by BETH KERY
She shook her head and took a sip of the chardonnay he’d poured for them. “There really isn’t much you don’t know, is there?”
He shrugged. “I took a six-week cooking course in Spain once.”
“You like to cook?”
“I like to eat,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. He cut into his tenderloin, which melted like butter around his knife. “But yeah, I like to cook once in a while, too. Do you?”
She nodded. “Very much. Brings out my creative side.”
“It can be a very sensual thing. I took classes from a Spanish master chef at his country home. He had this amazing kitchen, with all these antique etched glass bottles and carafes. It was a feast for the senses, having all this colorful, fragrant food in front of you, the hissing sound the fresh ingredients made when they hit the hot oil, the way the sunlight struck all his beautiful glass containers. Here . . . have a bite of this tenderloin. It’s amazing,” he said.
“It sounds wonderful,” she said, her eyes taking on a dreamy cast as she chewed the bite of juicy meat he’d slipped between her lips. He wondered if she had any idea how sexy he found the dress she was wearing. The ties at her gleaming shoulders were the most remarkable teases. “I’d love something like that. To direct all my attention for six weeks to one task, and to do it in such an evocative place.”
He nodded. “That’s the main thing—the direction of all your attention into one task, one action, one moment. Very Zen.”
“Are you a Buddhist?” she asked as she tore a slice of bread apart.
“No, but I have spent a lot of time in Tibet and Thailand. I admire their spiritual practices. I use a lot of mindfulness to prepare for a role. I don’t want to just pick up a hammer and mimic being a blacksmith, for instance. I want to do it—feel what it’s like to have this extension, this hammer in your hand, to be melding all the elements of fire, air, earth and water into a concrete tool, imagine what it’d be like to have that fire blaze in your face while you forged and branded this something that would serve its purpose and be passed from father to son for a century or more.”
She regarded him soberly. “I saw that, where you played the fourteenth-century blacksmith. It was the first movie I ever saw you in,” she said quietly. “Afterward, when I learned you were an American, I was shocked. I would have sworn from your accent that you were Welsh.”
He shrugged. “I have an ear for accents. It’s not a skill, really; more like something I was born with. Some kind of freak gene, as Katie puts it.”
“I think you’re being modest.”
“No. I’m not. A lot of it just comes when you throw yourself wholesale into something. Put on the clothes of the character, live in the landscape, use the tools, eat the food, and do it all mindfully.”
“You’re right. It is all very Zen.”
“I told you I respected the religion. I would, even if their only offering was tantric sex,” he said, grinning.
Her eyes widened. He stilled. It was true, what he’d said, but he shouldn’t have been so blunt. He rushed in to smooth over his error.
“But in the end, I suppose it’s hard to completely wring the Protestant kid from Southern California out of me. Or maybe I’m just too lazy to be a full-fledged Buddhist. Or too hedonistic,” he said, eyeing another bite of butter-drenched lobster. “But enough about me. Let’s talk about you. I hope you don’t think I’m being nosy, but I saw that Formula 1 racecar postcard in your kitchen. Are you a fan of the sport?”
“No, that’s from my father. He manages the European Formula 1 team. He used to drive himself and was very successful.”
“Are you close to him?” Everett asked.
“No, not especially. His job is his one true love. We’re not one of those feuding fathers and daughters or anything. I don’t begrudge him the life he’s chosen, or the fact that I rarely see him. We don’t have a lot in common. I’m much closer to Seth, and always have been. Seth has been my whole family for half my life.”
Her comment seemed to ask for a follow-up question, but Everett restrained himself. Joy was such a private person. He respected that, even if he did plan to peel back her layers. Discovering Joy’s depths clearly wouldn’t be a quick endeavor, or an easy one.
He found himself relishing the challenge.
“Rill asked Seth to do makeup for Razor Pass tonight,” Everett said.
Her eyes warmed. “I know! I’m so excited for Seth. What a wonderful opportunity—to work with Rill. And Seth loves the book,” she enthused, referring to the novel Rill was adapting to film.
“Did he give Rill an answer yet?” Everett asked.
Joy shook her head. “Knowing Seth, he’s at the hotel right now, drawing feverishly. He’ll give Rill an answer when he gets some results.”
He smiled. “Rill didn’t ask him for any samples. He just offered him the job.”
She made a face. “You have to know Seth. He’s a perfectionist. He won’t accept until he sees the proof in front of him that he’s right for the job. He has to draw to find the proof.”
“Strange lot, artists,” he said, tracing the graceful line of her neck and shoulder with his gaze.
“They say the same about actors,” she murmured, her eyes lowered, her voice smoky.
“They say correctly.” He touched the back of her hand where it rested on the table. She turned it over, twining her fingers with his.
They talked for a while longer, sipping their wine, Everett drawing her out until she seemed much more comfortable and relaxed. The clock in the kitchen caught his eye. He reluctantly withdrew his hand from hers and wiped his mouth with his napkin.
“I’m being inconsiderate. It’s midnight on a Sunday. You have to teach in the morning, don’t you?”
She nodded and pushed back her half-eaten plate of salmon. “I do. Although it’s only from nine until noon. Summer school has a very relaxed schedule. Besides, it’s my last week before the term ends. The kids’ final project is tomorrow.”
“What are you teaching?” he asked.
“Drawing Three. The students are more advanced, so it’s a fun, laid-back summer class.”
He nodded slowly, searching her harmonious, calm features. He wanted to stay and make love to her. He wanted that more than anything. His arousal had ebbed since he’d held her and felt her quaking in orgasm, but it’d never fully dissipated. It flared to life nearly every time she smiled or laughed or studied him with that somber stare that cut him down to the quick. He’d probably made a mistake by doing what he’d done at the restaurant, but he’d wanted her to understand how singular this experience was for him, how unique she was.
People often alluded to the fact that he could have any woman, but those people didn’t understand that a female body wasn’t enough for him. He wanted connection. He wanted something that counted—something like his parents had, or Rill and Katie shared. He didn’t know if Joy could be the woman for him or not, but he’d been with enough female companions at this point in his life to know that what he experienced with her was different. Special.
It was rare finding that spark with someone—magical, even—and that was true if you were a truck driver, an accountant or a film actor. He could make a decent argument for the fact that it was harder for him to find someone special. On more than one occasion, he’d wondered if fate had blessed him in so many different ways but would deny him the precious gift of a life mate. He dreaded the possibility.
He took a large swallow of his ice water. “I should be going then,” he said, setting down his glass. He paused when she put her hand on his forearm. He looked into her face.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said.
He again took her hand in his and squeezed. Her smile struck him as shy . . . radiant. He felt blood rush to his cock, creating a full, taut feeling of anticipation.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear you say that,” he murmured. He stood, her hand still in his, and raised her to her feet.
* * *<
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Joy led him to her bedroom, her heart starting to jump and pound against her breastbone. Maybe she should shower? Maybe she should brush her teeth? He drew her hand to his face and kissed her, his mouth warm and reassuring, and her stupid questions scattered to the sidelines of her awareness. She dropped his hand momentarily while she turned the bedside lamp on to a dim setting. She felt a strange mixture of excitement and awkwardness when she joined him where he stood at the side of her bed. He cradled her jaw and turned her face up toward his.
“Nervous?” he asked.
She nodded. “It’s the first time . . .”
Her voice trailed off uncertainly, but he nodded. “The first time that we’ve been deliberate about it all instead of bowled over by lust,” he said, a smile pulling at his mouth. She sighed and turned to press a kiss to his palm.
“I actually meant something else.”
“What?” he asked.
“The first time we’ve paused to take off all our clothes?” she murmured, smiling up at him.
He laughed. His hand trailed down her arm. Her flesh tingled beneath his skimming fingertips. There was something about his touch that really did something to her. He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. “I want to be inside you,” he murmured. “It’s all I’ve thought about for the past two days.”
“I want the same thing.”
“Then let’s give each other what we want,” he said gruffly, his warm breath striking her upturned lips.
“Yes,” she whispered, before his mouth covered hers. She closed her eyes and gave herself to the power of his kiss. His mouth was still cool from drinking ice water, but she felt his heat just beneath it. His taste inundated her—complex, male, intoxicating. Her shyness melted, and the true Joy rose to the surface. She penetrated his mouth with her tongue, eager to taste more of him.
He groaned and took both of her shoulders in his hands. She encircled his waist with her arms. He squeezed her shoulder muscles lightly and brought her closer to him, until her breasts crushed against his ribs and her belly pressed along his zipper. She felt him behind the fabric, hard, warm, teeming with life. He shifted slightly, and she realized the shaft of his penis rode down his left pant leg. She caressed his back muscles, thrilling to the sensation of all that lean, corded power. If he felt this good with his clothes on, what would it be like to feel his naked skin sliding beneath her fingertips? She shifted her hand between their straining bodies, suddenly ravenous to discover firsthand the answer to her question.
Her fingertips slipped between two buttons of his dress shirt. She touched the smooth skin covering his ribs. Her forefinger dipped down to stroke his abdomen. She felt the muscle spasm slightly, and he broke their kiss.
Joy sensed him looking down at her, but she focused on her task of unbuttoning his shirt. If she looked into his eyes, her self-consciousness might dampen her ardor, and she wanted no interference to her desire at the present moment. She parted his shirt and for a few seconds just stared at the expanse of flawless, golden brown skin covering ridged, defined muscle. His small, coppery-tinged nipples nestled in a smattering of light brown hair on his chest. The narrow path of hair that bisected a flat, defined abdomen seemed to beckon Joy . . . tempt her to follow it beneath the waistband of his crisp black trousers.
She looked into his face, feeling overwhelmed. God, he really was something from another world. This felt beyond her.
Perhaps he read the mixed anxiety and longing on her face, because his arms came around her loosely. He opened his palm at the small of her back and kneaded her flesh gently.
“Touch me, Joy. Let me see your hands on me,” he rasped, his voice coming from just above the top of her head. She looked straight ahead, her line of sight directly on dense pectoral muscles. She reached. A small sigh leaked past her lips. His skin felt thick and soft, the muscle beneath rigid against her seeking fingertips. She touched the crinkly hair on his chest and then a nipple. His breath hitched. His flesh beaded beneath her stroking finger. His cock lurched next to her belly.
“Joy,” he muttered. He bent and covered her mouth with his own. As if his kiss gave her permission, she began to touch him everywhere, sliding her palms along the sides of his ribs, molding his back muscles to her palms, testing to see if the trail of hair down his taut abdomen felt as silky as it appeared.
It did. It also made Everett groan into her mouth and seal their kiss. She glanced up, her first and second fingers dipping beneath his waistband, pausing when she saw the glint in his blue-green eyes.
“Let’s get you out of this dress,” he murmured. She felt his hand at her shoulder. Instead of immediately pulling on the cotton straps, he toyed with them for a moment, running the cloth between his long fingers. For some reason, his actions made liquid heat surge between her thighs. When he eventually did pull at the material, releasing the bow, he smiled. By the time he’d untied the other strap, she breathed raggedly.
“It’s like unwrapping a priceless present,” he said, devilish grin in place.
She laughed softly, although his teasing tone couldn’t entirely erase the tension inherent to the moment.
His hand shifted to her back and he lowered the zipper on her dress. Instead of allowing the loose fabric to drop, he stepped back a few inches and lowered it deliberately, exposing her chest and the top curves of her breasts, allowing her nipples to peek above the cloth, then the fringe at the neckline to scrape across her ribs and belly.
Joy held her breath. It was almost unbearable, the anticipation, watching his face when he exposed the sensitive strip of flesh above her mons and the tiny triangle of ivory silk that covered her pubic hair. Her dress bunched in his fist. He lowered it farther. She gasped softly when his knuckles brushed against her naked thigh. He dropped it suddenly, the dress fluttering to her ankles. He spread his hand along the front of her thigh.
“God, you’re lovely.”
She made a strangled sound as his hand coasted upward. He touched her pussy through the meager fabric of her thong, the caress firm and confident.
“Bless it, you’re wet,” she thought she heard him say. His gaze flickered up to her face. “You’re ready.”
“Yes,” she said shakily.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her back to the bed. She sat and then lay back at his silent urging. Her throat tightened uncomfortably when he carefully removed her thong.
He stood and began to undress. She wanted to undress him as he had her, so sweetly, so seductively, but she felt almost debilitated by her desire. Her limbs felt heavy. Her pussy felt like a living thing between her thighs, tingling with arousal, hungry for stimulation, aching to be filled.
She swallowed with difficulty a moment later as she watched Everett lower his pants. He wore boxer-briefs, the stark whiteness of them a contrast to his gilded skin. His erection strained against the fabric, the outline of his cock clear to see.
She didn’t know what to say when he stood before her naked, didn’t know what to do. He was so beautiful, it almost hurt her a little to look at him. Something so amazing, so brilliant, couldn’t be a lasting thing. It wasn’t even conceivable. She lay there, her flesh prickly, needful of the friction of his body against hers. It surprised her a little to see her own arms stretched out, beckoning him. He quickly donned a condom, the strength of his arousal stretching the prophylactic tight.
He knelt between her opened thighs and placed his hands next to her head, his shoulder and arm muscles flexing hard. He leaned down and kissed the nipple of her left breast, flicking his tongue over the tip before he pressed his mouth above her pounding heart.
“Lovely Joy,” he whispered next to her skin. She encircled his neck with her hands, delving her fingertips into the corded muscle of his upper back. His hand moved to the back of her thigh. He pushed her knee toward her chest and shifted his hips, the motion fluid and natural. She felt the head of his cock nudge her pussy and met his stare. He slowly began to pierce her. A convulsion o
f emotion shuddered through her. It’d been so long since she’d been with a man.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
She bit her lip and nodded. His girth was stretching her, but even as he flexed with his hips, she felt her flesh melt around him . . . welcome him.
“You’re very small,” he said through a tense jaw.
“I haven’t done this for a while,” she whispered. She ran her hands down his sides. She placed one hand on a smooth, dense buttock. Another shudder went through her, this one of excitement. Her vagina tightened around him. He groaned and flexed, seating himself farther inside her. She tightened her hand on his ass, cupping him, urging him. A feverish flush went through her.
“Jesus. I can feel your heat,” he muttered tensely, sinking inside her several more inches. She lowered her other hand, holding both of his cheeks. She pushed, letting him know with her actions what she wanted.
“Joy,” he grated out. He gave in to her wish and pushed into her to the hilt. His ass felt as hard as stone beneath her clutching hands. It hurt a little, to be so filled with him. But her excitement was greater than her discomfort. Not so long ago, she’d felt so broken, so polluted by her illness and by the chemicals running in her veins—the poison to kill the greater evil. Now she was brimming with life, golden and rich, overfilled by Everett’s powerful energy. He pulsed against her clamoring nerves, kissing deep, secret flesh with his cock.
She glanced up at him, taking in the gleam of sweat on his rigid stomach muscles, the bunching of his chest and shoulders and the feral gleam in his eyes.
“Fuck me,” she whispered.
His nostrils flared. He held her stare and granted her request, drawing out of her several inches before he sank back into her to the hilt. Her breath caught at the sure, firm stroke.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, pausing, his stomach muscles clenching.
“No. No. It feels so good.”
He began to fuck her with slow, thorough strokes that built a delicious friction in her. She admitted the fact that it wasn’t enough to Everett before she acknowledged the truth herself. She clutched his ass and tensed her biceps tight.