by Fae Mallory
Her tone made it very clear what she was offering, and Violet held her breath as her dream-Ian left his spot on the bench to approach her. “Anything? Should we test that?” he asked.
“Anything,” she said boldly, seeing him smirk in response.
“Touch yourself for me,” the Ian in her mind challenged, and Violet shivered, pulling off her nightgown to bare her body to his hungry eyes. In real life, he’d been unimpressed with her plump form, but in her imagination, his eyes blazed with heat at the sight of her naked body.
Her hands cradled her full breasts, her flesh filling her palms and spilling over as she lifted them for Ian’s approval. Just imagining him watching her had her on edge, her nipples tightly budded, and when Violet stroked her thumbs over them, her imaginary Ian moaned, too.
“Keep going.” Violet bit her lip as she pinched her nipples firmly between thumb and forefinger, plucking and twisting until they burned, begging for Ian’s mouth to quench the fire. Her hips twitched as her thighs parted, her body pleading wordlessly to be filled.
What would Ian do if she splayed herself out so wantonly for him? Would he simply watch her, his face impassive save for the flush of heat on his cheeks? Would he take himself out and stroke his cock as she performed for him, the two of them sharing pleasure without ever touching?
Or would he grow frustrated with watching and become an active participant? Violet cried out, her back arching as her hands suddenly became his, Ian’s long fingers rolling her nipples before he ducked his head to take them in his mouth.
“Ian, yes!” she panted, writhing on the bed as her hand mercilessly worked her breast. Her hips jerked, the sensation going straight between her thighs as though a direct conduit ran through her, transmitting the near-painful heat to her clitoris.
In her mind, Ian chuckled at her response, his lips drawing back in a wolfish smile. “Eager?” he teased.
“Please, Ian,” she begged, spreading her legs wider to beg him to take her.
Violet groaned as fingers swept over her, barely touching her folds. He’d make her beg for it, plead until she was almost out of her mind with lust before taking pity on her and giving her what she needed.
Ian would tease her, but Ian wasn’t here, and Violet was too impatient to wait. With a choked cry, she plunged two fingers into herself, her channel clasping around them in a vise grip as her body rejoiced at being filled, even if it was with her own fingers. Planting her feet on the bed, she rocked her hips up as she curled her fingers, pressing hard against her upper wall, the delicious pressure making her shiver as a fine sheen of sweat broke out over her skin.
She threw off the blankets, the cold air a relief as it caressed her overheated body. Keeping Ian’s face firmly in mind, she shifted her hand so she could rub her thumb against her clitoris even as she continued thrusting into herself. With her other hand, she grabbed her breast and squeezed hard, pinching her nipple.
Soft grunts fell from her lips as she jerked her hips, riding her hand. The direct stimulation against her clitoris was too much and not enough at the same time. Her body burned, electricity flowing through her, but no matter how deep she thrust her fingers, she still felt empty. It was Ian her body wanted. Anything else was a poor substitute.
Sobbing in frustration, she rolled onto her stomach, grinding her hips down against the mattress and forcing her fingers deeper yet. “Ian!” she gasped, adding another finger as she brought her other hand down to join its busy mate.
Making a V with her middle and index finger, Violet stroked the sides of her clitoris, the less direct touch a relief. Her body was quaking, her orgasm so close that she could almost taste it, but she couldn’t quite get there. “Ian…” she moaned, arching her hips back.
Violet pulled her fingers out of herself, whimpering at the loss. Then she plunged them back inside as deep as she could go, imagining Ian’s groan as he thrust into her for the very first time. “Yes!” she gasped, her body jerking helplessly as her climax washed over her, her fingers still thrusting as her dream-Ian pounded into her, giving her more pleasure than her body could withstand.
With a sobbing moan, Violet subsided, collapsing into a sweaty pile in the middle of her rumpled sheets. Ian was gone, and his absence left her feeling cold and very alone. Reaching out, she bundled herself back up in a cocoon of blankets, trying to pretend that she was feeling Ian’s arms around her.
“Stupid,” she muttered, rubbing her cheek against her pillow. She was acting like a child begging for the moon. She had to stop this. Ian wasn’t interested in her, but Paul was. He was the one she should be fantasizing about. A small-town reporter was much more her speed than the charismatic CEO of Carlisle Enterprises. Trying to date Ian would be like keeping a lion for a pet—a fun adventure until she was devoured.
Violet laughed at herself and shook her head. She was comparing the two men as if she had options. She and Paul had a brunch date on Sunday. All she and Ian had was an unconventional business relationship, and now that the exhibit was open, they barely had that. She needed to concentrate on Paul.
Screwing her eyes closed, Violet tried to picture Paul, but her memory failed her. Try as she might, she couldn’t conjure a clear image of him, even though she could remember every detail of Ian’s appearance down to the lock of hair that occasionally struggled to escape from his ponytail. Paul, on the other hand, had made no impression on her at all.
Well, it wasn’t like she knew he’d be asking her out. Violet still couldn’t get over that. Paul was nice, employed, and interested in her. He was perfect. What difference did it make that she couldn’t remember if he had blond hair or red? When they met on Sunday, she’d be able to give him her undivided attention, and surely he’d be more memorable once she was no longer in the midst of the chaos of the preview.
If Ian was a lion, Paul was a house cat, but that was for the best. There was no chance that he’d devour her, and maybe he’d even be able to make her purr. At the very least, he’d help her banish Ian from her thoughts.
Sunday couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter 5
“Hey!” Paul greeted, standing up to help her with her coat as Violet followed the restaurant’s host to the table where he’d been waiting for her.
“Hey.” Violet smiled, trying not to make it obvious that she was studying him, trying to solidify his picture in her memory. Objectively, there was nothing at all wrong with Paul. His broad, open face wore a friendly smile that was easy to return. His sandy hair was spiked up with just the slightest bit too much hair gel, but that was hardly a deal breaker. He looked like the kind of man who drove an SUV and ferried an entire team of kids to soccer practice. He was perfect for her.
Like a gentleman he held her chair out for her and then offered her a single pink rose, the end cap still attached. Violet brought it to her nose and inhaled, straining to catch a scent from the flower. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”
“It reminded me of you,” he informed her with what Violet considered practiced charm.
“I really enjoyed your article about the premiere. How did you get into journalism?” she asked, trying to steer them away from potentially dangerous waters. The last thing she wanted was to hear him offer the traditional platitudes about her beauty when they both knew he was just being polite.
Fortunately, Paul seemed perfectly happy to talk about himself, describing his passion for writing that led to him becoming editor of his college’s award-winning newspaper when he was only a junior. Violet picked at her smoked salmon and poached eggs, trying to pay attention.
Listening to Paul talk about himself was easier than discussing her own life, so when he paused for breath, she prompted, “And how did you wind up back in Owensport?”
He pulled a face. “My dad has some health problems. I’m an only child, and my mom needed help, so here I am.”
“That’s very noble,” Violet told him, meaning the words.
“You do what you have to do.” Violet wasn’t
sure if his words denoted modesty or resignation. “I’ve been working on building my portfolio, so now that he’s on the mend, I’m putting out some feelers. This town’s a little too sleepy for me.”
As far as Violet was concerned, Owensport’s quiet pace was part of its charm. The small town lent itself to a slower way of life that the artist in her appreciated. In Owensport, there was always time to watch the flowers grow.
“What about you?” Paul asked. “An artsy girl like you can’t be happy in this backwater. Don’t you ever think about moving to New York or something?”
“Actually, I went to the New York Academy of Art. The city is certainly exciting, but—I don’t know. I just don’t think it’s for me,” she admitted. After the hustle and bustle of New York, Owensport felt like a quiet oasis in the world. There was something comforting in its daily routines. It might lack variety, but there were plenty of other advantages—like the waitress at the town diner who knew without asking exactly how Violet took her coffee. In New York she’d been one of the faceless millions, but here she had a name.
Paul shook his head. “If you say so. I’d rather live somewhere where they don’t roll up the sidewalks at nine every night.”
Violet opened her mouth to defend Owensport and then realized that arguing with a man on the first date was a good way to guarantee that she wouldn’t be asked for a second one. Swallowing her retort, she opted to redirect the conversation. “Tell me about your writing. Is it all nonfiction or do you do creative writing, too?”
Apparently, Paul had a half-finished novel sitting on his hard drive that he was happy to discuss, and Violet settled in to listen, making the right noises at the right times. The plot—an ambitious young man returns to his backwater hometown to care for an aging relative—sounded more than a little familiar.
“I really enjoyed this,” he told her as their meal drew to a close, placing his hand over hers as he handed his credit card to the waiter. “You’ve got it all. You’re beautiful, and you’re a great conversationalist.”
“Hardly beautiful,” she muttered, ducking her head. The great conversationalist part wasn’t exactly accurate either since all she’d done was ask him questions about himself.
Paul squeezed her hand. “And that’s what makes you beautiful.”
“So, if I thought I was beautiful, I wouldn’t be?” she asked, her lips twitching at the thought.
He nodded. “Exactly! Women today are too stuck on themselves. All they want to do is talk about themselves and check themselves out. You’re different, Violet. You’re special.”
His words were sweet, but a small voice in the back of Violet’s head raised an objection. Obviously narcissism wasn’t an attractive trait, but she’d always thought confidence was something to be celebrated.
Getting into a debate about that wasn’t appropriate first-date talk either, so she restrained herself to a quiet thank-you. Paul clearly meant for his words to be a compliment, and it would be churlish to quibble.
“We have to do this again,” he declared as he held her coat for her. He was asking her for a second date, and Violet tried to feel triumph. A nice, attractive man wanted to date her.
“The community theater is doing The Importance of Being Earnest this weekend,” she suggested. The show started at eight, but if she bribed Leroy to cover the last hour of her shift, she’d be able to make it.
“Yeah, I have to cover that on Thursday for the paper. Apparently now I’m a theater critic in addition to being an art critic.” Paul sounded less than enthused about the idea.
“Why don’t we meet for drinks on Friday after you get off work?” he suggested. “I can tell you about the show, and you can decide if you want to see it. In my personal experience, community theater isn’t usually that impressive.”
“That sounds great,” Violet agreed, swallowing her suggestion that she accompany him when he saw the show on Thursday. Paul’s idea made perfect sense. There was no point wasting money bribing Leroy if the show wasn’t worth seeing, and if she offered to accompany him on Thursday, she’d look desperate. Besides, she wouldn’t like having someone distract her while she was working. Paul probably felt the same.
“I’ll text you.” Paul held the restaurant’s front door for her, and then joined her on the street.
“I’m really glad I met you,” he murmured when she would have said good-bye, stepping closer and leaning down into her personal space.
Fighting the instinctive urge to take a step back, Violet concentrated on keeping her face soft. “Me, too. I mean I’m glad I met you, too.”
Paul smiled and reached up to touch her cheek with his fingertips. “You’re something special, Violet.”
“Violet?” Paul stepped back as another voice cut through the charged moment. Violet cursed herself for feeling relieved.
Her stomach dropped to her feet when she glanced back over her shoulder to see Ian approaching them, his eyes stormy. “I’m surprised not to find you at the museum so close to opening,” he informed her.
Violet glanced down at her watch, blanching when she realized it was five minutes to noon. “Oh, no!”
“You’d better hurry,” Ian advised.
Cursing herself for losing track of time, Violet gave Paul a polite smile before dashing up the street, moving as quickly as she could without running since she was conscious that both men were watching her. The moment she turned the corner, she broke into a sprint, her hand landing on the museum’s front door at exactly one minute to noon.
“You must be here for the Madden exhibit!” she chirped to the half a dozen people waiting outside. She breathed hard through her teeth as she smiled, beckoning them inside. “Welcome!”
By the time she processed their tickets, Violet’s heart was beating almost normally even though she was still wheezing slightly. She really needed to start going to the gym.
It wasn’t until she had her breath back that she realized just how unlikely the morning’s events had been. Ian didn’t spend a lot of time out and about in Owensport, and the last thing she knew was that he was in New York on business. What were the odds that he’d run into her just as she was about to share her first kiss with Paul?
“You’re being ridiculous,” she muttered to herself, plastering an innocent smile on her face as one of the museum’s visitors gave her an odd look. It was just a coincidence that he’d stumbled across her, and a lucky one at that because if Ian hadn’t called her attention to the time, she would have certainly been late. If he’d looked angry about seeing her on a date, it was because she was shirking her duties to the museum and his paintings, nothing more.
Paul’s rose was lying across her desk, and Violet looked around for somewhere to put it where it wouldn’t be in the way. Her gaze lit on Ian’s vase of irises, and she shrugged to herself. Tugging off the end cap, she stuck the roses in among the irises and chuckled at the picture it made. The single random rose made the bouquet look like it had been assembled by a tipsy florist. Somehow she was certain that Ian wouldn’t approve of her addition.
“Did Carlisle find you?” Leroy asked from behind her, making her jump. She’d been so lost in thought that she hadn’t even realized the burly man was in the room.
“Was he looking for me?” she asked, her heart racing harder than it had during her impromptu jog.
“I thought he was. He banged on the door around eleven-thirty and asked if you were here. When I said you weren’t, he decided he didn’t want to come in.” Leroy shook his head. “He’s lucky I heard him. I was restocking the bathrooms.”
“Good work, Leroy,” Violet praised automatically. So the run-in on the street wasn’t as accidental as she’d assumed. What did that mean?
“Did he say what he wanted?” she asked, hoping that Leroy had some light to shed on the topic.
Leroy grimaced. “I didn’t ask. Carlisle’s your problem, not mine.”
“If it wasn’t for him, we’d still be in the red,” Violet reminded him.
“Do you have any idea how many rolls of paper towels we’re going through?” Leroy demanded. “And who has to change them? Me!”
“Well, at least now we can pay for them,” she snapped. Regretting her harsh tone, Violet softened. “I’m not going to forget your hard work, Leroy. You’ve been underpaid for a long time.”
Leroy shoved his thumbs into his belt, looking mollified. “Yeah. Well. That might be nice.”
That was probably as close to a thank-you as she was going to get, but when Leroy went back to work, his scowl wasn’t quite so fierce. With the museum’s newfound popularity, the man was working harder than he had in years, and Violet resolved to reward him. He’d earned it just by sticking with the museum during its lean years.
First Leroy and then the plumbing, she decided, pulling up the spreadsheet she’d been using to keep track of the museum’s finances. Banishing thoughts of Ian to the back of her mind, she tried to formulate a plan for the museum’s rebirth in between collecting money and answering phone calls from would-be visitors. Getting the museum back on its feet was more important than her love life.
It wasn’t until hours later that she realized in her effort to stop thinking about Ian, she’d forgotten to think about Paul at all.
* * * *
Ian glared at the scene unfolding in front of him. When he found the museum empty save for Leroy, he’d headed for the diner, hoping to find Violet treating herself to breakfast out before her shift began. He’d planned to join her and ask her how she’d liked his flowers since the message Xavier relayed about the matter was far from satisfactory. He didn’t want the museum to thank him for the irises since he hadn’t sent them to the museum. He’d assumed that a gift of flowers which denoted hope and promise in love would make his intentions plain, but if Violet was not only going around with other men but also accepting roses from them, apparently something had gotten lost in translation.