Artfully Yours (17 page)

“What were you thinking about?” she asked.

“You.”

“You were thinking about me? Are you sure? Even though I’m right in front of you, you didn’t see me. I had to say your name three times before you heard me.”

He reached out across the table and took her hand in his. She started with surprise, then quickly turned her hand in his grasp so they were palm to palm. “I always see you. I was seeing you, just a different form of you.”

“A sculpture?”

“Yes.” He moved his thumb over the back of her hand.

“Is that how the muse thing works?”

“Sometimes. All I know is, I think of you and I
feel
. I see you, and I
burn
.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

He smiled. “That first time I kissed you? I went home and I drew for about six hours straight.”

“You draw as well as sculpt?”

“Yes. Gave myself cramp in my hand that night.”

“From drawing?”

“Yes. That, too.”

“Do you still have those pictures? Can I see them?”

Alex was damn near impossible to embarrass, but the thought of Elle seeing his adolescent fantasies about her as he came down off the high of actually holding her in his arms, those fantasies laid out in uncompromising, stark black ink and white paper, made something deep inside clench. Not the good kind of clenching. All right, some of it was good. But still.
No
. “I burned them.”

“Shame.”

“And when I did, when I watched them break apart into fire and smoke, I knew what I wanted to do. I’d always tinkered with metal work and I was fascinated with the transformative nature of fire, the vector of it, you know, as a conduit and force of change. And after that kiss?” He felt himself shudder, and didn’t care that she saw it. “Everything came together, and I shifted over to concentrate on sculpture.” Her lips were parted. “’Course, I was terrible at it for years.
Years
. But I learned how to get it to shape what I wanted.”

“All because of that one kiss?”

“Yes. The pieces in the barn, though? My new stuff? That is a whole new direction for me, and it’s like I’ve been reborn. Like I didn’t even know I was down to cold ash and now, it’s all I can do to keep up.”

“Wow,” she said.

“Yeah. Now it’s my turn. Tell me about the passion sucking.”

Her dreamy look fell away, and she gave a nervous laugh. “I was joking.”

“Shouldn’t joke with a man about that, Elle.”

She rolled her eyes. “It was my ex-boyfriend, all right? Ugh. Fine, the last couple of exes. But mostly the last, Chris. I fell in love with one guy, and three years later, woke up with someone else.”

“And that’s your fault how?”

She ran her fingers idly up and down the stem of her wineglass until she noticed he was watching, then snatched her hand away. “I’m a nurse. I’m about as ordinary and sensible as you can get. I’m not like you. I’m grounded in the world around me, in the physical and the tangible. I look at a piece of metal, and I see a piece of metal. Depending on the state of it, I see possible lacerations, an impaling, a tetanus shot. I’m not imaginative or creative or, well, passionate. So it kind of fascinates me and, I don’t know why, but I’ve always been drawn to these over-the-top guys.”

Alex gave her a smug smile. He knew why. She’d missed him as much as he’d missed her.

“Thing is, it always starts off great but then it fades. And the fading hurts, Alex. I know the crazy can’t-keep-your-hands-off-each-other part of falling in love is supposed to mature, and that’s fine. Everything changes. Everything
should
change, because the definition of not changing is standing still, and that’s another way of saying stagnation. But I can’t ever seem to get to the part where it matures and develops into something new. It doesn’t develop. It dies. Goes cold. The passion burns out, and I’m left with nothing.” She swirled the wine in her glass, glaring at it. “You know the scariest part of the nothing? It’s
nice
. Nice is terrifying. Because I could settle for it, nice. I don’t want nice. And nice is all I seem to get, so I’m starting to think it’s me. I find a passionate guy, use him up, he’s happy with it, I’m not. So we break up. And I get to stand there and watch this once-a-force-of-nature guy walk away. Wearing a cardigan.”

“You got something against cardigans?”

“Some guys can rock a cardigan. Sometimes, the cardigan is a sign of the end. When you move in with someone and he’s a powerhouse of passion and then three years later you realize you haven’t had sex in six months because he’s too tired and you’re too tired, and all you do in bed is cuddle, and he wears cardigans and bought you slippers for your birthday…it’s like the world turned black and white. And I wanted to see all the colors.”

“Okay,” Alex said, getting to his feet. He stood beside her chair.

She let out a squeak when he slipped his hands under her arms, lifted her straight up, and twisted to sit her on the edge of the table. “What are you doing?”

He bunched his fists either side of her hips, boxing her in. “You ready for dessert?”

Elle’s gaze dropped to his mouth, then up to his eyes. “Yes. Wait. I’m not sure. Are you…is this a line? Or are you offering cake?”

“There is cake. You want cake?”

“I do like cake.”

“Hmm.”

“Is there anything else on the menu?”

“Not food.”

She hesitated.

“Too slow,” he said. “Kitchen’s closed. No cake for you.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Alex placed his hands on the inner curves of her knees and held her gaze as he slowly eased her legs apart and stepped between. Trying to get a little space, Elle leaned her upper body back. Didn’t work. He followed her down until she was propped on her elbows, staring up into his face. She raised an arm, not sure as she did it whether it was to haul him down or hold him back, and managed to knock over her wineglass instead. “Shoot.” The wine rushed out over the tablecloth and dripped onto the floor. She tried to right the glass and ended up with her elbow in the plate of food instead.

Alex gripped her upper arms and drew her up. He held her pinned with a forearm diagonally across her back and up into her hair as he used the other to sweep the table clear.

Holy crap. He just did that. The plates, cutlery, glasses, condiments set, and flowers all hit the floor. “The deposit!”

“Really don’t care about the deposit.”

He kissed her, hungry mouth opening over hers as he bent her backward with deliberation and forced her flat to the table. His hands went back to her knees, this time to wrap around and tug her toward him until they were perfectly aligned. Couldn’t possibly get closer.

“Better,” he muttered, and then he kissed her again.

Damn right this was better. Almost perfect. Almost. Nearly there. Just from being kissed and from the way he moved against her as he did it, somehow managing to get the right stroke over and over and over and—

He stopped.

“No!” Elle said. “
Why?
”

Between ragged breaths, Alex managed to get out, “Table’s too hard.”

She bit his lip.

He moaned, caught her mouth with his again. He kissed her restlessly, relentlessly. He changed the angle from an aggressive, deep penetration to a light teasing flick of withdrawal before sliding back in so damn gently that her arms spasmed around him. And she might have whimpered. It was like he was running through every possible way of kissing her to find the best fit.
Every
way was the best fit. Except the last one, when he let go to brace his hands either side of her head.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “The first three times? They’re going to be fast and hard. Need a bed for that.”

“I’m really enjoying the table.”

“Me, too.” He flexed into her slowly, then to her disappointment, stopped and scooped her up instead. “But I’m going to lose control in a moment. Bed.”

Elle wrapped her legs around his waist as he strode away from the table, and she glanced back at the chaos left behind. The chaos left when he was
in control
. He turned them into a narrow passageway and booted open the bedroom door. Then his words sank in.

“First
three
times are going to be fast and hard?” she asked, voice high.

“Yeah.”

Fast and hard sounded great, but, “First
three
?”

“Three was an exaggeration.” He paused in the doorway. “After two, I can probably slow it down and be gentle.” He tangled his fingers in her hair, guided her mouth down to his and whispered over her lips, “Probably.”

Alex strode straight through the bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom, flipping on the light.

Elle winced. That was bright. “No shower sex. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen people come into the ER after bad shower sex. Dislocated shoulders. Black eyes. Concussions. Broken pelvises. It hardly seems worth the orgasm.”

Alex eyed the shower. “Depends on the orgasm.”

Elle stiffened. “No shower sex. It’s a traction issue.”
It’s a no way am I getting naked in this lighting issue.

“Hmm.” Alex propped her on the vanity, reached past to snag a familiar box of condoms. He ripped it open with brutal efficiency, grabbed a fistful, dropped them into Elle’s hands, then lifted her back up.

Much as she enjoyed his enthusiasm for carrying her around like she weighed nothing, especially as there was squeezing and groping going on at the same time, Elle didn’t register the short trip back to the bedroom. Five condoms. She stared at her handful. He’d said three, and that daunted her enough. Now it was five?

“Wait,” she said. “Put me down. Alex! Put me down.”

His arms tightened before he relaxed his grip with obvious reluctance. He stared into her eyes. “You have to unwrap your legs first,” he said, “or I can’t put you down.”

Shit. Right. She stood, which was quite the achievement considering her knees were like jelly, and pushed her hair off her face. She watched warily as Alex circled her. His movements were fluid but edgy. Oh, yeah. She was out of her depth. She took a step back and bumped into the bed. “This is going fast.”

“Faster would be better.” His eyes were fixed on hers, burning.

“Maybe slower would be better.”

He stepped closer, bringing them toe-to-toe. “It wouldn’t. I don’t want slow. I want you. Now.” He pried open her clenched fist, took the condoms from her, and dropped them on the bed.

It was hard to think when he was this close. She could feel the heat pouring off him; the air around him damn near rippled. It was intensely arousing, but at the same time felt like a warning.
Don’t touch. Too much. Danger.
She scrambled for something to slow it down. “Think about your career!”

Yes. Career. Genius! You think about your career, while I freak out. Because I’ve just realized that I’m competing with my mythical idealized self here. Your perfect muse. No one can live up to this kind of expectation!

His straight black brows lowered. “Not right now.”

She braced her hands on his chest. “You should, though. Take a few minutes or, you know, a day or two if you need longer, and think about what it could mean. I told you what happened with Chris. Are you willing to risk your career to be with me?”

“Is Chris the cardigan guy?”

“Yes. Your art is based on passion. Your very livelihood could be at stake here.”

“You don’t have a superpower, and I’m not afraid of you. Stop trying to talk me out of this. You can’t.”

She was aware. Her palms made their way down his chest, over his spectacular abs, lower, and what could it hurt to appreciate the amazing architecture of his body while they were discussing this like rational adults? “I’m scared that…” She trailed off, getting distracted by her exploration. “The thing is, I want to do this, you have no idea how much, but…”

“Elle,” he said, fingers sliding along her jaw. He tilted her chin up and she was obliged to meet his dark eyes. “I know exactly how much you want to do this. You’ve got one of your hands in my pants.” He sucked in a sharp breath that came out fractured against her skin and he curled his body over hers. “Make that both hands in my pants. It’s pretty clear.” He straightened, picked her up and tossed her on the bed.

She bounced and scrambled backward as he put a knee to the mattress. “But it’s not all about what I want, is it? I’m trying to be a good person.” She’d made it to the headboard now, and he was almost on her. “Thinking about what’s best for everyone—”

“I know what’s best for everyone, don’t worry.” He hauled her down the bed, shocking a gasp out of her. He grinned.

“No, I meant… You’re not getting me!”

“Working on it.” He unsnapped her jeans.

She slapped him away. “Listen, you’re an artist—”