And with it, he could wait no longer. He quickly sheathed himself with a condom, thanking his foresight in putting a box in the bedside drawer, and raised himself over her body, positioned himself at her entrance and slid home. She was tight, almost painfully so, but eventually he felt her inner muscles relent to his invasion, felt the lingering pulse of her orgasm ease him farther inside. He tried to hold back, to take his time, but he couldn’t wait another second. With the taste of her on his tongue, the feel of her hands on his body, and the tight sleeve of her body gripping his sex he felt himself pull back and surge forward again. And again. And again. Until there was no sense as to where he ended and Avery began. They were one in every sense of the physical realm.
Avery clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin but he barely felt it. His climax built with soaring speed, driving him harder, faster, until it swept him over the edge and onto wave after wave of satisfaction. He was aware of Avery joining him as his senses flew, the realization making his pleasure all the sweeter as her legs wrapped tight around his hips and her eyes glazed with fulfillment as a deep moan spilled from her lips. He rolled to one side, pulling her with him, their bodies still joined, their hearts still thumping at a frenetic pace.
“Oh…my…God,” she said shakily, a shy smile wreathing her face.
“My thoughts exactly,” he answered, equally breathless.
It was some minutes later before Marcus had the presence of mind to withdraw from her welcoming heat and get rid of the condom, his action garnering a faint protest from Avery as they disconnected.
“Come straight back,” she ordered softly, a fresh promise already reflected in her eyes.
He kissed her briefly and rolled from the bed and headed to the attached bathroom. Catching his reflection in the mirror he realized he looked like a very satisfied cat. To be honest, he couldn’t believe his luck. Without coercion, Avery had not only come willingly into his arms but she’d also given him the biggest prize of his career—all in one evening. He could almost taste the champagne that would toast his elevation to partner at Waverly’s already.
He quickly washed and dried his hands and turned off the light and headed back to the bed where he could see her lying bathed in moonlight. She looked almost otherworldly with her fair hair spread on the pillow, all color leached from her skin in the black and silver tones of the night.
She rose on one elbow as he approached. “Is everything okay?”
He smiled. “Everything’s more than okay.”
She reached for him as he slid onto the bed, her touch inciting his blood to fresh new heights, and he gave himself willingly over to her ministrations. As reserved as Avery was in public, she was the tangential opposite in private, and he was discovering he liked this side of her—very, very much.
Eight
They slept late Sunday morning, and Marcus woke to the gentle sensation of Avery’s slender fingers tracing the shafts of sunlight that streaked through the partially opened curtain to stripe across his shoulders, and down his arms.
“I want to paint you,” she said softly. “Like this, wearing no more than sunlight on your skin.”
“Can we have breakfast first?” he asked, feeling his body respond even after the marathon lovemaking they’d shared last night.
She laughed and the sound thrilled him to his core. She was a far cry from the withdrawn and closed woman he’d met just over a week ago.
“Of course,” she said, pushing their tumbled sheets aside. “I’ll ask Mrs. Jackson to serve it in the studio.”
“Tease,” he retorted, reaching for her, but she evaded him and headed for the door leading to her private bathroom.
She paused, her hand on the doorknob, and he drank in the sight of her naked form. Her sun-gilded skin so enticing, the untouched parts of her even more so.
“So? Are you hungry?” she taunted as she opened the door.
He caught a glimpse of her butt as she slipped inside the bathroom, heard her giggle in response to his roar.
It was quite some time before they made it into clothing and up to the next floor. Marcus’s nose twitched at the scent of coffee—the silver pot sitting over a warmer on an ornately carved sideboard. He felt his lips pull back in a wry smile. Even with the income he pulled he’d never be able to touch the effortless old-money style Avery was so accustomed to.
She reached for a cup and saucer and poured his coffee, adding the requisite lumps of sugar for him without a second thought. As she handed it to him she said, “I’ve already decided what I’m going to do with the money from the sale of the collection.”
She outlined her plans for the children’s art charity and Marcus felt his anticipation lift by degrees. His mind raced ahead to what he would need to do next. He could barely believe it. He turned to face the painting he’d been waiting almost his lifetime to possess. Lovely Woman was finally within his grasp.
Making a deliberate effort to keep his voice level he said, “Sounds like you’re well on the way to getting it organized. I’m looking forward to photographing and inventorying the collection myself. I can start with Lovely Woman later today if you’re agreeable.”
Avery’s next words poured icy cold water on his plans. “Oh, no, she won’t be part of the sale. The pieces I’m letting go are at the house in Los Angeles.”
He forced himself to keep his voice light. “Are you sure that’s a good move? This painting alone could keep your charity in supplies for the kids for years. I really think you should reconsider.”
Despite his best efforts, some of his frustration must have leached through in his voice because Avery took a step back, a small frown creasing between her eyebrows. He should have known better. A woman like Avery needed to be coaxed gently, to be seduced into agreement. He knew he could do it, Marcus thought, pushing aside the pang of guilt that plucked at his chest. The end justified the means. It had to.
* * *
“I said she’s not for sale and she’s not,” Avery said emphatically. “Are you telling me the rest of the collection isn’t enough for Waverly’s?”
“That’s not it at all. But collectors are well aware of what your father had accumulated. There will be questions about why the consignment isn’t complete.” He couldn’t back down straightaway.
Avery sniffed dismissively. “Well, it’s as complete as they’re going to get it. Besides, it’s not as if this one is a true Impressionist since it was executed well after the period. Purists wouldn’t be interested.”
He gave it one more try. “It’s still in the Impressionist style, Avery. Logically it forms a part of the whole, don’t you think? Your father seemed to believe so or else, family connections aside, why would he have included it in the collection?”
She didn’t understand it. Why was Marcus so insistent on including this painting in the sale items? He almost sounded annoyed that it wasn’t.
Avery walked over to the painting and wrapped her arms around her stomach, holding herself tight. She’d lost her mother, she’d lost her father. She’d agreed to sell the rest of her father’s paintings. Wasn’t that enough? Did she have to let everything go?
No. The answer echoed emphatically in her head. She did not.
“Whatever his reasons, I’m keeping it because it’s far more than a connection to just my father. It’s a link to my family’s past and proof of an appreciation of beauty that’s been passed down through generations of Cullens in one form or another. She’s not for sale and that’s my final word on the subject, Marcus. Please respect that.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Marcus came up behind her, his arms crossing over hers and pulling her back against the solid warmth of his chest.
Avery started to brush aside his apology but then she stopped herself. He had upset her. He’d been so dogged about it and it made
her wonder why. It was just one picture out of a considerable set of collected works.
She felt the warmth of his breath at the back of her neck, a warmth soon followed by the press of his lips. She couldn’t help it. A shiver of longing rippled through her at his touch.
“Forgive me?” he asked softly, tracking a line of short kisses from her neck and along the top edge of her shoulder.
Did she? She gave a little sigh. Of course she did. It wasn’t as if he had an ulterior motive, after all. He was a businessman and he had a job to do. He’d made that clear from the outset. Obviously he felt it was in her best interests, and the charity’s, to present the strongest consignment for sale.
“Yes, I do,” she said, turning in the circle of his arms and meeting his lips with her own.
Everything between them was just fine, and she wanted it to stay that way.
“Are you still going to pose for me?” she asked.
“I tell you what,” he said, reaching to pull his T-shirt up and over his head, exposing his torso in a movement that made a strong flick of desire whip through her body. “If I have to be naked, then you do, too.”
A slow smile pulled at her lips. “I need to do some preliminary sketches first.”
“Then there’s no reason for you to be clothed, right?”
“I guess not,” she admitted, feeling a flush of heat infuse her entire body at the thought.
“So what’s holding you back?”
Avery tried to remain composed and distant as she disrobed and reached for her sketchbook and pencils, but the sight of Marcus lounging on the daybed wearing nothing but an intense look on his face served as a major distraction. She tore off the sheet she’d been drawing on, and attempted to start anew, nibbling at the top of her pencil as she tried to remain objective while she assessed her subject.
“Problem?” Marcus asked.
“Nothing I won’t work out, eventually,” she replied, rising from her stool and putting her things down. “Maybe if you posed like this—”
She reached across him to take his hand and drape his arm along his side, his hand resting on his hip. As she did so, he leaned forward slightly to give a short lick of his tongue across her nipple. She’d been so aware of every inch of him that his action made her shudder in response, heat and moisture flooding her core.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“I think the pose, at least, is better,” she said a little breathlessly.
This was ridiculous. One touch and she was a molten mess of aching need for him. She knew of only one cure for what ailed her.
“Or maybe, this would be better,” she said, rolling him on to his back, his shoulders still propped by the mass of pillows she’d arranged earlier.
Marcus said nothing, merely watching her behind half-lowered lids as she knelt beside the bed and trailed her hand across his hip and down over the top of his thigh. She saw his sex jerk a little as her hand moved nearer. Near, but not close enough to touch him. She allowed her hand to continue its journey down one leg before starting back up the other.
“Yes,” she murmured, “this is much better.”
He was fully erect now, the veins on his shaft prominent, its head a ripe plum for the taking. She bent her head, her braid falling forward to brush against the skin at the top of his thigh, in the indentation of where his hip arrowed to his groin. Looking up to meet his eyes she opened her mouth, moistened her lower lip with her tongue.
His entire body tensed, his eyes glittering like emeralds. She took him in her hand and licked him, from base to tip.
“How’s that?” she asked, deliberately using his own words back at him.
He seemed to be beyond speech, his hands curled into fists at his side. She repeated the movement, this time closing her mouth over him when she reached his tip and drawing him into her mouth. Again she duplicated her action, this time taking him a little deeper, and again, and again, settling into a rhythm. He emitted a low hiss from between clenched teeth.
“Avery?”
“Hmm?” she replied, swirling her tongue around him, tasting the hint of his pleasure.
“You’re killing me here,” he groaned, pushing his head back against the pillows, the cords of his neck prominent.
“You’re right, perhaps I should stop,” she suggested, releasing him for a moment.
“No! Yes!”
“Which is it, Marcus?” She rose onto the bed, straddling his legs with her own, still holding him in her hand.
In response he reached for his jeans where they lay on the floor next to the bed. He dragged a condom from his pocket and ripped the packet open. He slid the protection over his aching flesh then grabbed Avery’s hips, positioning her over him.
“Like this, now!”
It was astonishing the sense of power she felt poised over his body like this. She guided him to her core and lowered herself so she only took in the head of him before pulling up just that little bit. He groaned beneath her, his fingers tightening their grip but still allowing her the control. She bore down again, and this time the action sent a shock of exquisite sensation radiating from deep inside her.
Beads of perspiration formed on her upper lip as she fought the urge to sink lower, to take him fully inside. She hesitated, withdrew, then dropped upon him again. This time the jolt was even stronger, leaving her shaking with the effort to prolong things as much as she possibly could. Three more times she managed it before instinct overrode her need to take things slow. As if sensing she was at the breaking point, Marcus’s hips thrust upward, meeting her on her downward stroke.
Color burst behind her eyes and she braced her hands on his chest, giving over to the tempo time immemorial demanded. She felt his release as an intense burst of heat and energy, the knowledge that she’d driven him to the brink and beyond sending her cascading over the edge into intense waves of ecstasy that threatened to rob her of consciousness.
Her body continued to pulse as she collapsed, sprawled across his chest. Somewhere along the line her braid had come undone and her hair spread across them both. It was unbelievable what he could do to her, how he could make her feel. She didn’t want it to end, ever, but she knew he was only here for a short time and she wasn’t going to waste it.
She opened her eyes, her gaze tracking straight across the room to Lovely Woman, the picture itself inspiring her to eventually pull herself from his arms and pick up her sketchbook and pencil again.
“Don’t move,” she ordered. “I want you just like that.”
“You just had me like this,” Marcus said with a lazy smile that made her stomach flip all over again.
She laughed and repeated her command, “Don’t move.”
Inspired anew by her subject, Avery’s pencil flew across the paper and she moved around the room changing her angle several times before she was satisfied with the end result.
“I’m done,” she said happily, throwing herself back down on the daybed beside him and showing him her drawings.
* * *
Marcus could see immediately that figures were Avery’s milieu, backing up what she’d said that day in the garden when he’d commented on the landscape she was working on. In fact, her talent was very similar to that of her forebear, Baxter Cullen. During his studies Marcus had seen a selection of preliminary sketches Cullen had done, as well as the oils he’d been so well known for.
“These are good,” he commented.
“You think so?”
She looked surprised to hear his praise. A thought occurred to him. “Have you ever shown your work?”
She shook her head. “I’ve mostly painted for my own pleasure, and donated the occasional piece for anonymous auction—you know, where people don’t necessarily know whose work they’re bidding on.”
“I’m surprised. You
should think about a show. I can arrange it for you if you like.”
“Let me think about it, I…I don’t know if I’m ready to put myself out there like that. I mostly paint for my own pleasure, and like this, with you—well, it’s easy when it’s a subject you love.”
Marcus felt every cell in his body freeze. Did she just say she loved him? She didn’t appear to realize her slip of the tongue, instead getting up and walking over toward Lovely Woman. He was mesmerized by the play of the light in the studio over her skin, and the way it emphasized her graceful gait and her slender form.
“I think Baxter must have loved her, don’t you?”
Denial tore through him. Baxter Cullen had used Kathleen Price, or O’Reilly as she’d been then. He very much doubted love had been involved in any way, shape or form. Avery turned and looked at him, clearly expecting a response. He rose from the daybed and padded across the wooden floor to her side.
“What makes you think that?” he hedged.
“I don’t know, it’s just something in the way he’s executed this. I don’t see how he could have created something this beautiful without love very strong in his heart.”
“Lust maybe,” Marcus commented, “but love? I don’t think so.”
How could it have been love? Surely if Baxter Cullen had loved Kathleen he’d have stood up to his wife, or at the very least made provisions for Kathleen when she was summarily dismissed. No. The man had used a woman in a weaker position than himself. He’d taken advantage of his power, Marcus was sure of it. From what his grandfather had said, Kathleen Price had been a woman of honor and integrity—certainly not the type to become some rich man’s plaything. She’d worked herself to the bone to support her family, marrying late and bearing only one child as a result. She was not the sort of woman to submit to a dalliance with an older married man so out of her class. She’d had scruples, which was more than Marcus could say for her employer.
A Silken Seduction Page 8