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

by Lexi Buchanan

  This time she laughed, a sound that never failed to make his heart do a somersault. “No, really! One side tastes different from the other.”

  “Different how?”

  She frowned. “One side is clean, kind of like you just stepped out of the shower. It’s almost tasteless in fact. But this one,” she said, touching the area she indicated, “it’s a little headier. If I had to define masculine as a taste, it’s right here.”

  “Are you calling me dirty?”

  Quick as a flash, she replied, “Baby, I knew you were dirty from the second you suggested this little technique of yours.”

  “But it’s working.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it’s working.”

  His heart pounded a little faster. “I wonder if you have two distinct tastes on opposite sides of your body.”

  The look she exhibited suggested she knew exactly where he was headed with this line, but played along anyway. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

  “I guess,” he murmured before his mouth descended on hers.

  Rational thought fled his mind the longer he tasted her, kissed her. His sole purpose, the only drive his body wanted to recognize was the primal urge to be with Tanya at the most fundamental level. He’d seen her angry, as well as joyous. He’d been there with her when she’d received disappointing news that her art didn’t meet the standards for a new gallery. He’d seen the light in her eyes when her creativity took over and there was no place on earth she would have rather been than in front of her easel.

  He brought forth these memories and somewhere in the back of his mind, wanted and hoped that he’d be the reason for some of that joy one day. He wanted his words to light her face, his presence make her want to stay. Damn if he hadn’t fallen in love with this woman and relished these few minutes of touching and kissing. Tasting, and if God smiled down on him, loving.

  “Yes,” she cooed softly, her back arching. He took the opportunity to pull her close. Somehow clumsy fingers managed to slip loose the straps of her overalls, pushing them over her shoulders. Now only cotton separated his skin from hers. A very thin layer of her shirt. Her nipples blossomed to life, their twin peaks coaxing a groan from the depths of his own chest.

  Impatient, he dropped his hands and pushed down the denim. He wanted to feel more of her skin beneath his hands. Under his tongue. “Your lips are like heaven.”

  Tanya used the break to turn her face, her neck exposed to his nibbling pleasure. “What are we doing, Joe?”

  “Tasting,” he said before biting down.

  “Yes,” she moaned. “Tasting.”

  He brought his nips down, testing the firmness of her clavicle before toying with the peak of her nipple before traveling to the other. She yelped at the pressure he applied, but her fingers curled into his hair suggested she had zero problems with the attention he paid her.

  Good. He could only focus on one thing. His one objective at this point. One place his mind, his body insisted he taste.

  She paused, a fraction of time that made his heart stop, but when she lifted her hips and helped him push down her overalls, he wanted to high-five someone.

  Jesus. This time, in addition to his heart stopping, his breath held too. Her long, brown legs. He’d never seen them before and they started somewhere just beneath her belly button and went on through next week. And right above them, the most delicate pair of black lace panties he’d ever had the pleasure of viewing stared back at him.

  “These are,” he started, suddenly at a loss for an adequate word. His finger slipped beneath the hem and toyed with its frilly edge. “Exquisite.”

  “Not what you’d expected, huh?” Amusement sparkled in her eyes.

  She nailed it. They were so unexpected, so anti-Tanya, that the sight startled him. Then again, no one else but the woman who made his body ache with need could have pulled off the contrasts so well. Paint-spattered, worn denim on top. Feminine, elegant lingerie beneath. He couldn’t wait to press his mouth there and feel its softness against his lips.

  So he did.

  Her scent, her taste exploded in his mind, a sensation so captivating, so awe-inspiring, he wanted to lose himself in it. Through the fragile silk, he tasted the essence of Tanya, the woman of his dreams. The fantasy who kept him awake at night. The siren who made him look forward to every other day when he spent a few hours in her presence.

  He followed her movement when her hips rolled, his mouth never losing contact with that precious fabric. With her.

  Through her panties, his tongue traced her pussy, found the bundle of nerves sure to send her careening toward orgasm. He worked over her, encouraged by her low moans, her soft cries. His dick was just about bursting through his clothes, his mind dizzy with a desperate need for oxygen and blood. But his instinct, his drive demanded he get her there. Those long legs were wrapped around his head, her heels brushing against his back, and the second her muscles stiffened, a rush of power surged through him.

  Her fingers twisted into his hair, enticing him further. “Joe,” she whimpered. “Yes, Joe!”

  He held her there, suspended, his thunder of a heartbeat the only noise in the room before her whimper of simple pleasure floated into the air. Such a lovely, erotic sound.

  Reluctantly, he let go, but crawled his way back to her lips. Those lovely full lips that parted in a smile. She watched him beneath half-lidded eyes, the contentment on her face an aphrodisiac on its own. As tenderly as his raging emotions would allow him, he lowered his mouth once again to hers. “Taste,” he said softly.

  Tanya cupped his face in her hands and opened herself to him. To his kiss. The scent of her body lingered in his mouth, but she licked his lips. Pulled on his tongue. Breathed in sync with him.

  He held himself elevated on his arms, but slowly allowed his hips to descend. She had to know what she did to him. How badly he wanted her. More than just kissing. More than foreplay. He needed her like air.

  “Tanya,” he said on an urgent breath, “I…”

  A loud ringing sound filled the room, the certainty of permanent deafness promised by its cacophony. Their heads simultaneously whipped to the side the moment the noise started. Through the clamor, he found his senses long enough to locate the metal bell trilling its anger.

  “Fire alarm!” Tanya cried.

  Of fucking course.

  He sighed. “Get dressed. We’d better go.”

  Joe pushed himself up, freeing her to escape from the couch. She snatched up the overalls, and balancing on one leg, slipped them on. “Do you think it’s a drill?” she yelled.

  His heart sank because no, he didn’t. The first hint of the cloying smell of smoke had made its way into the apartment.

  Chapter Five

  Together they hustled down the few stairs leading to the street. She’d tried to see up the stairwell, to check on her upstairs neighbors’ progress, but Joe pushed her forward, their own safety apparently his first concern. It wasn’t until her feet hit the concrete that realization rushed in.

  She pivoted to him before turning back to face the doorway. “God, Joe. My paintings. I should have grabbed my paintings.”

  The tense look on his face indicated he’d already been thinking along those lines. “It’ll be fine. Let’s just wait and see what happens.”

  Nothing about his expression reassured her. And only now did she realize he stood outside in just a pair of jeans; shirtless, not even shoes covering his feet. Hell, she’d just managed to slip on a pair of flip-flops before they hastened outside. Other residents came out in similar states of undress. Thank goodness the early fall weather accommodated their attire.

  Above the annoying fire alarm still screaming maniacally inside, additional sirens approached their location. If the fire department headed their way, all hopes that this just might be a drill vanished. Maybe though, someone just burned some popcorn in a microwave. Or maybe there was a small fire in a trash can out back. Nothing that would threaten their
home. Her livelihood.

  Fine time to worry about her future. What had she been thinking back there? Certainly not about meeting an almost impossible deadline. She’d allowed herself to be swept up by Joe’s attention. Not just his attention, his kisses, his touch. By the unspoken promise of much, much more.

  “Don’t,” he cautioned.

  A fire blazed in her eyes. She felt the heat and he must have seen it. “Don’t what?”

  He grasped her arm and pulled her away from the growing crowd. “Don’t put any regret in what we just did. Don’t make it something other than what it was.”

  “What was it? A chance to let off some sexual steam?” She glanced toward the fire truck pulling to a stop. “You come to my house, take off your clothes and I ogle you for hours at a time. There isn’t gonna be some tension between us? Right.”

  Her words tumbled out, one right after the other, without any input whatsoever from her brain. If she’d listen to it, phrases like stop, you idiot might prevent her from lashing out at the person who’d been her support when she needed it.

  Men poured from the fire truck before it came to a full stop. Someone yanked on a hose larger than her thigh, unrolled it and rushed the end to a nearby hydrant. Another man waited there, the cap to the hydrant already dislodged, and together they mated connecting ends. One waited for a curt nod from an older fireman near the truck and slowly released a flood of water.

  Joe shifted into her view. “Is that what you really think? You think that we crossed a professional line simply because of some tension? Like we’re teenagers who can’t control their fucking hormones?”

  She could still feel his kisses. Taste his skin. Their memory infuriated her. “Joe, you are a gorgeous man. Fine enough to be…” Nothing useful would come. “A model. What red-blooded woman wouldn’t react to some attention from you?”

  “You are equally stunning, if not more so. But this isn’t just about physical beauty,” he said roughly. He drew in a deep breath and lowered his voice. “At least not for me, it isn’t.”

  Unable to process his words, she tilted her face away. She didn’t want to know what he meant. Didn’t have the energy to split her attention between him and the danger to her home. Everything she owned resided in that apartment. Every penny she’d ever earned had been recycled into more supplies, into stabilizing her living. One, maybe two more art shows backed by Mr. Killian and she’d have enough to venture out on her own.

  A collective gasp from the crowd drew her attention to what they’d obviously been paying attention. Flames licked inside an upstairs window, the bright orange glow reverberating into the evening air. Smoke slipped through a small gap in between the glass and the pane, billowing outward with a promise of more to come.

  “Oh God,” she whispered.

  Joe stepped closer, the comfort of him blanketing her back. He rested his hands on her shoulders. “Are you sure you want to watch this?”

  She nodded, too disabled to find her voice. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the progress of the firemen. The city’s bravest. Her respect for them kicked up several dozen notches. If they saved her art, her home, she wouldn’t know how to repay them.

  Joe’s arms crossed her chest, pulling her against him and offering his support. Again.

  Together they stood like that watching while the men did their jobs. At one point, a second level window exploded, a spray of glass striking some of the crowd below. As a precaution, they were forced to move away from the building, but bless him, Joe didn’t allow her to turn away. He backed them up, keeping their bodies connected, her trust placed squarely in him. In his ability to make sure they remained safe in the crowd, no matter how they stood in the middle of the street.

  Hours passed. She expected him to pull away at any minute, to say he needed to leave. The only people who still lingered were those waiting for the all-clear to go back inside to assess the damage. They’d already been informed the fire had been doused. However, they still waited on news of how much it had claimed before being extinguished. She figured a lot of the upstairs had been gutted. She prayed the downstairs had been spared. She’d offer up her home to anyone who needed a place to sleep, just please, let her paintings survive.

  It was a horrible, selfish thought and it made her stomach twist in knots. Ever in tune with her silent emotions, Joe squeezed her in a fierce hug.

  “I can’t believe I’m sitting here thinking about something as stupid as paint on canvas, when people around me have just lost their homes.”

  “Shh,” he soothed.

  Tanya shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “There are people here who have no place to sleep tonight. Hell, maybe me too, but all I can think about is the months of work that might have gone up in smoke.”

  He dropped a kiss on her temple. “Sweetheart, you’re not the only one having those kinds of thoughts. Look around you. No one is mourning the loss of a door or a kitchen sink. Those things can be bought again, paid for with insurance. The grief you see in everyone’s eyes is for those things they can never get back. The irreplaceable item someone’s mother, lover or child gave to them. The one-of-a-kind gift they can’t get back.” The wind picked up around them and he hugged her again. “One day you’ll look back and be grateful that no one lost their life in the fire. Today, though, today it’s okay to miss what you’ll have a hard time replacing.”

  “It doesn’t make me feel less guilty.”

  “Let’s just wait and see what we’re working with here, first.”

  She nodded, unwilling to acknowledge his use of “we”. His empathy, his support she cherished, but still had a hard time wrapping her mind around. He didn’t have to be here. She still couldn’t figure out why he was. If he had a right mind to it, he could stop on almost any corner grocery and pick up a cheap shirt and flip-flops to get him home. Why wait around at all?

  The heated words they shared not long ago still echoed in her mind. He’d said the intimacy they shared went beyond just attraction to her, but what did that mean? They’d exchanged not much more than passing conversation when he posed. Maybe a few dozen lunches together when he insisted on a break. Then again, he’d hugged her as any friend would the times a piece had been accepted to show in a local display. He’d also offered her sympathetic smiles when she received disappointing news, too.

  Turning to him for sexual release felt as natural as breathing. He was gorgeous. He was safe. He was nearby.

  Her stomach rolled at the thought.

  Nearby? Could she really find no better excuse for allowing herself to be caught up in a whirlwind of, despite what he said, hormones and emotions when she let things go a little too far? And how much further would she have allowed him to go?

  Well, hell. Probably all the way. Joe made her feel good. He boosted her confidence in her art. His attraction hoisted her confidence in herself. But she knew about celebrities who, after working closely together for months, fell into ill-fated relationships just because they had no one else but themselves for support during an intense time. Watching a man’s nudity for months at a time didn’t get any more intense. Someone who observed them from the outside might suggest that their circumstances brought them together, not any kind of simmering affection.

  “What are you thinking?” His voice was tender, a silky stroke against her spine.

  “I—” She faltered, not knowing what to offer. When she glanced down, though, she saw the spray of goose bumps covering his arms. So caught up in her own world, her own sorrow, she failed to remember that he kept himself wrapped around her, keeping her folded in his warmth. In the meanwhile, he stood shirtless, his bare back to the brisk autumn wind, the temperature dropping as the hours passed. “I’m so sorry, Joe. You must be freezing.”

  He shrugged, an idiotically macho move if ever she saw one. “I’m all right.”

  “And your feet,” she groaned.

  “Will you chill? I’m all right.”

  She turned, ready to give him her mo
ther’s best bland look but commotion near the security tape caught her attention. “Are they letting us back in?”

  Her heart swelled as the tape dropped. As one, the crowd started to move forward. Joe released her so she could move with them, but slipped his hand in hers.

  They made their way past a fireman giving instructions to the residents of the second floor. Their feet sloshed through puddles left behind. Her breathing became more labored, her body trying to acclimate to the smoky air. The atmosphere was damp, hot. Probably very similar to what a swamp felt like in the middle of summer.

  In their haste to leave previously, they’d failed to lock the front door. Not like she had anything worth stealing anyway. In retrospect, since she’d left her keys behind, an unlocked door was probably a good thing. Except now the door stood gaping, its charred mass an ominous greeting.

  “Joe?” She didn’t know if she could move forward. Cement blocks replaced her feet.

  He squeezed her hand. “Let’s take this one step at a time. It may be worse out here than inside.”

  She already knew it wasn’t. Her pulse raced because nothing good would be behind the mess of a door.

  Crossing the threshold was like stepping onto a sponge. The cheap carpeting was ruined, the underpadding beneath a soggy mess. The blackened walls and the furniture’s skeletal remains a tell-tale of what transpired. The fire had been here too.

  Her legs threatened to buckle, but Joe moved his hand to her waist, holding her tight against him. She kept her sight on the doorway, the one that led to her studio. Her body seemed incapable of movement on its own. It was Joe, her Joe, who propelled her into taking the first step and then the next. He forced her to face her future—whatever it would be.

  In the doorway, they stood side by side, staring at what was left of her livelihood.

  Joe didn’t like the haunted look in her eyes one bit. How could her rich, beautiful skin pale to a sallow that left him wanting to pull her in his arms and hold her until the hurt faded away? Her grief rolled off her until his heart ached as forcefully as the rest of him. She stood there, wide-eyed and disbelieving. He had no idea how she felt, but what he imagined probably tore her in two inside.