Her Secret Thrill (9 page)

He didn't find her associated with any of the other high-profile charities her family was so abundantly proud of being involved in, nor did he find her involved in any way with the family company. Ever. He'd discovered she'd gone to Georgetown on an academic scholarship and finished law school in the upper quarter of her graduating class. He assumed she'd passed the bar on her first try judging by the time frame between graduation and her first job…where she was still employed to this day.

All in a night's work. A long night, but he'd been unable to stop digging once he'd started. And rather than suppress his appetite for her, it had only whetted it further. Why the division between family and work? Why had she gone rogue and left the family fold? She was the black sheep, and yet she came off as an overachieving corporate climber, dedicated and serious about making her mark in the world. To all appearances, this would have made her golden to her family business.

Unfortunately, there were no answers for those questions on the Internet or anywhere else. Pumping Liza was out of the question, although he'd considered it at about four in the morning, when anything seemed possible.

Unless he came out and asked, he wasn't going to learn any more about her. But he couldn't do that. And was, therefore, dying to find out. At least, that was what he told himself. He was the family troubleshooter and he was exceptionally good at his job. He didn't sleep until he'd figured out how to solve a puzzle. So it was only natural that he was avidly curious about her.

He wasted a minute wondering if she was curious about him, as well. Maybe they could bend the rules, have one long question-and-answer session, then shut the topic down. Even as he thought it, he knew that wouldn't fly. He could hardly be her secret thrill if she knew everything about him. And maybe knowing would remove too much of the mystique, cloud the time they had with too much reality. And, after all, wasn't reality what they were trying to escape from with one another?

He slapped the folders shut and shoved them in his briefcase, then slid his laptop and software in after them.

Maybe it would ruin things for her. But he knew a great deal about her now…and it only made him want more.

“Dangerous game you're in, buddy,” he muttered to himself. If he was smart, he'd play it safe and keep it simple. He shook his head and gave a rueful grin as he let himself out of his room. Since when had he ever played it safe?

N
ATALIE STARED
at the abstract painting in front of her. She'd known before coming to Chicago for her meeting with Johanssen and Associates that Jake would be in town at the same time. She'd thought of little else in the weeks since their last…meeting. Now she was wishing she'd never sent the note to Jake's hotel. She felt foolish standing in the cool, quiet hall of the Art Institute, looking for all the world like a patron of the arts in her simple black suit, sensible designer pumps and fitted suede jacket.

When what she really was, was a woman on the verge of hormonal overload, waiting for a man she was planning to have hot, steamy sex with. Her body gave a little shudder of excitement at the thought, which was why she was still standing there. She only hoped “I'm having a wild fling” wasn't written all over her.

Maybe he couldn't come—he hadn't responded to her note. But then, he'd have no way of doing so. Their relationship had sort of become a “come if you can” type of situation.
And boy, am I willing to come.

She covered her mouth and pretended to cough as she choked on a laugh. What had gotten into her?

Actually, it was who.
Jake.

And she wanted him into her again. And again.

She thought about him all the time. And who wouldn't, considering the pleasure he'd given her both times they'd been together? But that wasn't what bothered her. What worried her was that when she thought about him, it wasn't always in conjunction with sex. Which was bad. Because that was all they could be for each other. That was the deal. If he had any idea she harbored even the remotest fantasy that this unusual liaison they'd formed would lead to anything more permanent, he'd disappear in a blink and she'd never hear from him again.

So she resolutely did not think about what he might be doing at any given point during the day. She certainly didn't wonder who he might be doing it with, because that would mean she had some sort of imagined claim on him, which she certainly did not. She sighed and pretended to look at the next painting. Liza might be cut out for this type of thing, but Natalie was fast learning she was not.

Of course, knowing that hadn't stopped her from sending the note. In fact, she was fairly certain nothing could have stopped her. Could a person get addicted to sex? Well, really great sex, anyway?

“Hi.”

She jumped a foot and only barely managed not to let out a squeal.

Jake laughed and held her arm to steady her as she turned around. “I'm sorry. I guess you were really absorbed in that painting. I didn't mean to startle you.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she was only absorbed with one thing: him. But he was standing right there in front of her, looking every bit as spectacular as she'd been certain her mind had deluded her into thinking he was. Her body actually ached for him to touch her. The spot on her arm where his fingers brushed her had already come alive. God, she was addicted to him.

Or what he could give her,
she corrected herself. Certainly, like any good craving, when she'd had her fill, she'd move on to some other…hobby.

He leaned down so his eyes were level with hers. “Are you okay?”

I am now.
“Fine.”

He held her gaze a moment longer, looking skeptical, but simply smiled and held out his arm. “So, we're off to see a specific exhibit? Or just wander aimlessly?”

“Specific exhibit.” She took his arm, wishing she could get her raging libido in check. This was her day, her plan, and she'd be damned if she wouldn't handle it with the same easy aplomb he'd handled their last outing. An outing that hadn't even lasted long enough for them to finish breakfast, she recalled, feeling a little better.

Of course, last time there had been no expectation on either of their parts that the meal would lead to what it had. This time was different. And it was up to her to prove she could handle this like the well-educated, mature, world-traveled woman that she was.

He slid his hand down her arm and linked fingers with hers, gently rubbing his thumb along her wrist. Her knees weakened considerably.

She was in deep trouble.

She moved on, hoping he didn't notice how unsteady she was.

“This exhibit must really be something special,” he said.

“What?” She heard the thread of amusement in his tone, then realized she was all but racing them down the hallway. So much for sophistication. “Okay, so I'm a bit nervous.”

He squeezed her hand. “Yeah, me too.”

“Right.”

He looked surprised. “No, really.”

“You
are
the same man that fed me strawberries in front of an eager dining audience at Aunt Sue's, are you not?”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“I didn't plan that. It just sort of happened.”

He actually did look a tiny bit uncomfortable. His big rangy body was clothed quite handsomely in casual trousers and a pullover sweater beneath a worn leather and suede jacket. He looked rugged and sexy, but polished too, every bit the casual kind of art admirer that might frequent the Institute. And for all she knew, he'd been here hundreds of times. Except when she looked in his eyes. There was a certain deer-caught-in-headlights look to them when he took his eyes off her and looked around. As if she might expect him to make some kind of educated analysis about each piece.

And that fish-out-of-water feeling was what she'd banked her entire plan on. She'd been spoonfed an appreciation of the arts since birth. She'd never particularly enjoyed having it shoved down her throat, but in this case, she hoped to gain an edge, so to speak, by being
in a location where she might feel more at home than he did. She sent a silent thank-you to her Aunt Mildred for giving her a
Fine Art
subscription every year for Christmas. She rarely read the thing, but when she'd seen this exhibit featured on the latest cover, her plan had begun to take shape. She smiled to herself. Oh, if Mildred only knew the sort of learning experience her niece was actually deriving from her not-so-veiled attempt at continuing her art education.

“So, you haven't been here before?” she asked.

“No. I don't get much sight-seeing in when I travel. I suppose I should.”

He didn't look too upset about it. She understood exactly how he felt. When she traveled, it was to work. Her various aunts and uncles had dragged Natalie and her siblings all over the world growing up and she had burned out on cathedrals, monuments, statues and museums before the age of twelve. She still couldn't get all that excited about another piece of ancient pottery or Impressionist oil painting.

She'd definitely never been remotely excited about the idea of exploring more of it as an adult. Until now. Exploring anything with Jake could be exciting. Who knew, she might even learn to love ancient pottery.

“Do you like art?” she asked.

“I can appreciate it as much as the average person, I guess. But I'm not educated about it, if that's what you mean.” He smiled. “I'm always open to new things, however.”

“Good. Now, I know we're supposed to be expanding our sexual boundaries.” She lowered her voice when a passing patron looked their way with a raised eyebrow. She blushed, anyway, when she caught the teasing light
in Jake's eyes, but forged ahead. “But, well, I thought you might enjoy this and…” She stopped trying to explain, suddenly nervous about her choice. Would he think it too personal? “It's this way.” She tugged him out of the wing they were in and steered him toward the exhibit, before she lost her nerve.

“You seem to know your way around here. I take it you have been here before.”

“Several times.”

“A real fan of the arts, then.”

She laughed. “No.” She turned the corner and paused. “In fact, I loathe them on principal. Haven't been here since I was fourteen and never planned to come back.”

He looked understandably confused. “What changed your mind?”

“Like you said, I'm open to trying new things. I want to see art through your eyes. Might give me a new outlook on the medium.” She grinned. “Sort of like the new appreciation you gave me for oatmeal.”

Jake laughed, then shrugged. “I try.”

“You succeeded. Now it's my turn.”

He gestured in front of them. “Lead on.”

Natalie had been uncertain about how patient he'd be with this idea. They had limited time together, as usual, and by issuing an invitation at all, she'd basically tacitly agreed to go to bed with him again. Some men wouldn't want to take any detours on their way to the good stuff. She'd been hoping Jake would indulge her. She was more than pleased to find him up for the adventure.

She barely got through the door, when he was tugging her over to a small bronze in the corner.

“I'm sorry, but I had to see this up close.”

Natalie just smiled and let him go. Yes, this was going to be another fun adventure, after all.

“Would you look at this,” he said in a hushed tone, stopping in front of a small sculpture of a Native American man on horseback. “You can almost feel the power of the horse, the muscles bunching beneath the rider.”

Natalie felt muscles bunching, too. Hers.

“You can actually see him clenching his thighs against the side of the horse as he leans over his neck. Amazing.”

Natalie's throat went dry. “Yes,” she managed to say. So, okay, maybe she could appreciate art. She started to say something, anything, but he was already dragging her over to see another sculpture. She couldn't help but smile at his honest enthusiasm. Never let it be said the man didn't tackle new things with gusto. She barely held back a sigh. Boy, what gusto.

“The same artist,” he said, reading the small plaque mounted to the front of the pedestal.

This one was another bronze. It was a Native American woman kneeling, her hands cupped to her mouth as if sipping water just scooped from a stream. He said nothing as he studied it, but Natalie found herself studying him instead of the piece.

He was totally focused, taking in every detail. As he had before, when he found something that fascinated him, he blocked everything else out. She'd learned that with the blueberry.

“You can almost see her throat working as she swallows.” His voice was hushed, his respect for the artist obvious.

Natalie could only swallow hard herself. Was it her, or was it getting warm? She'd hoped he'd enjoy the
sculpture, but she hadn't had any idea just how sensual a study it would be. She looked at Jake—the smooth, hard lines of his face, the determined look in his eyes as he studied the piece. He seemed so rugged, too rugged to be such a sensualist. But she looked again at what he was wearing and realized the fine fabric of his trousers and lush warmth of his pullover were probably chosen for how they'd feel against his skin. Comfortable and plain enough. And yet undeniably sensual, when you thought about it. She had to curl her fingers inward against the urge to run her hands over the leather jacket he wore, the suede sleeves, the soft weave of the sweater stretched across his chest.

“Makes you wish you could touch her, doesn't it?” he said, totally unaware of the direction her thoughts had taken her. “Feel the power of what the artist created under your fingertips.”

“Yes,” she said, and the word was heartfelt. Only, she wasn't looking at the sculpture.

Her body vibrated at the idea of his long fingers exploring her with the same intensity he had focused on the bronze. If there was any way to make him leave right now and take her directly to bed, she would do it.

She caught herself and almost laughed. Now who was rushing ahead, impatient for the good stuff?

She took his hand, enjoying the rough warmth of his palm against hers. Had she known she could get so turned on in an art museum, she'd have come here daily. “Come over here,” she said, determined to get her mind back on track. “There is a piece I want to show you.” It was the piece from the cover of the magazine, the one that had given her this idea.

He glanced around him as she led him to the adjacent
room. “This is all early Western art, isn't it? Or inspired by the early West.”

“Different artists, but yes, the theme is the Old West. You come from the West, said your family had been there a long time, so I thought you might enjoy it.” She hoped that wasn't treading too close to taboo territory, but he smiled.

“My ancestors were on one of the wagon trains well over a hundred years ago.” He paused by a painting just inside the door. It was a watercolor of the sun setting over the Rockies. “But I never thought of that history in terms of art.” He was silent for a moment, then looked down at her. “Thank you for this.”

It stunned her a little, how good it made her feel to please him. “You're welcome.” When he looked at her the way he was right now, it made her want to do whatever it took to continue to please him. She cleared her throat. “The sculpture I want to show you is this way.”

He squeezed her hand and wove his fingers more tightly between hers. “How long is this exhibit here?”

“A few months, I think. It just opened.”

“Good. I'd like the chance to see more of it.”

She stopped. “I'm sorry. I'm rushing you again.”

“No, no. I want to see this through your eyes, too.” He pulled her a bit closer. “I can come back later. Right now, I want to see what you want.”

What she wanted.
Dear God, if he only knew how badly she wanted.

“You're sure?”

“Absolutely. Show me the way.”

“It's over here.” She slowed. “Of course, now I've made this big deal out of it and it's not really. I just…well, I saw it on the cover of a magazine and it made me
think of—” She broke off, realizing she was probably revealing more than she should about how much of her thoughts he'd occupied of late.