What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 7)

by Lexi Buchanan

  He leaned back and caught her chin. As tender as always, he tilted her face toward his. “So, we’ll get to work today and get these finished. Right?”

  “Joe, I can’t just pick up and finish something I’ve already started.”

  “You want to start fresh?”

  “I have to.”

  This time he blew out a defeated breath. “Would you have time for that?”

  “No.” Her laugh immediately afterward sounded bitter to her own ears.

  He studied her face and she had the sudden notion that she was about to have a nervous breakdown. There was so much concern in his pretty blues that he must have been afraid for her sanity. She knew she had some concerns of her own.

  “Humor me, Tanya,” he said, withdrawing from her embrace at last. He went to the stack and extracted the first painting, the one he’d spent the most time reviewing. “This one is fantastic. Start with this one and see what happens when you try to finish it.”

  It was a damned good painting. He seemed celestial in it, but still, she had her reservations about any further progress at this point. She loved that he wanted to help, but he didn’t get it. “Joe, I have moved on since that one. That was one of our first together. Months ago. I’ve grown a little since then and even what you’ve shown me yesterday comes across clearly today in what I paint.”

  “I don’t accept you cannot take what you’ve learned and apply it now.”

  “On top of what’s already there?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s not the same style. What makes my paintings mine will be there, but the signs of my growth will contrast sharply with what’s already there. At least it should.”

  He moved away, painting in hand, and headed toward her studio. “What choice do you have?”

  None. The answer was simple.

  She stood rooted to the spot, unable to call out to him to stop. Hell, to even come up with a better game plan. Joe wasn’t an artist; he couldn’t understand what he asked was impossible. Her mind didn’t allow her the luxury of starting something and then stopping, at her whim. Her creativity came in unexpected bursts of energy. She was either ready to deal with it the moment it hit or she wasn’t. With the disorder of Mr. Killian’s visit weighing heavily on her mind, the last thing she felt was creative.

  Art burned inside of her. Thrived. She didn’t know how not to create. Even in the past when she’d decided to pursue a career a lot more lucrative and a lot more stable, she always found herself drawn back to the canvas. But just because art was a part of her didn’t mean it always came when called. Bitch of a thing.

  Maybe she could give her benefactor a call. Have a serious heart to heart with the man. Maybe he’d understand.

  Maybe she’d hit the lotto on the way over to his place, too.

  With a resigned sigh, she headed toward the studio. She’d try. She could offer nothing more.

  Once inside, her stride broke the moment she spotted Joe. He’d stripped and waited expectantly for her arrival. As many times as she’d seen him naked, she couldn’t get used to her immediate reaction. Her perusal of his body forced a small mental utterance of thanks for man-kind.

  And when he struck that pose? The one that made his entire body stretch into its own work of art, a stance of power. One that made it very clear he knew the level of his own sensuality, her heart thudded loudly against her ribcage. Every. Single. Time.

  Focus. Employee, not lover. Employee, not eye-candy. Employee.

  Oh, but damn. Her mind betrayed her with the image of him on his knees yesterday, weakened by an orgasm they’d wrung out of him. A strange thrill of exhilaration made her blood pump wildly in her veins from the knowledge she’d done that to him. Maybe, just maybe, he shook loose thoughts of her as his employer and could slide easily into a different kind of relationship with her instead.

  One day she’d have to find out what he felt like. How spreading her legs for him, pussy dripping with cream, breasts taut with anticipation, hands curled into fists at her sides…she would find out what it meant to fuck him. Lift her hips to heaven and let him sink his cock into her velvet-lined folds. The same folds she stroked with trembling hands after they finished an art session. Sometimes before he’d even made it to the sidewalk outside of her apartment.

  Employee. Right.

  Tanya donned the smock hanging from a peg on the wall and walked to the easel. A frown crossed her features when she reached for the palette because her stupid hands were trembling. Trembling! What was that about?

  She shrugged it off; she had other things to worry about. Despite the little homage she paid when she ogled Joe, she sent a loose petition for help to her muse and got ready to work. Thoughts of art shows only four days away were shoved aside and she uncapped a tube of paint. Focus.

  “It’s time for a break.”

  Tanya looked past the canvas. “What?”

  Joe rolled his head over his shoulders in an exaggerated motion. “Time for a break. My muscles are locking up on me.”

  “But Joe,” she griped, looking toward the wall clock. “Oh.”

  He chuckled. “Not as hard as you thought it’d be, huh?”

  Five hours. When the hell had that much time passed? She’d spent so much time fussing and prepping and fixing. There wasn’t a lot of progress on the painting to speak of, but there was progress.

  Joe sidled next to her, his attention on the canvas. “You are…amazing, Tanya. Wow.”

  His arm wrapped around her waist and she settled into his touch before realizing what they were doing. The move, his closeness was so natural. That he complimented her work didn’t hurt, either.

  Neither did the presence of his nudity against her clothed body.

  “It’s not finished yet,” she said, more so for some distraction from his heat.

  “No,” he agreed, “but you’re right. You’ve grown since you started this piece and I can tell the difference with what you’ve done already.”

  His jaw brushed hers when he spoke. It took every effort to not imagine what the slightly rough feel of his face might feel like against other sensitive parts of her body. In between her spread thighs, for instance… “I have you to thank for a lot of that.”

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever forget yesterday,” she replied slowly, softly.

  “Me neither.” His thumb made some very delicious circles beneath the denim of her overalls, right over the thin slip of t-shirt covering her belly. Between his touch and his proximity, she could have curled her toes in bliss. If he could elicit that reaction with her clothing on, for heaven’s sake, what could he do when nothing separated them? Hell, she’d never noticed when his hand slipped between her clothing. Odder still, his removal of it when he shifted away left a mild ache. “I’m starving. How about you?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll eat later. I need to work now. Take five though.”

  He stopped. “When’s the last time you had something to eat?”

  “I had some coffee this morning.”

  The corner of his mouth edged up. “No, I mean real food.”

  If a bowl of cold cereal counted, she’d eaten early last night. “Dinner yesterday.”

  “It’s past four in the afternoon and the last time you ate was almost twenty-four hours ago?”

  “I guess.” Put that way, it sounded so criminal.

  His face set into a look of distaste. Reaching down, he retrieved his pants from the floor and then slipped into them. “You have until I come back to work some more. Then you and I are both taking a break to eat something. You mind if I pillage your fridge?”

  Oh shit. “Joe, it just struck me that today’s Wednesday.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I can’t pay you for today. You’ll have to take tomorrow off to balance it out.”

  “We’ll work something out later, okay?”

  “But—”

  “I can either go out and get something for us to eat or we can eat what
’s here. What’ll it be?”

  The abrupt change in topic distracted her for a nanosecond from the state of her dwindling finances. Reimbursing him for food expenses went beyond her budget. “Uh, here’s fine. There’s some fruit or something around.”

  “Good. Then I’ll be back in a few.”

  In her mind, she captured a snapshot of his retreating form for later use. Perhaps an in-motion painting that immortalized his smooth stride. For now, though, she’d better pay attention to what rested in front of her.

  The painting wasn’t bad. Actually, to use Joe’s words, it was amazing. Not complete yet, but a few more hours and she might get it there. His insistence that she learn what he felt like paid off in spades. The subtle changes in texture, the depth of feeling that existed now hadn’t been evident more than five hours ago. Granted, her work could always use improvement, but the difference between now and then was like night and day. He’d inspired her in thirty minutes with something she hadn’t grasped in three years of free-lancing.

  As if he’d heard her thoughts, he stepped through the doorway with a plate balanced in his hand. A simple cloth napkin covered its surface. She’d have to lift it to see what he’d come up with for them to snack on. Tanya reached out when he approached, intent on helping him out, but Joe pulled the plate away.

  “Not yet,” he tsked. “I want you to come with me.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at that and utilized his earlier one word question. “Oh?”

  He crooked a finger at her with his free hand and resigned, she followed. What was he up to? She got her response a minute later when they settled against the small love-seat.

  “Lesson two,” he announced.

  Her gaze traveled to the still-covered plate. Perhaps she should be a little bit apprehensive about what lay hidden beneath. “Joe?”

  “You trusted me yesterday, so trust me today.”

  Good point. “Fine,” she said, albeit reluctantly.

  Heat flared in his eyes. “You shied away from ‘taste’ yesterday, but I think that’s where we should go next, okay? It’s the next simplest.”

  Taste? There were only so many things he could want her to put her mouth on. Parts of his anatomy that she needed to run her tongue, her lips over.

  Her breathing picked up. Employee, employee, oh hell…

  As with yesterday, she quickly lost ground to that way of thinking.

  “There’s always smell,” she offered. The squeak in her voice might as well have belonged to a virgin on her wedding night.

  He considered that for a moment. “True, but taste suits my needs about now.”

  His needs? Oh my…

  He glanced toward the plate and then looked at her again with a grin pushing up his cheeks. “You can lose that panicked expression. I’m just going to feed you, you nut.”

  Oh. The breath she’d been holding escaped in a rush. “Okay.”

  “Good. Close your eyes.” He leaned closer. “And keep them closed.”

  Despite every compulsion to giggle with a cross between relief and disappointment, she did as he asked. When was the last time she’d allowed a man to pamper her like this?

  “Open,” he commanded.

  Her mouth parted and Joe slipped a small wedge between her lips. The sweet, tangy taste of apple exploded through her senses a second later. She crunched down on the morsel, her stomach offering up a rumble of contentment at finally being fed. So maybe a single bowl of cereal in twenty-four hours wasn’t enough to subsist on.

  “What does it taste like?”

  “An apple.”

  He laughed. “No, describe the taste of apple to me. Act like I’ve never had an apple before.”

  She thought about that as she chewed. “It’s floral. You can smell it inside your head before you actually taste it. And when it finally strikes, it’s this sweet and tangy flavor rolled into one.”

  “What else?”

  “The texture is soft on the surface, but you have to really bite down to get through to the core. It’s slightly rough, but not like sandpaper. Rough like the way a piece of construction paper feels.”

  “Excellent description. Anything else?”

  Something pressed against her lips and she opened them. He offered her another bite of the apple and she took it in for more analysis. It went on like that. Apple, banana, peanut butter, some stale crackers. She never knew what would come next, but he refused to let her get away with not describing it to him, no matter how simplistic. One thing she did notice was the way his fingers lingered against her lips when he fed her. The more food she ate, the more decadent she felt. Surprisingly, also more aroused.

  Minutes passed by quickly and although guilt for abandoning her painting tried to creep its way in, she refused to turn her attention toward it. If Joe hadn’t been there at the right time, she might not have accomplished as much as she had. Yesterday he’d earned her respect. Today, he deserved her time without interruption.

  Only her bird-like appetite prevented her from enjoying their snack for too much longer. About to proclaim her fullness, she opened her mouth one last time. Her lips pulled on the long rectangle of cheese she recognized almost immediately, but when they closed, brushed against a new texture.

  Joe waited for her, never moving. No explanation. No apology.

  The moment her lips caressed his, she realized her lesson in taste had begun.

  Chapter Four

  Joe didn’t know how else to kiss her. He watched her lips, the swipe of her pink tongue and gave in to his desires. Thoughts of coward stole through his mind, but he ignored them. So what if he took advantage of her closed eyes to press his luck? If she acted repulsed in the least, he would back up without a second thought. But, oh thank you God, Tanya leaned forward, molding her mouth against his.

  Her lips pressed to his, her breath mingling with his. It sent all traces of doubt, all apprehension skittering away. He wanted to lose himself in that kiss. Drown in her embrace.

  He parted her mouth gently, teasing his tongue over her softness, pushing gently inside. He would devour her with his need if he could. Only the knowledge that he’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t rush her forced him to keep his hands at his sides, to not press himself harder against her. Yesterday they’d gone farther than either intended. Every new day with her brought unexpected erotic surprises, but he wanted so much more from her. Not just an orgasm. Not even mind-blowing sex. At the end of it all, he wanted Tanya.

  He didn’t know how she felt about dating men outside her race and he’d been too timid to ask. He assumed—more like hoped—it wouldn’t be an issue for her. The soft little moan that vibrated into his mouth gave him a little hope that maybe it wasn’t. And that was so very, very good.

  She drew back a little and his heart sank. He opened his eyes to find hers less than an inch away. In them, he found a smile waiting. Her full lips echoed her amusement. “Taste, huh?”

  It took his mind almost a full minute to return to the land of reality and realize he was supposed to be engaged in a conversation and not just savoring the taste of his artist. “Uh,” he cleared his throat, “yeah. You describe food well, but that’s not what you paint, is it?”

  Her gaze dropped to his lips. “No, it isn’t,” she murmured and brought her mouth to his.

  She kissed his bottom lip first. Then the top. Her mouth traveled to each corner of his, pressing a whisper of a kiss on each side. She touched her lips to his nose, to each eyelid. Tanya learned his face, explored him through velvety contact. She traced the frame of his hairline, nibbled on each earlobe. She tasted…oh how she tasted him.

  As much as he enjoyed her attention, he forced himself to find some semblance of control. He brought his hands to her arms and tugged until she stopped honoring him with her precious caresses. “You’re supposed to be telling me what you taste.”

  Her moist mouth lifted at both corners. As always, his spirit soared at the sight. She elevated herself on her knees, facing him. “I forg
ot,” she said with a shrug. “I’d better start over.”

  Tanya kissed him again, a long, passionate sweep that used her tongue, her teeth. He had the vague sense she indeed tasted him, memorized how he felt against her. By the time she stopped, the tight confines of his jeans strangled his growing erection.

  “I taste apples,” she said matter of factly.

  She brought her hand to his face, used a thumb to wipe his lip. He dropped a quick peck onto it. “What else?”

  Her head tilted as she pondered it. “Mmm…maybe a trace of bananas.”

  “You tasted more than my mouth. What else?”

  She rose higher, touched her tongue against his hairline before dropping again. A twinkle sparked in her eyes. “Soap, there.” A shiver stole down his back when her fingers stroked his jaw, his ears. She added, “And something more than soap here. Probably aftershave or shaving cream you failed to wipe away.”

  He canted his head when she touched the pulse in his neck. His eyelids fluttered close, the glide of her touch heating him through despite her cool palm pressing there. She used both hands to trace the outline of his Adam’s apple, his throat tightening against the impulse to snatch her hands away, roll her beneath him and make her come, screaming his name, by any means possible. Instead he bore the torture, his jaw clenching tight during his struggle to remain still.

  This was killing him.

  Tanya hummed a soft noise when she kissed first one side and then the other side of his neck. She used her tongue on his skin, the lick too brief, too stimulating for his roiling senses. His dick grew impossibly harder, as if a direct line connected it to where her moist caresses seared a memory onto his skin.

  “And there? What do you taste?” How he managed to speak over his dry throat, he’d never know.

  “You know what’s odd?”

  “Hmm?”

  “This side”—she dragged her tongue along his neck—“tastes different from this side.”

  He smiled, another shiver overtaking him. Men weren’t supposed to shiver from a woman’s touch, but there it was. He shivered. “Are you sure you’re not just finding excuses to take this tasting thing a little further?”