For some odd reason she couldn’t explain, she wasn’t concerned.
“All the art on the walls is yours?” she asked.
“Yes.” His hands roamed up and down, not touching her ass.
She gave him a slow smile. “The second date is definite.”
He blew out a long breath dramatically as if he’d been worried. “Come on. I’ll show you my tiny studio.” He eased her away from him and then turned to grab a glass of wine off the counter. After handing it to her, he clasped her hand again and led her down a short hallway and opened a door on the right.
He flipped on the light as they entered.
She gasped. “Holy shit, Cooper.” She handed the glass to him and stepped around him to get a better view. He wasn’t just a dabbler. His art filled the room. Canvases were stacked several deep against every wall. And they were fucking amazing.
She wandered from one to the next, afraid to touch anything even though she was dying to see what was buried behind. He had so much variety too. It was like he went through phases or something, spending time on water colors at the park and then abstract oil paintings then pencil sketches.
She paused when she reached a section of nudes. Some were of individuals. Others were of couples. They were so expressive she grew aroused just looking at them. She even crossed one leg in front of the other to squeeze her pussy tighter. She felt flushed. He drew these. Cooper had an erotic side.
Suddenly, his hands landed on her waist and he set his chin on her bare shoulder. “You stopped wandering,” he whispered.
“These are amazing, Cooper. I’m…aroused.”
He kissed her neck. Finally, he kissed her somewhere.
“Are you hiding all this? It needs to be in a gallery. You could make a lot of money. Why are you playing with numbers at Jacoby when you don’t even like accounting and you have all this talent?”
He inhaled slowly and released her to step around her. He leaned against a stool at his easel and crossed his ankles. “Haven’t been ready to take that risk. I’m chicken.”
“Are you worried about what your father would say?”
Cooper shrugged. “Not really. He’s a pretty accepting man in everything I’ve thrown at him in life. At this point, I think it’s my insecurities that get in the way.”
“You said you have secrets. Is this one of them?” She glanced around, taking in more of his work.
He didn’t respond.
She looked back at him, drawing her brows together.
“Maybe.” That’s all he finally gave her.
She dropped it and continued looking around. He was good. Really good. He needed to put himself out there and take a risk.
She tipped her head back to see his face when his hands landed on her waist again, his chin on her shoulder. “Let me sketch you.”
She stiffened. “Me?”
“Yes. Of course. You inspire me.”
“Yeah, uh, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m…” She looked down at herself, stopping short of saying exactly what was on her mind. Old insecurities leaking in that weren’t welcome.
“You’re what?”
She turned slowly in his arms, having no idea why she would answer that question. But the truth was, he was the first guy in forever she felt comfortable enough with to reveal her past. “I don’t always have the best feelings about my body.”
He frowned. “You don’t? Why?” His gaze wandered down her body and then back up. “I know you don’t like men staring at your chest or anything, but Ivy, my God, you’re fucking sexy.”
She licked her lips. Time to let herself be vulnerable. “When I was in high school, I had an eating disorder. I’ve been in a great place for a long time now, but it’s hard to let go of the old thoughts sometimes. Particularly when it comes to men. They linger in the back of my mind.”
“So, you’re saying you think you’re overweight?” He wasn’t condescending. He just wanted to understand. She could appreciate the difference.
“Logically, I know I’m not, but I’ve always had a hard time dealing with my chest. I didn’t have boobs at all when I wasn’t eating properly. Now…well…obviously, the genetics gods thought this would be kinda funny.” She smiled at him to lighten the tension.
He hesitated. “Ivy, you’re exactly perfect. Let me draw you. I want you to see what I see.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. “I don’t know.”
“Listen, I know it’s cliché to say this, but even if you were an ogre, your personality matters far more to me than your body. That being said, I can’t possibly express how attractive you are. Let me show you.”
He stared at her for several moments and then he reached behind her to grab their glass of wine from a shelf. He took a sip and handed it to her. “For fortification.”
Butterflies leaped around inside her. She loved how he shared his glass with her. It was subtle. It was sweet and romantic and sexy. And yet, he had made so few moves to advance their relationship physically.
Maybe the guy has high morals, Ivy.
He wanted to sketch her. He was waiting for her to decide. What harm would it do? She could think of nothing she’d rather do than watch him sketch. She imagined she would know a lot more about him by watching him work. “Okay.”
He smiled and then glanced down at his body. “’Kay, the toga has to go. You okay with that? I know it exudes incredible sex appeal and all, but I can’t sketch in a draped sheet, and it would turn black from my fingers.”
She giggled. “Do I get to watch you change?”
He pointed at the lounge chair. “You get to sit there and look pretty and wait for me.”
Darn.
He spun around and left the room.
She glanced at her own Cleopatra costume and decided she didn’t want that to be what he drew, so she removed all the accessories. The headband, the earrings, the bracelets, the belt, the intricate gold sandals that ran up her legs. Lastly, she undid the neck piece from under her hair and slid it off, losing the soft blue veil at the same time. Left in only the tight white dress that left nothing to the imagination, she shook out her hair and lowered herself onto the lounge.
As soon as she settled on her side, propped up on one elbow, he returned. He stopped dead in the doorway, blinking and then staring.
Equally stunned, she sucked in a breath. He’d been hot all evening in the toga, but damn. Low-riding, well-worn jeans paired with a tight white T-shirt and bare feet made Cooper a sex god.
She let her gaze roam up and down his frame several times before she settled on his eyes. He was still surveying her, however, and it took him a few more moments.
She glanced down. “What? You’re the one who transformed. I’m still wearing the same thing.”
Cooper swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “True. Even without the accessories, you’re still an Egyptian princess. It’s even more pronounced now that you’re lying on my lounge chair.” He approached slowly.
She held her breath, praying he would do something. Anything. Wetness gathered between her legs. She wasn’t even wearing panties to collect it. She hadn’t wanted anyone to see the outline of them, so she hadn’t bothered.
When he reached her, hovering over her, he ran a finger down her cheek and over her shoulder and along her arm until it slid off her at her hand. “I’ve sketched a lot of people but none as distractingly gorgeous as you. I’m not sure I can do it.”
“You can. Pretend I’m your great-aunt Matilda or something,” she teased, trying to allay her own insecurities.
He sighed, looking as if he were torn, and then he turned around and headed for his stool. He propped a blank canvas on his easel and picked up a pencil.
At least he’d seemed torn. She watched him closely.
He eyed her closely too, his brow furrowed. Finally, he stepped back toward her and started arranging her. His demeanor had changed to all professional as if she were any random muse. He moved one of her ankles and then a wrist. He tuck
ed her hair back and then changed his mind and drew a lock of it over her shoulder.
Finally, he backed up, nodded—to himself—and returned to pick up the pencil again. The moment he started working, she knew he was in the zone. She was no longer Ivy the date he’d met tonight. She was part of an assignment, and she found she didn’t mind so much after all.
Chapter 6
An hour went by. Most people would have probably been bored out of their minds. But not Ivy. Cooper was mesmerizing. Watching him work was fascinating. His expression was so serious. His brows were usually furrowed, as if he was constantly scrutinizing his work and found it lacking.
She tried not to move her body, but she had the pleasure of allowing her gaze to roam up and down his frame constantly. His feet were sexy as hell. Damn. Just damn. Sometimes they were flat on the ground. Sometimes he set one on top of the other. Sometimes—her personal favorite—he curled his toes under. She wished she knew what he was thinking or doing when that happened. He was most likely unaware.
Ironically, he’d complained about the white toga and then returned in a white shirt. The man must have gallons of bleach because the shirt had smudges all over it now. He didn’t seem to notice or care. That was also hot for some reason.
Every damn thing about him was hot. Often he would look at her for several seconds, his focus on one specific body part, and then he would return to the sketch for a while, working furiously.
An idea formed in her mind, and she couldn’t shake it. She tried. She argued with herself for half an hour. Yes or no? The list of pros and cons grew. But, in the end, she decided it was time to silence all those insecurities once and for all, and she took a chance.
The next time he finished eyeing her—legs this time—she eased her hand around to her back, lowered the zipper all the way from the top to the bottom, and let the material of her dress fall away. All she had to do was lift her hip, tug the swatch of fabric from under her, and drop it on the floor.
He never noticed.
There was no way to keep her cheeks from heating, but she resumed the exact same position and waited.
Her heart raced as she settled her gaze on his face.
Seconds ticked by. Thousands of them it seemed, though in reality probably only sixty. Finally, he lifted his pinched gaze.
It took him a second. He froze. Blinked. Swallowed.
Then he dropped his pencil and jumped to his feet. The stool fell over backward, landing with a crash. He didn’t notice.
His gaze was on her chest and then lower and then her chest again. Another swallow, and then he jerked his head up to meet her gaze. “Ivy…”
“What? You’ve done nudes before. There’s a stack of them against the wall.” It was fucking hard to keep her voice level and remain still. She wasn’t at all sure about his reaction or what it meant. For the first time in forever, she found she liked the way a man was looking at her naked body. She rarely let anyone see her naked. Even when she had sex, she liked the lights out and preferred to be under the covers. But Cooper… God, nothing in his gaze made her feel objectified, or lacking. He thought she was attractive.
“Yeah, but…”
“But what? I’m just another model. Your great-aunt Matilda, remember?”
He took a step forward. “I don’t have a great-aunt,” he stated as if that mattered. He kept approaching. Slowly. “And although I have done nudes before, none of them were women I wanted to sleep with.”
All the breath she’d been holding for the entire night left her lungs. Thank. You. God.
He wiped his hands on his shirt and then reached out and set a finger on her shoulder, just as he had two hours ago. His hand was shaking. “You’re so fucking stunning,” he whispered. His breathing was labored.
She tipped her head back. “So are you. I nearly came watching you work.”
He smiled, but his gaze followed his finger as he dragged it slowly down her chest until he reached her breast and circled her nipple.
She sucked in a sharp breath as her tight bud stiffened to a point. She was afraid to make a noise, not wanting to break the spell.
His slow circles grew smaller and smaller until he finally flicked his pointer over the tip.
She flinched, nearly shooting off the lounge.
He licked his lips and continued trailing the fingertip down her body, over the dip in her waist and her hip and her thigh. “Open your legs for me,” he murmured in a deep, gravelly voice.
Now she was shaking. This was important to him. Something huge. She didn’t get it, but she wasn’t going to mess it up either. So, she rolled slowly onto her back, threw her arm over her head, and spread her knees open, letting them fall, casually bent to the sides.
Cooper stared at her. He set his finger on her hip, but didn’t move. His gaze was on her pussy. It should have been unnerving. He was putting off the most unusual vibe. She couldn’t put her finger on it. But it wasn’t bad. It was precious.
She didn’t move or speak, giving him whatever he clearly needed. She wished she were inside his head though and could see his thoughts. It was as if he’d never actually seen a naked woman before, when clearly he had.
She had a Brazilian wax because she preferred to be bare. She liked how it felt. Did he? Some guys didn’t like women to remove all their hair. Many preferred a landing strip or some kind of triangle.
His finger slid down her belly, making her hold her breath to keep from whimpering. She bit the inside of her cheek, afraid of making a noise.
He trailed that finger to the crease of her thigh and along the side of her pussy. He did the same on the other side while she slowly lost the battle to remain calm. She was seriously going to come from this experience.
A man she’d met just hours ago who hadn’t directly touched her yet was making her so wet from his gaze that her belly was a tight ball about to explode.
Finally, he lifted his finger, set it on her lower lips and gently stroked her from the back to the front. They parted. Wetness was running out. Her clit was so swollen that the hood had retracted. She was also losing control. The next second, he touched her clit.
She moaned.
It broke the spell, as she’d innately known would happen. He pulled his finger back, took a deep breath, and lowered to his knees. Luckily, he lifted his hand again, drew another circle around her nipple and then cupped the heavy weight of her breast in his palm.
She watched his face. Almost pained. His other hand came up to run through his hair and he met her gaze. His lips parted. Closed. Parted again. A deep breath. “Confession time. I haven’t been with a woman in a long, long time.”
Chapter 7
Ivy had been unable to imagine what he was going to say. In the last seconds before he spoke, she’d grown nervous. “Okay?”
He closed his eyes as if he’d just revealed that he’d committed a felony and she deserved to know before taking this any further. He swallowed. “There’s more, actually.”
More?
“My only experience with a girl was in high school. I slept with my senior prom date. We went out a few times after that too. So, I guess you could say I’ve had sex with a woman three times.”
With a woman…
He drew in a breath and then continued. “After college I had a long relationship with a man. It lasted several years before we broke up. Since then, I haven’t been with anyone. Though obviously I’ve been going on some failed dates.” He studied her face closely while he spoke.
Her chest seized at the serious expression on his face. To him, this revelation was huge. “Okay.” She reached out and grasped his hand in hers. “So, it’s been a while since you were with a woman? I don’t think you’ll have forgotten how.”
He blew out a breath and gave her an unsteady smile. “I tell you all this, and that’s your reaction?”
She shrugged slowly. “I mean, yeah. It’s not like I’ve slept with every walking human myself. I’m selective. Like I said, I’ve struggled with my b
ody image. I usually stick to getting naked in the dark and under the covers. Lying here in front of you is way out of my comfort zone.”
He smiled wider. “You’re amazing.”
“I’m just like anyone else. We all have our insecurities.” She lifted her hand and brought it to his face, cupping his cheek and stroking the skin with her thumb. “I’m so humbled. Thanks for sharing with me.”
He set his hand on top of hers and drew her palm around to kiss it. A sharp laugh escaped. “I’m embarrassed.”
“Why?”
“I’m twenty-six and the sum total of my experience with women was almost ten years ago.”
“So? No one is judging you.” She rolled to her side and pulled her legs together.
He released her hand on his cheek and dropped it to her hip, pushing her back. “Don’t. Please. Let me look at you.”
She returned to her back, opened her legs again, and inhaled slowly. “You should know something, then.”
“Okay.” He slid his hand back to her inner thigh, pressing her legs apart, somewhat boldly. His gaze was on her pussy, but he shifted it to her face.
“I was about to come.” Her face heated. “If you’re going to explore—which you’re welcome to do—I’m going to orgasm with embarrassing speed.”
He smiled. “Now I’m humbled and you’re embarrassed.”
“Yes.”
“Ivy, there aren’t rules about how long it should take a woman to come,” he teased, mocking her and lightening the mood in the room.
She returned his smile. “If we’re having confession time, I haven’t been this aroused with anyone in my life. You’ve been under my skin from the moment you approached me. I’m not usually with another person when I orgasm, and I haven’t been with anyone for over a year. So, yeah, I’m going to fall apart if you touch me.”
He leaned in closer to her face. “I’m so totally going to touch you, but I’d really like to kiss you first. May I?”
Ivy (Corked and Tapped Book 7) Page 3