Ray, Helena - Hidden Pride [The Pride of Savage Valley, Colorado 3] (Siren Publishing M?nage Everlasting)

by Helena Ray

  “It’s beautiful,” she gasped as she stepped closer to it. The still-wet paint glimmered in the glow of the single lamp directed toward the easel, revealing new facets to the painting as she neared it. “I see a lot of early Picasso and Braque in it.”

  “Fan of cubism, are you?” he asked as he came to stand next to her. She looked up to see his head cocked at the painting.

  “Done well, yes. I see you’re quite devoted the Surrealists.” She turned, and he met her eyes, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “On your right arm. That’s Miró, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed it is.” He crossed behind her and sat on the edge of the desk, his attention back on the painting. “I’ve always felt an affinity with the Surrealists. Their entire approach to art was based on finding different ways of seeing and representing those new visions in art. I…” Clay trailed off, seeming to struggle to find the right words to say. “Sometimes,” he began carefully, “I try to find ways to represent the way I see the world in my art.”

  Anya glanced back at the painting. “The way you see the world is certainly compelling.”

  “Glad to hear you think so.” When he didn’t speak for a moment after that, she turned to see him engaged with a piece of charcoal and a sketch pad, a series of tiny prisms quickly filling the blank page.

  “What’s that?” she asked before she could stop herself. She didn’t know if interrupting an artist in the midst of his work was a good idea or not, and the grunt that escaped from Clay made her think it was the latter.

  “It’s for the painting,” he said, his gravelly voice deeper than usual. “I got a flash of something when we were out of the shop, and I had to get it down on paper.” He didn’t look up as the intricate figures filled the page completely. Suddenly, his head snapped to the side, and his eyes captured Anya’s. He studied her for a moment then turned his attention back to the page and continued his sketching. He repeated the motion several times, as if he were sketching her, but when she looked at the page, the series of sharp corners looked like no human face she’d ever seen.

  Finally, he sat up and dropped the charcoal, grabbing the green army jacket that had been slung over the back of the desk chair.

  “Now, how about we get on the road and—”

  Darkness fell suddenly, cutting off Clay’s words abruptly. Everything around them was silent, no buzz of the fluorescent lights or choking of the old heater. After a long moment, the screeching howl of the wind broke through the quiet, signaling that the storm had turned vicious.

  “Well, shit,” Clay finally said, breaking the silence. “Looks like it’ll be a while before we can get you back to the Woodland.”

  It took every ounce of willpower Anya had ever possessed not to jump up and down in celebration at that moment. She must have done something very, very good in a former life to receive this gift. Holy motherfucking shit! I’m really locked with Clayton Abbott in the middle of a blizzard.

  Incapable of speech, she nodded before she realized that he couldn’t see her in the pitch-black office. “That’s okay,” she gasped, a breathy voice all she could manage. “I’m off today, so I can get back as late as you want.”

  Once Anya was deprived of sight, all the other sensual elements of Clay Abbott came pouring onto her full force. She smelled his spicy, woody scent as if someone had sprayed cologne the instant the power died, and the sound of his ragged breathing filled her ears. His hand landed on her shoulder, scorching her skin even through her coat.

  His laugh vibrated from his hand, to her shoulder, and straight to her pussy. “That better be real late, because there’s no way we’re getting out of here tonight.”

  His hand left her shoulder, and she swayed back and forth, overwhelmed by everything that was happening. A beam of light shone from across the room, blinding Anya temporarily. It swooped around, and Clay held the flashlight underneath his face, casting deep shadows over his handsome features.

  “Luckily, if you’re going to get stuck in a storm somewhere, a secondhand shop’s just about the best place to do it.” He turned the beam of light so that it shone at Anya, blinding her temporarily.

  “Too much light!” she said, laughing, as she batted her hands toward him, and he lowered the flashlight. The low rumble of his laugh felt oddly comforting as she felt her way toward the door to the room.

  “Believe it or not,” Clay said as he opened the door to the darkened store, “this is far from the first time I’ve gotten stuck in here.” Fearful of tripping even in full light, Anya carefully treaded behind him into the shop. “Here, hold this.” He placed the flashlight in her hands then got down on his knees behind the counter.

  Finally, he withdrew a bundle of blankets and handed them up to Anya. He grabbed a gas heater after that, and they returned to the back of the store.

  “You certainly are prepared,” she said as he laid the blankets on the ground, creating a makeshift place for Anya to stretch out on. She sat in the office chair with her legs crossed, shining the flashlight on Clay and admiring the way the stark contrast of the shadows played on his muscular arms and chest.

  “This isn’t even the best part.” He stood, and she followed his movements with the beam as he crossed to the locked cabinet to the left of the store entrance. After fumbling with the padlock, he eventually pulled out a gas-powered lantern and, much to Anya’s delight, a bottle of wine. “What’s a blackout without a good pinot noir?”

  “My favorite,” she said as Clay set the bottle and the lantern on the floor and pulled a package of Styrofoam coffee cups from the cabinet.

  “Sorry about the cups. Hard times call for hard measures.” He settled on the floor and lit the lantern, immediately casting a soft glow throughout the space. “Now that’s better.”

  Anya turned off the flashlight and joined Clay on the floor, slightly tentative.

  “So how do you entertain yourself during these blackouts?”

  “Usually, I paint, but since you’re here, I might see if my other favorite diversion is available.”

  “Oh, if you need to paint don’t worry about—”

  “Don’t worry,” Clay said as he reached behind himself and grabbed a faded turquoise plastic box with silver-chrome detailing and a wire dangling from it.

  “Is that a transistor radio?” Anya said, incredulous.

  “Restored it myself,” Clay replied with obvious pride in his voice. “Now the only issue is if I can get a signal from it. We’re too far from Denver for the big stations, and the Mukuas block out anything from Steamboat Springs, so we have to make do on our own.” As he turned the knob back and forth, the radio whined in high-pitched squeals interrupted by moments of static until finally, two discernible voices broke through the noise. “Ah, yes,” Clay said as he set the radio on the floor and adjusted the wire. “Savage Valley’s finest.”

  “Hello, ladies and gentlemen—”

  “Or should we say, lions, ladies, and bears—”

  “Oh my!”

  “Well, we hope you’re having a lovely blackout. I’m…not Noah Strong—”

  “And I’m…not Bryce Sullivan—”

  “And you’re listening to Savage Valley’s very own pirate radio.”

  “All illegal, all the time.”

  “Oh, and if Mayor Cash or Sheriff Kinman are listening, well, we hope that they’re having a good time during their blackout.”

  “And considering the recent arrival of their, uh, new friends, we’re sure they’re going to have a very, very good time.”

  “Bryce? What are you suggesting?”

  “Nothing, Noah, nothing at all. Well, maybe just that the blackout’s a little more fun if you’re with someone.”

  “Aw, well, Bryce, I didn’t know you felt that way. I’m honored, but I don’t—”

  “That’s not what I meant, Strong.”

  “Well, while Bryce and I discuss this little revelation of his feelings, how about you folks enjoy a l
ittle bit of Wanda Jack—”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. It’s my turn to pick the song.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Anya’s eyes met Clay’s to see they were full of amusement as the radio broadcast a scuffle between the two hosts.

  “Now folks, here’s Eagle-Eye Cherry with the nineties hit, ‘Save Tonight.’”

  “Hey, it’s my—”

  The radio switched to music, and Clay turned down the volume on the transistor radio. Then he took out the bottle of wine and filled two of the Styrofoam cups, handing one to Anya with a nod and a softly spoken, “Cheers.”

  “Well, those two are quite a pair.”

  “Did you ever meet Noah and Bryce when you were here before?” Clay asked after taking a sip of the wine.

  “I don’t think so. I really only knew the people that hung around Savage Hunger and the Woodland.”

  Clay cocked his head and watched Anya as she took off her coat. She felt flames rush to her cheeks and to her crotch as his eyes ran up and down her form, disorienting her completely.

  “Tell me more.”

  “About what?” Anya asked as she set her coat behind her.

  “You.”

  Chapter 5

  “And so–and so,” Anya said, gasping between convulsions of laughter, “the guy lands on his butt and goes sliding all the way across the ice, and my dad is chasing after him waving a hockey stick. Oh my god, it was so priceless.”

  Clay shook his head, and the waves of blond hair falling over his face hypnotized Anya. She was lying on the blankets on the floor, looking up at him as he relaxed with his back against one of the legs of the desk.

  “I can’t believe your dad chased Wayne Gretzky with a hockey stick.”

  “Well, it was only that one time, and ice time is taken very seriously in Olympic hockey games.”

  “I would hope so,” Clay said in a tone laden with sarcasm. “Only appropriate for the gravity of the Olympic games.”

  Anya couldn’t stop the fit of giggles that took hold of her. The wine had lowered her inhibitions, allowing her to bask in the glow of spending time with Clay without all the anxiety about it being perfect and magical. What amazed her most was how much they seemed to get along. Not only did they share a common interest in art, there was just a certain something between the two of them that Anya couldn’t put her finger on. Part of her wanted to blame it on the wine, but she knew it was more than that, knew it was part of the same thing that kept him on her mind all these years.

  “That was Patsy Cline with ‘Sweet Dreams (Of You),’ one of country’s most romantic songs…if all you lovers out there get my meaning.”

  “And that means it’s my turn to give you the late-nineties alt-rock classic—”

  “Come on, Bryce. You know we have differing opinions on that.”

  “Yeah, but I’m the one who gets to choose the nineties hits on the air.”

  “If you don’t play them soon, I got some Dolly Parton that—”

  “‘Iris’ by the Goo Goo Dolls, ladies and gents.”

  The opening notes of the song quickly replaced the men’s voices, and the tension in the room took center stage. The crackling radio sounded louder than ever as Anya watched the rise and fall of Clay’s chest, totally aware of every movement. His long eyelashes lowered as he looked down at her, heating her from the inside out. Anya didn’t have much experience with things like this. Her few relationships had been with hockey players her father coached, brutish men out to take their own pleasure and leave her cold. Looking up into the face of a man who was not only devastatingly attractive but still had all his teeth, she didn’t know where to go from here.

  Luckily, Clay appeared to know exactly what to do. His foot, which had been resting on the floor in front of her, moved slowly forward, tickling her stomach. Clay wore a smile, but as his eyes met her, she could feel the gravity in the flirtatious gesture. Whatever this was, whatever had bound her to the memory of Clayton Abbott all these years, was finally rising to the surface, and Anya would be damned if she didn’t make the most of it she possibly could.

  “I like this song,” he said quietly, his voice mixing with the acoustic guitar. “It’s romantic.”

  “It really is.” Anya watched as Clay slid lower down the side of the table, so that he nearly lay beside her and his foot now rested firmly against her hip.

  “I like the idea that there’s one person in the world, one person you’re always supposed to be with. One person that haunts you your entire life.” Clay rotated so that he lay on the blankets across from her, his head on the other pillow, their faces only inches apart.

  “I like the idea that love, true love, is something the rest of the world won’t understand, something so big and deep it becomes a part of who you are.”

  “Why, Anya,” Clay said, his voice only slightly slurred by the wine, “you’re as much of a romantic as I am.”

  She shrugged, unable to contain the giggle that passed through her lips.

  “What can I say? I grew up watching pairs skaters on the ice, playing out stories of love and sacrifice.”

  Clay rolled his eyes, but the humorous gesture was short lived. His eyes became serious, and as the ice-blue orbs held her gaze, she felt his hand rest against her waist. She sighed, reveling in the warmth and weight of his hand against the thin fabric of her shirt, the simple touch that had invaded her dreams for so long. His look was questioning, and Anya gave a single, slow nod, hoping he would take it as permission to do anything he wanted in this moment.

  As the song came to a close, bleeding into a slow country tune, Clay’s hand slid backward, moving to the small of her back, and he used it to pull her toward him. Anya didn’t breathe as her body melded against his, nor did Clay’s eyes leave hers. His gaze pinned her to the spot, his clear eyes speaking his intent, as he lowered his face toward hers.

  Only when their noses brushed did he close his eyes, but Anya was hesitant to follow suit. She wanted to remember everything about this moment, every tiny sensation, every ray of light that played through the translucent halo of dark-blond hair as their faces touched. His lips grazed hers, and they were softer than anything she’d ever felt. She pressed herself closer to him, her whole body seeking more contact, but he drew his face back just a breath. A whimper escaped from her throat, and his lips finally made contact with hers again, this time closing around her bottom lip. She sucked in a breath of air as the hot warmth of his tongue grazed against her lip, sending shivers running downward and tightening her nipples to a point that teetered on the edge of pain.

  He tilted his head to the side, and this time, his tongue slid in between her lips, brazenly stroking into her mouth. She opened her mouth to accept the invasion and tangled one of her hands in his soft hair, using her grip as an anchor as she pushed their bodies closer together. His hand on the small of her back pushed lower, and she gasped into his mouth as it covered one of her ass cheeks and pushed her toward his already growing erection.

  The outline of his cock against her stomach felt large, and the sensation of his reciprocal attraction sent an electric bolt of arousal to her pussy, hardening her clit and dampening her underwear. His lips stole to her jaw, finally giving her a chance to gulp in a breath of air. However, she didn’t have long to rest during his sensual assault. His hand retreated from her ass, and Clay rolled forward, pushing Anya onto her back, and his kisses continued down her neck. As his lips fluttered back up her neck and under her chin, leaving a trail of soft kisses, one of his hands traveled up her torso, finally wrapping around her breast.

  “I haven’t been able to get these tits out of my mind,” he whispered against her lips before kissing her again. He squeezed her breast and brushed a thumb over her nipple, causing it to tighten more, even through the fabric of her shirt and bra. “I haven’t been able to get any part of you out of my mind. Not your neck,” he said as his lips brushed over the sensitive skin. “Not your
hips.” His hand traveled downward, following his words, and came to rest beside her hip bone. Without warning, he used his other arm to hook underneath her thigh and wrap her leg around his back. He pushed against her, finally giving her some of the friction she desperately needed against her clit.

  “And most certainly not your pussy.”

  She felt the effect of the illicit, dangerous words deep in her cunt as a fresh wave of cream wet her panties.

  “I’ve dreamt of this so long,” she panted, meeting Clay’s gaze head-on. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

  “It’s time to make up for time lost, darlin’.”

  Clay’s hands tugged at the bottom of her shirt, and he dragged it upward at an excruciatingly slow pace, exposing one inch of skin at a time. When he finally gathered the shirt around her breasts, he quickly moved his body lower, licking and nipping at the sensitive flesh of her stomach. Her hips shot upward as he finally pulled off her shirt and his hand snaked underneath her to undo the clasp on her bra.

  The fabric of her shirt tangled with her bra as she tried to wiggle out of the garments and feel the warm air of the heater blow over her tight nipples. Clay made certain, though, that the air from the heater never met the hard nubs or the dark skin surrounding them. His mouth covered one of her breasts, sucking the nipple into his mouth, and he used his hand to caress the other. Anya hissed a sharp intake of breath as she felt Clay’s ministrations vibrate throughout her body, the most concentrated echoes between her legs.

  “God, yes,” she moaned, using her leg to press her pussy against Clay’s hard stomach as he gracefully alternated his ministrations between her breasts. Without warning, his hands left her breasts, and the warm air blowing over her wet nipples only served to drive Anya’s arousal higher and higher.