoke. He groaned. She fought off completion, wanting this to go on forever.
Yet, that couldn’t be. He slipped his hand between them to stroke her where their bodies met. And from her soul, the fierceness of the colors overtook her.
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The moon shifted. The room darkened. How long they’d lain there entwined, Summer didn’t know.
Tom was collapsed at her side, stroking her stomach, eyes closed and a hum of contentment coming from him.
“I’ve never seen colors before,” she murmured.
“What?” Tom pulled her closer to him, taking her hand to kiss her fingers.
She was content to stay beside him.
She lightly stroked his chest, the intimate darkness encouraging her to confess more than she normally would have. “When you kiss me, touch me, love me, I see colors when I close my eyes— thousands of them in a kaleidoscope. That’s never happened to me before.”
Tom yawned, stroking her back. “Cheers to colors then, honey.” He kissed her brow and settled back. Within minutes, he was asleep.
Summer lay against him, relaxed and listening to the cadence of his breathing. Sleep pulled at her, exhausted from painting for hours and from living a fantasy come true. Her eyelids closed, sleep eased in, muting the edge of alarm over how natural this felt, yet how unrealistic it was for her way of life. She could fall for this guy, but the fantasy of him was as attractive as the fact of him was dangerous. If they could live in the bliss of first lovemaking, that might carry them. Yet, the realities of their worlds were so different as to make lasting love impossible.
So where
did that leave her?
CHAPTER TEN
Tom woke, too hot, with something soft and yielding pressed against him. A chirping racket serenaded outside the window. He cracked an eyelid. Summer was pressed against him, limp and cuddling. He kicked off the covers to cool off, but there was nothing to be done about the damn birds.
He didn’t want to move, because Summer was sleeping deeply, with slow even breaths. He ran a light finger over her hip, remembering, wanting, yet stopping himself. As near as he could tell, she was an intriguing bundle of nerves who neither slept enough nor ate enough to support her creative energy. Hence, no matter how amazing last night had been, no matter how much he wanted a repeat right now, no matter that he had to work a graveyard stakeout tonight, he was going to let her rest. After shift in the morning, he could arrange a sunrise rendezvous.
He softly stroked her hairline and listened to her breathing, in and out—gentle and alive. He was crazy to get this involved, but his head, heart, and instinct were telling him something he didn’t want to acknowledge withthe word.
Not yet anyway.
The birds squawked louder, a fight over morning offerings in progress. He expected Summer would skirt the issue of how close they’d gotten last night and that was okay. He was prickly enough he didn’t want to talk about it either, but he could make coffee and retrieve his cell phone from the truck. He guessed it was around seven a.m. Bret and Meg would be awake. He and Summer could join them for breakfast, the first stop on the forgery tour. He hadn’t asked Summer, but for her art she’d do it, and he could spend some more time with her—time he wanted and needed before her deadline to leave arrived.
Before that thought could twist in his gut, he eased out of bed, slipped into his shorts and shoes, used the bathroom, and started to go downstairs. He glanced in her grandmother’s sewing room on the way by and stopped mid-stride.
Her new painting sat on an easel near the window in the dim morning light.
His father’s garden—red, yellow, pink flowers rioting along the path which curved into exactly the right shape and texture of stones to the hint of the pond at the edge. The large painting glowed with color, sparkled with life. The ambience captured and held, alive and breathing.
“She is out of my league,” he muttered, venturing further into the room and studying every angle. Walter was certifiably insane to have tried to stop this kind of talent from taking its natural course. And Tom had about as much chance of convincing her to stay in Echo Falls as Walter had when hetold her she had to.
“Do you like it?”
The soft, husky voice soothed his conflicted feelings, and he turned to see a mussed beauty standing in the doorway on long, gorgeous, naked legs, belting a short white robe and not meeting his eyes.
He made sure the reverence showed in his voice. “It’s beautiful, like magic floated in the air. Much like last night.”
She blushed, and he was tempted to loosen the ties on her robe and see how far the color went. Another two hours in bed would be just what he ordered, but she was looking self-conscious and uneasy.
He stretched out his hand. He was able to move to her and take her in his arms, but he desperately needed her to give him a clue which way her mood swayed.
She stepped into the room, took his hand, and squeezed, which mainlined a healthy dose of adrenaline through his body much like that first plunge on the big roller coaster loop. He wrapped his arms around her, and she went on tiptoe to kiss his lips—light, yet delicious.
“What are you doing up?”
She snuggled next to him and, he obliged by tightening his arms until she was completely against him, shoulder to hip.
“Birds.” He leaned and kissed her again.
“Mm…Huh?” Her eyes opened, and the fog there was cute.
“You have a gaggle of birds, or a flock, or something outside that window. I was about to make coffee and go chase them to Mrs. Patch’s bird feeders.”
She snickered. “Can I watch? Mrs. Patch won’t need the romance novel if she gets an eyeful of those chest muscles.”
It was his turn to blush. He lightly swatted her bottom. “Don’t tease.”
“Who’s teasing?” She kissed his shoulder, and the touch went through him like electricity from switch to bulb. She stilled, licked her lips. “What are you doing today? Time for me?”
He pulled back and gazed at her. “I was hoping we could spend the day visiting various people and checking their paintings under the guise of re- autographing them. Would that work?”
“I actually was considering an authentication symbol, something like my initials in a stylized symbol.” She frowned, all seriousness now.
“Well, first up would be breakfast at Meg and Bret’s. He has three paintings. I need to go to my truck and retrieve my cell phone first.”
“And chase the birds?”
“Can’t hear a thing now.” He leaned and kissed her, running his tongue along the seam of her mouth and thrilling when she opened to him like the flowers blooming in the painting. He loosened her tie and slipped his hands along her bare hips, swallowing her ragged sigh in his mouth.
“I need a shower,” she whispered against his mouth. “Get the paint off.”
“I’m game, as long as you leave this gray-blue swatch right here.” He took a tiny nip at her neck, just under her chin.
“There’s no paint there.” She swatted him away.
“Wanna bet?”
She rubbed at her neck, all the while he lead her down the hall to the bathroom. Two hours was just enough time for the paint and other things.
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“Are you sure they invited us?” Summer twisted in her truck seat, fastened her hair up in a clip, and wished she’d chosen something to wear besides the denim Capri pants, a lavender tank top, and sandals. She hadn’t been thinking. She was going to meet people who had her paintings. She should have dressed for it, made an impression. Didn’t matter that Tom was still wearing what he’d had on last night, khaki shorts and a navy blue EFPD T-shirt; she felt self-conscious.
“Yes, standing invitation.” Tom looked over at her with an indulgent smile, and it was so domestic she felt a crack in her bliss.
“Aren’t you afraid they are going to take one look at us and know?” She was disgusted with the ineffectual hand flop motion that went with her insecurity.
“Know?” The crowfeet at the edge of his eyes turned up telling her he knew very well what she was talking about, but had decided to tease her. Just because a warm feeling went through her at that notion, didn’t mean it made the discomfort any better.
She glared at him, waiting him out.
He finally relented. “Meg was in love with Bret for a long time before she told him. I kept my mouth shut and was supportive, so I figure she owes me. She’ll keep her questions to the minimum. Besides, Boo and Lindy are there. We can count on Boo for a distraction.”
“Hmmf.” She crossed her arms and sat back in the seat, trying to believe his reassurances and failing. She had sat next to Meg at the baseball game. That woman was asister, and she was going to be able to read that they had sex, and she was going to ask questions to which Summer had no answers.
Her cell phone rang, rescuing her from the loop of her thoughts.
“Cher, I’m having all the forgeries delivered to your house this afternoon.”
“Good morning, Jonathan. How are you this morning? I’m fine. Thanks for asking,” she gritted out between clenched teeth. “And why in the world would you do that?”
“I knew you were fine.”
She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. “How?” She snapped at him, then took a deep breath and glanced at Tom, who was frowning at her like a knight ready to take up a sword.
“Saw a familiar truck in the driveway this morning.” Jonathan chuckled. “I was by early.”
That piece of wonderful information made her blood pressure rocket. “You were by…Never mind. Why send the paintings
?”
“Seems like a good idea to keep everything contained in one place and will kill the curiosity and gossip at the office. Plus, maybe you seeing the real deal instead of a photograph will trigger something. How’s the new painting?”
“Finished. Mostly. A few touch ups.”
“In other words, perfect. I’m glad,cher.”
Tom parked and left the truck running, the air conditioning needed against the hot, humid morning. She relayed to Tom what Jonathan had said.
“Good idea,” was his response. “And the painting is fine. Leave it be.”
She stifled a snort, deciding she was being bitchy for no reason. “We’ll meet you later, Jonathan. Tom has an agenda for today, for me to see all the paintings in town. I’m going to add an authenticity symbol to the back.”
“What kind of symbol?” Jonathan was all brisk business now.
“Not exactly sure. I’ll go with what strikes me at the moment.”
“Not on the front?”
“No, on the back like my signature. I still refuse to mar the painting content. I think I want them all authenticated.”
Jonathan groaned. “Good idea, but it’s going to mean a bit of traveling.”
Bret and Boo came out on the porch. The little girl was dressed in black shorts and a bright yellow tank top and was practically attached to Bret’s leg. He waved at them from the porch.
“I have to go now. I’ll call you later.”
“Enjoy your day,cher. I’m happy for you.”
“Right. You, too.” She snapped the phone off. What was to be happy about? It was an affair. It began. It would end. She couldn’t see herself living day-to-day here. Tom was as rooted in Echo Falls as the hundred-year oak tree surrounded by the white picket fence in the front of this house. Tom gave her a wary look. “Anything I can do?”
“No.” She forced a deep breath and a smile. “Jonathan’s much too happy first thing in the morning and much too nosy.”
Tom gazed at her, and then leaned over to kiss her. “Let’s go have breakfast.”
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