Breathless (22 page)

“I’m done for the night.”

“That was quick. Not going well?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong.” She shrugged and cleaned the nozzle. “You can shower now.” She kept her back to him, unwilling to let him read her disappointment.

He stepped close, crowding her. His heat and energy pushed through her frustration. “I’ll need you to scrub my back.”

She straightened, nipples already peaking. “Great idea.” She could wash away her fear, be in the moment with Danny again. By using sex, she could hide. “Be right there.”

But by the time she’d cleaned her equipment, the shower had stopped running. Great, now he was early!

“We’re due for a night out,” Danny said from the doorway. He wore her best indigo bath sheet low on his hips. His arms were crossed, making his forearms bulge and his pecs stand out. Her mouth watered. “We’ve stayed in most of the time we’re together and you need a break. Think of it as creative therapy.” He reached for her hand and linked their fingers. “Besides, I have something I want to show you.”

She tugged at the towel hard enough to draw him two steps closer. “I’ve seen it before, but I’d love to see it again.”

He covered her hand with his. “No, Mariel. We need to take a break.” He retreated to the bathroom and closed the door.

On numb legs, she walked into her bedroom and removed her painting smock. A break. He was done. It was over. Her heart stumbled in her chest, and all she could think was that she would soon be coming home to an empty house. No more banging, or sawing, or the sound of power tools. No more Danny.

For months she’d climbed out of her car in the garage after school, thinking of Danny. And now the house would be empty. He had finished the deck today and she loved it. He was no longer her carpenter. She’d paid him in full when he’d arrived and their professional relationship was now severed.

He was only seeing her because he’d promised to model. A thought crossed her mind, but it was so disheartening she tried to deny it immediately.

She slipped into a fresh blouse and headed into the living room, where Danny waited for her. The idea she tried to hide from sprang out of her mouth unbidden. “Do you want me to pay you?”

“For what?”

Did she really want to say this? “For modeling.”

His gaze narrowed and a muscle along his jaw jumped like a nervous tic. “I’m modeling for you because you asked me to, because I want to spend time with you.”

“Oh.” Her mind stopped spinning while she took in what he said. But his face said way more than she wanted to know.

“That better be all you think I want money for.” He stalked out the front door, anger clearly set in his straight back and shoulders.

“Way to keep a man interested, Mariel,” she muttered as she followed him out to his truck.

Obviously, Mariel was tied in knots about this competition and Danny needed to cut her some slack, but her comment about paying him to model was over the top. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to make her think he wanted to be paid to model. He’d do anything to help her, but if she didn’t see that by now, he didn’t know what else to do to prove it.

He’d had most of his body hair torn out by the roots. He stood like a statue for hours after long work days, when what he wanted was to kick back with her.

Telling her that he liked her, wanted to be with her hadn’t worked, because she didn’t seem to hear him. Apparently showing her how he felt about her in bed wasn’t enough, either.

They were involved in such an artificial way that he had to take a step in a new direction. As much as this competition meant to her, Mariel meant more to him.

There was only one thing left to try. If she didn’t see who he was after tonight, he doubted she ever would.

And that would be a shame, because he cared for her.

His wife had expected him to read her mind. If he didn’t guess what the problem was and do handsprings to correct his many failings, he suffered the silent treatment for days.

He’d been frustrated as hell to go along day after day walking on eggshells and not knowing what Serena expected or wanted from him. He was tired of the guessing games he’d had to play with his ex.

He would not go down that road again. He wanted Mariel, but not at the cost of his good sense.

Mariel had been clear in her wants and desires when it came to the renovations. They’d worked well together. He’d listened to her ideas, tried his best to incorporate her design suggestions and needs into all the work he’d done for her.

That experience told him she liked to communicate, to state what she wanted, but maybe that was only because she’d been paying him.

This modeling thing was different. She was afraid of the artist inside her, afraid of cutting loose, afraid of her inner passion, so she took it out on him. By refusing to tell him what was pissing her off, she shut him out, trying to place the blame elsewhere. And that blame seemed headed straight for his shoulders.

He wouldn’t let her get away with this. He couldn’t. If he allowed her to continue to be angry and resentful and just plain scared, then their relationship would be over.

He cared too much for her to lose her without one more attempt to let her know that he understood. But she had to start talking too.

She sat tightlipped in his truck, the blue dashboard glow making her ghostly. From the looks of things, getting her to open up wouldn’t be easy.

“How was your day at school?”

“Fine. It’s always fine.” She bit her lip but didn’t say more.

“Listen,” he began, “I don’t want you to keep tearing yourself up about this competition.”

“You don’t understand,” she muttered.

He stopped at a red light. “Why wouldn’t I understand? I’m not a caveman.” He tried to keep a lid on his temper, but she was doing it again. “Don’t shut me out, Mariel. I don’t like it. I won’t accept it.”

Eventually, with his wife, he’d stopped trying to figure out what he’d done wrong. He’d handled things badly by going cold and silent too. He and Serena had been two stubborn people who cared about each other but were torn apart by their refusal to communicate. He owned up to his part in the divorce and had vowed not to let the same thing happen again.

He shook his head, brought himself out of his memories and back to Mariel. “What’s going on with you,” he asked. “Explain.”

“You’re a carpenter! How can you possibly understand what I’m going through?” Her voice got high, then broke over the last word.

“You do think I’m a caveman. You assume because I work with my hands, I can’t see the artist in you. Worse, that I won’t understand your creativity. Maybe even that I don’t
want
to understand you.”

Now he was angry. And what was worse, he was now convinced she saw him as a good lay and nothing more.

She didn’t respond, just sat there, dark and stiff, her face mutinous.

“You sit tight, I’m taking you to my place.”

“Sex won’t help this, Danny. We’re good at coming together. What we’re not good at is being together, being partners.”

“Whose fault is that? You’re the one who refuses to share your frustration.”

“If you cared, you’d show up on time!”

So that was it. He’d been late a couple times. It was on the tip of his tongue to explain the reason, but his being late was just the surface. She’d been miffed with him but wouldn’t ask why he was late. Then, she’d stewed about it without clearing the air.

She was capable of being straight with him, she’d proved it time and again in the past few months. Her decisiveness and flair for design had intrigued him from the first time they’d talked about her plans for her renovations. They’d butted heads a couple of times; but with compromise and communication, they’d come to agreement with every project.

“I’ll do my best to get to your place on time,” he promised, “but I start a new contract tomorrow and the building’s across town. Traffic’s a bitch.”

She nodded, her face a pretty pink. “Not everyone works as close to home as I do.”

“Glad you conceded the point. And I’m not taking you to my place for sex. I want you to see something.”

“What?”

“You’ll see when you get there.” He turned onto his block and headed toward his place, hoping things would turn out right for them. Telling her that he understood her frustration and fear regarding the competition hadn’t worked for them. Now, he had to show her.

D
anny lived in a house surrounded by wholesale and retail businesses. This was no family neighborhood. Next door to Danny’s place sat a plumbing supply shop, while on the other side stood a rental business. Wheelbarrows and various other landscaping tools and equipment lined up along the fence that bordered his property. He parked in front of a huge workshop at the back of his wide yard.

He jumped out of the truck and jogged to open her door for her. She let him take her hand to help her down. He ducked his head when she landed on the ground beside him, reminding her of their first time and how he’d been aware of needing a shower.

“Why are you suddenly shy?” she asked.

“I’m not. It’s just, I want you to like what you see.”

“I do.” She ran her hand up his chest to his neck.

“You need to see that I understand your frustration with the art.”

“I’m sorry I was churlish about you being a few minutes behind schedule. It was selfish and silly. I’m letting the pressure get to me.” He couldn’t possibly know how she worked herself into a frenzy of doubt and fear every day after school. From the time she climbed into her car and headed for home until he walked in her door, she agonized over every inch of paint. No, he could never understand, so there was no point telling him that a coil spring of tension built every day.

Sex was her only relief. She’d become a sex maniac just to avoid her artistic frustration. Even now, she wanted to climb all over Danny and take the oblivion she craved. Take it, not give it. Despair threatened her mood.

He unlocked a door and ushered her inside what looked like a workshop. Inside, she gasped and covered her mouth in shock. “Furniture!”

Beautiful chairs, tables, chests, and desks with elegant, flowing lines and rich hues of oak, maple, and pine filled the room. The floor was clear of shavings. They filled barrels. The scent of clean wood filled the air.

She took two steps farther into the room and reached out toward a chair with arms designed for comfort. “For an office?” she guessed.

He nodded. “You can tilt back and put your feet up and work with your laptop here.” He pulled up a tabletop from the side. It swivelled and tilted every which way. “I still need to decide on the stain and finish. Every piece needs the right color, the right patina. I like my pieces to glow, even under low light.”

Her eyes followed the lines of chairs to the wall and up. He’d made so many he’d had to place them on racks that lined the walls.

She gaped at him. “I had no idea!”

“I never told you. This is something I do for the joy of it.”

“You’re an artist. A true craftsman.” In every sense of the word. “Creative and free.” His designs were individual, unlike anything she’d seen before, although they reminded her of the best she’d seen of the most famous eras in furniture. He had buffets that reminded her of the Shaker style. Chairs that looked like something from a French palace. Cocktail tables that could grace a mansion’s library.

“This is magnificent work, Danny. Incredible!” She walked toward his work bench. “May I touch this?”
This
was a freeform piece of wood that smelled heavenly. “Cedar?”

At his nod, she leaned in and sniffed deeply while she ran her hand along the sweeping curves. “It looks as if you followed the flow of the wood. Does that make sense?”

“I hoped you’d recognize what I was trying for.” He shook his head and stared at the floor. “Sometimes I doubt I can pull it off. You know, what’s in here.” He tapped his temple to indicate his vision of his creations.

She wanted to cry. To hide her weakness, she walked to him and stepped into his arms.

Danny held her for a long moment, his hands smoothing her spine and shoulders. She shuddered and let relief fill her. “You understand me better than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“This competition would scare me too. Putting my designs out there, only to have snooty judges walk by and sniff at what I think is good. It’d be tough to see what other designers are doing better.” He rocked her gently from side to side. “I’m impressed as hell that you’re willing to enter. You’re working with new equipment, a body instead of a canvas. It’s all new and you just keep forging ahead.”

“I’ve let it get personal, which is a mistake. I’m determined to impress Nigel Withers, and it’s foolish and wrong. Creatively, I should let my art fly and not worry about one particular person’s opinion, but he was cruel when I took my portfolio to him.”

“And now you can’t get his comments out of your head?”

She sighed and rubbed her achy forehead on his shirt. He smelled great, like fresh air and sunshine. “No, as hard as I try, whenever I choose a color, I wonder what he’d say. Every line and stroke is under his watchful eye. I hate it! I’ve lost all the joy, but if I
don’t
paint, that pompous ass has won. I don’t know how else to get over this mountain of doubt.”

She loved that he’d shown her his designs. “You’re so strong in your work. I envy your confidence.”

He tilted his head back to look into her eyes. He held her there, locked on like a missile. “You’ll notice I’m not the one taking my work to design shows.” The raw honesty impressed her.

“Are you selling privately?”

He gave a dismissive shrug. “I’ve sold a few. My sister’s an architect and she’s working on getting some pieces into a couple homes she’s working on.”

“That’s great! What awesome support. My family insisted I get a degree so I could teach. They always told me I would never make a living with my art.”

“So, you never talked much about it?”

“Never. Talking about it was an open invitation for ridicule.” It has closed her up, shut her down. She bowed her head. “I had to work up my courage for months to take my work to Withers’s gallery.”

“And he took up where you family left off?”

She nodded. “Pretty much.”

He crooned in sympathy and she soaked it up.

“I don’t mean to whine. Whining is unattractive. I should just paint my landscapes on weekends and try to find the joy in teaching.” She sniffed, horrified that she was close to tears. “I should just be satisfied nurturing the one in a thousand students who has real interest and talent.”

“You were one of those students once.”

She grinned into his great-smelling shirt. “You’re right. As a child, I was convinced the world was wide open. But once I got old enough to talk about my dreams, my parents hammered home their points until I cracked under the pressure. I never gave myself time to develop as an artist.” The results of which were mediocre but nice landscapes. She went straight into teaching afraid. Intimidated. “But when I was a child, I had all the confidence in the world.”

“You need to get your confidence back. You can do that by going into this competition. You don’t have to win, or even do better than anyone else, you just have to be free and let your talent shine.” Danny stepped backward until he sat in one of his unfinished chairs. With a rounded bottom and no arms, it reminded her of an S with the top curve missing. He sat and pulled her into his lap. “You can do it, Mariel, I’m sure of it.”

She wanted to believe him. “Are you sure we won’t break this chair?”

“I’m sure. There’s a titanium rod embedded.”

She gingerly straddled his lap. The chair gave a couple of inches, then moved back to proper position. “This is fabulous. Where would you use a chair like this?”

“At a computer desk, although arms would probably be a necessity. But I prefer this look.” He shrugged and the chair moved fluidly.

She kicked off from the floor and the resulting movement intrigued her. “What if I did this?” She pressed down on his lap and grinned. “This could be fun,” she said, and gave a bounce.

He slipped his hands to her belly and slid them up to cup her breasts. “Naked, just the way I like them.” He undid her buttons and fanned out the sides of her blouse to expose her chest. “Perfect nipples,” he said just before he suckled her left breast. A direct line to her womb went taut as he worked her nipple with his tongue.

He rolled the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The chair moved as she braced her feet on the floor. A hard ridge of muscle grew under her as she slowly rose and fell, teasing him with kisses while he licked and suckled her.

“Take off your clothes,” he whispered before he took her mouth in a kiss designed to pull them off of their own accord. She worked her fly zipper down, then stood and shucked off her jeans as fast as she could. Danny did the same, then settled back on the low-slung chair, his cock a raised flagpole and his eyes on fire for her.

She was slick for him, open and ready, and his eyes flared as she raised one foot to rest on his knee. He used both hands to trail the inside of her thighs and open her outer lips. A finger traced along her rim delicately, and she had to close her eyes as anticipation built. Her belly clenched as she allowed the finger play. “So wet,” he said softly, with a reverence that pulled her into his desire.

She dropped her head back and thrust her hips toward him in invitation. Moisture slid down her channel to her inner thigh while his finger continued its wide circles around her. Would he never touch her clit, or plunge his fingers into her to ease her ache?

Apparently not.

“What do you want, Mariel?”

“You have to touch me deeper. You have to.” She pushed with her foot to make the chair move.

He chuckled. “You’re delicious. Your scent changes with your desire, calls to me.” He tapped his thumb against her full clit and she groaned.

“Yes, do that.”

He did. “More?”

“Yes, put your fingers inside.”

He did. Heaven. Then another slipped in and he found the spot that drove her over the edge into an orgasm that fired through her. Her legs gave way, but he held her while her muscles contracted around his fingers.

She opened her eyes, found herself on his lap again with his cock edging into her open pussy. She deepened the connection and felt him, full and hard, go deeper than he’d ever gone. “I love this chair!”

Then he moved and the chair moved with him, sending her into paroxysms of pleasure. He grabbed her shoulders and looked down to watch as he plunged in and out. She rocked, he rolled, and when he came in a wash of urgency, he took her with him.

“Thank God you keep condoms in your pocket. I didn’t see you slip it on,” she said as she climbed off his lap.

“I’m pretty fast. And getting faster. There are times I want inside you so much, I can’t think straight.”

She paused and considered the possibility of doing away with the condoms altogether. “If we promised exclusivity, we could get tested. Start fresh.”

“Promises? From the first time I saw you, I wanted you. Since we’ve been together, I haven’t wanted anyone else.”

“I assumed you’d have lots of women.”

“I admit that immediately after my divorce I ran wild, but that got old fast. I like my women smart and talented. It’s a waste of time otherwise.”

“A waste of time?”

Danny shrugged, then set his features to bland. “I want a wife and family one day, and I’m not about to screw that up with playing games.”

The idea of a family with Danny, a future with him both frightened and thrilled her. But she had to be careful. She had to keep her heart safe. To be anything less than cautious would be reckless. Reckless wasn’t something Mariel Gibson did well.