“Yes. My art studio,” Lorraine answered. “I paint.”
Carter walked over to the closest gathering of canvases.
“Not all of these are finished,” Lorraine quickly pointed out.
He reached for her painting of St. Mary of the Angels Church in neighboring Bucktown, then snatched his hand back. He looked over at her. “Can I?”
Lorraine nodded. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, her nerves on edge.
“This is incredible. I think I recognize the building.” He looked up at her. “It’s the big church on Hermitage, right?”
“Yes.” She stepped forward, stood next to him.
“Something about this style looks familiar, the way the brushstrokes all slant at this angle.”
Lorraine sucked in a quick breath. Did he know?
“The style is similar to another artist whose work I follow, but she’s not known for painting religious buildings. Far from it.”
Suddenly his entire body became rigid. He looked at her, his eyes widening in disbelief. Carter peered closer at the painting of the Polish-style cathedral. He picked up another painting and did the same. Then another.
Lorraine could practically see the pieces falling into place in his mind.
“You said your middle name is Elise,” he said slowly.
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re L. Elise?”
“In the flesh,” she said.
“The flesh is right. That’s just what comes to mind when I think of L. Elise. Where are those paintings, the real ones?”
“These paintings are real,” Lorraine said with a nervous chuckle. “But you are talking about the ones over there.” She gestured toward the far right side of the loft. A long white curtain hung from the high ceiling and stretched the length of the room.
Carter headed straight for it, moved the curtain aside and let out a long whistle. “Now, this is what L. Elise is known for.”
Lorraine stood next to him and studied the paintings. To say they were provocative was an understatement. They ran the gamut, from a portrait of a well-defined male torso, to a couple in the throes of making love. For Lorraine, it wasn’t about the erotic image as much as it was about capturing the passion and emotion of the moment. Her work had been praised by art critics around Chicago for giving credence to erotic art.
Carter held up a canvas and studied it. His eyes narrowed. His head tilted to one side. “I give up. What exactly is this? It’s beautiful,” he added quickly. “I just can’t figure out what it is.”
“I’ll give you a hint. It’s called Chante’s Dinner Table,” she said. “Does that help?”
He studied it a bit longer. “Nope.”
“Chante is my friend Bianca’s baby girl, and the painting is of Bianca’s left breast. Hence the name, Chante’s Dinner Table.”
He looked close. “That’s a nipple!” he said, as if he’d discovered the Holy Grail. “You actually got your friend to pose for this?”
“As long as I didn’t use her face or name, she was fine with it. I seldom hire actual models. The majority of my subjects are friends I’ve made in the art world.”
“Have you posed for other artists?” he asked.
“Yes, but I’ll never disclose which paintings. I made sure there was no way to identify me.”
Carter’s gaze instantly smoldered. “So, no paintings of the raspberry-shaped birthmark on your hip?” He shook his head. “There are more sides to you than I ever imagined, Lorraine Elise.”
Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment and a bombardment of heat. “This only scratches the surface,” she told him.
That brought even more heat to his eyes, but he turned his attention back to her paintings.
“Let me see if I’ve got this one right. It’s a woman lying down on her side.”
“Correct,” Lorraine said, impressed. “What you see there is the rise of her hip. It swoops down into the bend of her waist. She was against a bluish backdrop, so the painting appears more like the sky over sweeping plains than a woman’s naked torso.”
“Very clever.”
“That’s the point. I think erotic paintings are even more provocative when it’s not in your face. You should have to really study it.”
The next painting he picked up was of a man with rippling muscles bent over a naked woman. His head was cushioned between her thighs. The woman’s back was arched, and her hand held one of her breasts.
“Perhaps that particular painting is a bit more in your face,” Lorraine conceded.
“It’s all in his face,” Carter remarked. “How did you get them to hold that pose?”
“I didn’t have models for that painting. It was done by imagination only.”
“Mmm...just imagine if you had the real thing,” he said, setting the painting back against the wall.
Lorraine knew she was playing with fire. She knew exactly what Carter was trying to do. Yet she still asked, “Are you volunteering?”
“What do you think?” he said before claiming her mouth.
Never leaving each other’s lips, they backed their way to the raised dais in the center of the room. It was still draped in the deep purple silks that her model had lounged upon for the painting she was currently working on.
Carter followed her down, cradling the back of her head in his hand as his tongue plundered her mouth. He worked his way down her neck, chest and torso, peppering her shirt with kisses before lifting it up and over her head.
As she lay before him, Lorraine was happy she’d chosen her hot-pink lace bra and panty set. It was a contrast to the straitlaced image she’d been required to uphold on the outside, a small nod to the girl with a rebellious streak. She missed that girl. Carter had helped her to find her again.
He hovered above her, straddling her hips. He leaned over and ran his tongue from the valley between her breasts down to her belly button, where another mark of that rebellious girl lay hidden.
Carter looked up at her. “A belly button ring?”
She nodded, a grin tilting her lips.
“Why didn’t I see that last night?”
“Because I didn’t have it in last night. I stopped wearing it for a while.”
She’d had the belly button ring put back in just this morning. She’d started feeling more like the old Lorraine, the one she’d missed so much.
“I like it,” he said, then dipped his head and flicked at the solitary diamond stud with his tongue. “Is this the only hidden piercing, or will I find something else if I go exploring farther south?”
She wanted to tell him to find out for himself, but she wasn’t that bold yet. Or...maybe she was.
“You won’t find any more piercings, but don’t let that stop you from exploring.”
He looked up at her with a smile so wicked it caused all kinds of naughty tremors to race along her skin. Carter hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her skirt and tugged it down her waist. Lorraine lifted the small of her back from the dais so that he could pull the material over her hips and down her legs.
He traveled back up her body, pressing a kiss to the damp lace between her legs.
She couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped her throat. Having him kiss the barrier between them was almost as erotic as having his lips on her bare skin.
Almost.
She peeled her panties from her hips and pushed them to her knees. Carter took care of the rest, tugging the lace down her legs and then capturing her knees. He spread them wide and pressed a kiss to each side of her inner thighs.
“Know what I think?” Carter whispered.
“What?” she gasped.
“I think we should re-create that scene from your painting.”
Lorraine pitched her head back. “I’d...I’d like that.”
Just as in the painting, her left hand came up to caress her breast, still covered in the hot-pink lace. The rasp of the fabric against her swollen
nipple was pleasure-filled pain. Her other hand clasped Carter’s head, urging him to continue the glorious feats his tongue was performing between her legs. He was relentless, going from rapid flicks of his tongue to long, languid licks.
Lorraine bit her bottom lip, trying to hold back from the climax that was steadily building within her. Carter pinched the nub of nerves at her cleft just as his tongue invaded her, and her entire world exploded. Her body shook with violent tremors as pleasure coursed throughout her bloodstream, yet Carter refused to relent. He continued his sensual assault, bringing her to another climax just moments after the first.
Lorraine collapsed onto the silken drape, her limbs liquid, her entire being sated.
But Carter was not done. In fact, from the wicked gleam in his eyes, he was only getting started.
* * *
Despite the erection straining against the fly of his jeans, Carter kept his pants zipped. He knew if he were to take them off now, he would be inside Lorraine in a hot second. He wanted to prolong this for as long as possible, to make up for the way he’d sent her home last night.
He levered himself up and knelt before her. She looked like an erotic fantasy draped across all that satiny deep purple fabric. It flowed around her like a dark, turbulent ocean.
And was there anything sexier than her lying there in nothing but her slip of a bra, with everything else bared to his eyes?
“Turn over,” Carter demanded. Lorraine eyed him curiously, cautiously. “You can trust me,” he assured her.
Her expression clearly said that she wasn’t sure she could trust him, but she followed his orders all the same. She turned over and stretched out on her stomach. Her pert butt was too perfect for him not to go straight for it, but Carter resisted.
Instead, he started with her feet, massaging the arch of one and then the other with the pads of his thumbs. He worked his way up the backs of her legs, kneading her calf muscles, the backs of her thighs, that firm backside. He rubbed the small of her back with circular strokes, then slid his fingers up farther. He arrived at the single-clasp closure of her bra and unhooked it, letting the material fall, but leaving it on her arms.
“God, you’re sexy,” Carter breathed against her skin as he leaned over to place a kiss at the small of her back. He moved lower, nipping at her backside with gentle bites. Then he zeroed in on that spot between her legs again. Using his thumbs, he spread her open and fitted his tongue inside the delicate pink flesh.
Lorraine gasped. Then sighed. Her sexy moans were like a siren’s call, encouraging him to go on and on. He couldn’t get enough of the taste of her.
“Carter,” Lorraine said with a sigh. “I need you inside me.” She gasped. “Please.”
That was all he needed to hear.
Reaching for the condom he’d slipped in his pocket earlier, Carter stood up, unzipped his jeans and pushed them down.
Lorraine started to turn, but he stopped her.
“No,” Carter said. “Stay just the way you are.”
She peered at him over her shoulder, her eyes heavy with desire. Carter quickly rolled the condom over his erection and dropped to the dais again. He knelt between Lorraine’s legs, slipped an arm under her stomach and lifted her lower half off the floor. Then he fitted himself into her opening and entered her from behind.
Damn. She was just as tight as she’d been last night, and it felt even better in this position. Carter moved in and out of her, one hand cradling her flat belly, the other on her hip, guiding her as her body bumped up against his. He loved the feel of her moist skin against him, how it slicked back and forth against his thighs, how it surrounded his cock. His body was hyperaware of every single part of her that touched him.
Carter had known that as soon as he got inside her, it wouldn’t be long before his body erupted. He tried to hold off for as long as possible, but the need was too great. Either he gave in to his body’s demands or his head would explode.
He could only get in three more good thrusts before he came, his arms trembling as he tried to keep his hold of Lorraine.
His knees buckled and he fell onto her back, but quickly rolled over so that he wouldn’t crush her. He lolled his head to the side and found Lorraine staring at him through slitted eyes, still on her stomach.
“Are you falling asleep?” he asked her.
“Possibly,” she answered dreamily. “I could use a nice long nap.”
They both lay prone on the floor, completely naked. After a few minutes, Carter rolled to his side and scooped Lorraine up against him.
“You know, there is a bed,” she said. She gestured to the left corner of the vast loft. “It’s behind that half wall over there.”
“So why did we do this on the floor?”
“Because the bed was just too damn far.”
Carter laughed up at the ceiling. “Such language, Lorraine Elise. What would your mother say?”
“I doubt my language would be the thing to raise my mother’s eyebrows.”
“She would have a heart attack if she were to walk through that door, wouldn’t she?”
“Don’t worry. There is no chance of that happening. Trina is the only person in my family who knows about this place.”
Carter frowned. “Why?”
She affected a snooty, nasally voice. “Because Hawthorne-Hayeses are jewelers, not artists.” Her laugh was hollow.
“So your parents don’t know that their sweet little innocent Lorraine is the infamous L. Elise?”
“No,” she said quietly. “They have only seen a few of my paintings, and certainly not any of my erotic art.” She turned around so she could face him. “At one time, it devastated me that my parents would not support something that is so dear to my heart, but not anymore. I’ve received enough feedback from people whose opinions I trust to know that I’m talented.”
“You’re more than just talented. Your work is fabulous.”
She smiled. “Thank you, but the fact that your naked body is huddled against mine makes you a tad biased.”
“I loved L. Elise’s paintings way before I knew she and the woman I’m doing the nasty with were one and the same.”
She gasped, and slapped his arm. “Doing the nasty? How very eighteen-year-old-frat-boy of you, Carter.”
He laughed at her indignation, and marveled at how she could pull it off while she lay naked in his arms. Miss Prim and Proper could turn on the haughty socialite like a faucet.
“I gave up being a frat boy a long time ago,” Carter said.
“So you belong to a fraternity?”
He nodded. “I joined it because my father and uncle belonged to the same fraternity and I wanted to fit it, but it wasn’t for me.”
“That’s just as well. I’m not a fan of frat boys.”
“Now, I’ve got a question for you.” He pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen against her cheek. “If it doesn’t matter whether or not your family approves, why do you still hide this place from them?”
“Because it’s mine. This is my sanctuary. I can be myself—lose myself—when I’m here.”
“I think I understand,” he said, pulling her even more closely against him. “That’s the way I feel when I’m baking. I have my particular spot at Lillian’s, and everyone knows not to be there when it’s time for me to bake. I sometimes wonder if I will ever be able to bake anywhere else.”
“You mean during the You Take the Cake competition? Are you afraid you won’t be comfortable baking on a Hollywood set?”
“No, I mean when I leave Lillian’s.”
Her brow furrowed. “Are you thinking of leaving?”
Carter debated for a moment whether he should say anything more, but as he looked around the loft, he realized that Lorraine had trusted him with this very private, personal part of herself. He should be able to do the same.
“I’ve been talking to a restaurateur in New York. He’s offered me an executive pastry chef position with his organization.”
; Her eyes widened in surprise. “What does your family have to say about this?”
“They don’t know. The only person I’ve told is my best friend, Malik.”
She was quiet for several moments. “This is a big step. Although I must be honest, Carter—I don’t understand why you would be interested. Lillian’s has such an outstanding reputation in Chicago. It seems as if you are already at the height of your profession. Why would you need to seek something else?”
“Because I don’t fit in at Lillian’s.” He grimaced, hating the whine he heard in his voice, but Carter knew this was at the crux of his issues with the bakery. With everything. “I’m tired of feeling like an outsider. It doesn’t matter how many write-ups my cakes get in Chicago Today, or the Tribune or on online blogs. It just never feels as if I’m doing enough. I’m always going to be the bastard grandson who should feel grateful that he’s even been given a place at the table.”
“Oh, Carter.” Her hand came up to caress his jaw.
He hated seeing the pity in her eyes and, in the same breath, was touched by it. She actually cared about his feelings, cared how his world was affected. Had he ever felt this kind of empathy from someone? This kind of...love?
Was this love?
He ran his hand down the side of her cheek. “I’m falling really hard for you, Rainey. It scares the crap out of me.”
A sad smile tilted her lips. “I know the feeling,” she said. “I’m falling just as hard.” Her piercing eyes seared him. “Please be real, Carter.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Don’t be some mirage that looks so genuine on the outside, but turns into something different when I get too close.”
“I’m one hundred percent real,” he said. He leaned in, his lips hovering mere inches from her mouth. “That’s a promise.”
Chapter 10
Lorraine stood before the small college-dorm-size refrigerator in a T-shirt and bare feet. She hadn’t bothered with underwear. Carter told her it would just hinder access.
“I only have diet soda and water,” she called.
“Diet soda kills,” Carter called back.
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