by Laura Moore
“Of course I’ll be fine on my own,” Grace Miller replied, as if Gen hadn’t spoken. “There’s plenty of food in the house. And there’s a biography of Martin Sheen on A&E. Don’t you worry about me.”
Gen slumped like a grumpy lump in the soft bucket seat of the Aston Martin. Alex still hadn’t told her where they were going but she was beginning to recognize the back roads the Aston Martin was cruising down well enough to know that they were heading west, toward Southampton.
What could he possibly want to show her? she wondered, but was stubbornly determined not to cave in and ask again. She settled for casting him a baleful glare, but the effect was spoiled, rendered harmless by Murphy’s shaggy body. He’d planted his two front paws firmly on the armrest and was panting as he stared out the windshield.
Just then Alex downshifted into a curve and his arm brushed Murphy’s leg.
“Does Murphy always stand over the gearshift?”
“Yeah, he thinks he’s helping with the navigating,” she replied with gleeful obtuseness, smiling to herself when she heard Alex’s grunt of resignation. Had he been anything less than an excellent driver, she would have immediately elbowed her dog backward to make him lie down on the rear seat. But, like everything else he did, Alex handled the powerful sports car with consummate skill. Indeed he drove so smoothly that Gen, in spite of her pique at being kidnapped by Mr. High and Mighty Alex Miller, found herself relaxing against the padded leather, and closing her eyes as the warm sunshine beat down on her face. . . .
She awoke when the car came to a stop. Blinking, she sat up and her eyes widened in surprise. “We’re in New York,” she exclaimed. “What are we doing— oh, thank you,” she said as a doorman, dressed in a dove-gray cutaway with white trim and a matching cap with a shiny black visor, opened her door.
Gen scrambled out of the car and was barraged by the sound of taxis idling and buses rumbling, both honking in impotent rage at the daredevil bike messengers who responded with obscene hand gestures as they threaded their way around the stalled traffic before speeding off.
To be assaulted by the city noise after the peace of Long Island felt strange, Gen’s disorientation all the greater since she’d had no idea Manhattan was their destination. Glancing around, she saw the dark stone wall that enclosed a line of dense shade trees on the other side of the broad, two-way street, and realized they were on Central Park South.
Was this where Alex lived? Gen wondered, turning around to stare up at the elegant art deco facade of the apartment building.
Alex came around the car and opened its rear door, handily catching Murphy’s leash as the dog jumped out and gave a huge body shake. Lowering his nose to the sidewalk, he sniffed enthusiastically.
“That’s a fine dog, Mr. Miller,” the doorman offered.
“Thank you, George. He belongs to Ms. Monaghan,” Alex replied, handing her the leash. “Would you mind watching the car for me, George?”
“I’d be delighted to, Mr. Miller.”
Alex turned to Gen. “Come on inside,” he said and she felt the beguiling warmth of his hand pressing against the small of her back as he guided her into the building. The bright opulence of the lobby, its glowing chandeliers reflected hundredfold in the floorto-ceiling mirrors, had her jaw slackening. Even the marble checkerboard floor beneath her sneakers shone, waxed and polished, until it gleamed.
In the elevator, Alex pressed “P” and Gen fought hard to suppress a hysterical giggle. Of course he lived in a penthouse. Where else would someone like Alex live? A Central Park South penthouse was like living on Mount Olympus. “The view must be incredible,” she murmured politely as the elevator began climbing rapidly.
Alex’s lips tightened in irritation, even though he’d already guessed she’d use each and every trapping of luxury that surrounded him as a means to bolster her totally wrongheaded notion that she could never fit into his world. The very idea infuriated him, made him want to shake her. Of course the irony of Gen’s ambivalence toward his wealth wasn’t lost on him. Every other woman he’d dated had been hungry for the rarefied lifestyle his wealth guaranteed. Somehow he had to convince Gen that the differences in their backgrounds were inconsequential.
And the only way to do that was to show Gen what she meant to him. Which was why he’d brought her here, to his apartment, so she could see Day One. It was a decision he’d reached only two hours ago, back in the studio, a decision he’d rather have put off indefinitely. By letting Gen know it was he who’d bought her painting, he was letting her see the depth of his desire. Leaving himself vulnerable, open to hurt. Which, ever since the car accident that stole the lives of his father, Tom, and Lisa, he’d done everything in his power to guard against.
When the elevator door opened directly into his sun-drenched apartment, he heard Gen utter an awed “Oh, my God” beneath her breath. He watched her fingers open, dropping Murphy’s leash as she stepped inside, moving toward the bank of picture windows that overlooked the park. Then she faltered, perhaps catching the flash of color out of the corner of her eye. Slowly she turned and saw her painting, Day One, hanging in solitary splendor on the opposite wall.
His eyes fixed on the myriad emotions flitting across her face. She looked astonished, overwhelmed, and wondering, and most of all, scared at what finding her painting here, in his apartment, signified. Her eyes grew huge and troubled, and so very beautiful.
“My painting,” she whispered faintly. “You were the one who bought it?”
“Yes. I went to the gallery before the opening. I saw Day One and I had to have it.” Alex fell silent as his eyes roamed over the canvas.
Stunned Gen gazed at him, her mind grappling with the discovery that it was Alex who’d purchased the most private and personal work she’d ever created. He hadn’t even known her then. What could he have seen in her painting that would have compelled him to buy it?
Alex’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Let me tell you about a woman I know,” he said, and the quiet intensity of his voice combined with the compelling blue of his eyes held Gen motionless, absorbing his words deep into her soul.
“She’s a woman I’ve known for months. An extraordinary creature who laughs as she flies like the wind through Central Park, her dog racing by her side. I can’t count the times I stood by these windows in the early morning, a voice inside me saying that if I went into the park, I’d have the chance to see her, cross paths with this ethereal sprite, and that something inside me would lift at having glimpsed her.”
It was inconceivable. What were the odds? Gen opened her mouth, but couldn’t find the words. It was all so unreal, so very improbable.
Alex watched her, a faint smile playing over his mouth, as if he understood her reaction. “It wasn’t until I saw you with Murphy in Long Island that I made the connection, realized you were also the woman in the park. It was quite a shock. Once I got over it, I began to wonder whether serendipity wasn’t involved. Because before I had even met you, I saw this.” He paused and gestured to Day One. “And I had to have it. Your painting spoke to me, Gen, reached out to something inside me. I realize now it’s because you put so much of yourself in this work. Like you, it’s beautiful and passionate and haunting.”
A flush stole over Gen. Shyly, she ducked her head, but his voice reached her, touching her like a velvet caress. “When I look at Day One, I feel you, Gen, your thoughts and your emotions. Day One is about a woman who’s moving toward something unknown and potentially momentous. She has to choose between embracing the unknown or turning away and remaining safe, protected, cocooned. . . .” He paused and in the silence Gen raised her head, meeting eyes that pierced her soul. “I’ve sat in front of your painting for hours on end, imagining how incredible the colors in that woman’s world will be should she decide to take that leap of faith. I know you’d like to pretend that you and I are too different to be together, Gen. But we’re not,” he said, his voice hoarse with barely restrained passion. “I want to see those color
s come to life within you. I want to be a part of that. I want the woman who blades like a mad dervish, I want the woman who creates paintings of incredible beauty, I want the woman who walks naked out of the sea, I want the woman who moans so sweetly when I touch her. I want you, Gen.”
Gen tried to breathe. It was impossible. Her heart was hammering too loudly. Millions of thoughts flew through her head, each accompanied by an urgent warning: It could never work, it will never last. But how could she heed those cautions? How could she listen to reason when Alex spoke of serendipity and sprites and wanting her—not just Gen the artist, but every part of her?
She’d been wrong, she realized. Alex did know her, understood her in a fundamental way that no other man ever had. She’d always been a person who held herself somewhat apart, aloof from others, focusing exclusively on her art. But when Alex entered her life, something shifted inside her. Now Gen couldn’t imagine what it would be like not to have him in it—not to feel that heady rush of pleasure when he was in the same room, have that delicious warmth unfurl inside her when he smiled. She wanted that. And more, she wanted to experience the feel of Alex hard and strong against her as he made love to her.
While Gen instinctively sensed that in giving herself to him, she would be plunging headlong into unchartered territory, one look at Alex and she knew she wouldn’t be traveling alone. He stood, hands shoved deep in his pockets, waiting for her response. The casualness of his stance was deceptive. She could practically feel the tension vibrating in him.
Wordlessly she came toward him, watching the hot flare of emotion light his eyes. Slowly, as if she were a wild creature who might abruptly shy away, Alex withdrew his hands from his pockets, then stood stock still. He was waiting for her, she realized. Gen stopped, mere inches away, the pull of desire so powerful she could hardly keep her body from swaying toward his, could hardly recognize her voice for the pounding of her heart. “Show me all the colors of the universe, Alex.”
SIXTEEN
Her words still floating in the air, Gen raised a trembling hand, and stretched it out to him in offering. When Alex clasped it in his own, her heart felt as if it might burst free of her rib cage. His blue gaze never leaving hers, he lifted her hand, pressing her palm to his lips. The touch of his wet, open mouth against her skin was like a line of fire racing through Gen, melting her from the inside out.
She moaned softly.
The sound seemed to free the passion Alex had been holding in check. Swiftly, he shifted his arms and with breathtaking ease, swept her off her feet, gathering her so close that she could feel the thundering of his heart.
As he carried her across the room, Gen gazed enraptured at the chiseled planes of his face, at the curved lines of his firm mouth, committing every detail to memory.
The bedroom’s blinds were drawn against the sun, giving the large room a golden sepia tone. The carpeting beneath Alex muffled his steps. Everything was quiet and hushed, except for the sound of their breathing.
He stopped in the middle of the room and slowly lowered Gen to her feet. His hands settled on her waist, even this lightest of touches searing her. Overcome with an uncharacteristic shyness, Gen glanced around, and her gaze landed on the massive platform bed that dominated the bedroom. The sight of it caused a flutter of panic. How many women had Alex slept with? she wondered suddenly, just as suddenly realizing she’d prefer not to know the answer. Her gaze ricocheted back to his face.
“You’re not sure, are you, Gen?” he said quietly.
“No, no, I’m—” she stammered, embarrassed. Unwilling to admit her total inexperience, she said lamely, “I’m just not used to this kind of thing.”
“I think I know how you’re feeling. I’ve never been this nervous before. I want to please you so damn much, Gen,” he admitted, his voice low and solemn.
“What?” she said, her astonishment chasing away her attack of nerves. “Are you kidding? I’m terrified I’ll melt into a puddle at your feet just from your hands on my waist.” At her words, the hands in question tightened possessively. Gen’s breath caught, becoming a gasp of wanting.
Their eyes locked.
“Ahh, well,” Alex murmured. “In that case, why don’t we start from where we left off earlier?” And his mouth descended. She rose on her tiptoes, meeting him halfway.
It was a sweet fever that consumed them. Their hands moved restlessly as their mouths tasted and tangled, fueling an urgent, unstoppable need. When Alex growled heatedly, “I want you naked in my arms,” it set off violent tremors within her.
“Help me, Alex,” Gen whispered, her voice shaking.
Alex was ever so accommodating. “My pleasure,” he said and his hands shifted to the hem of her shirt.
Gen spared a panicked thought for the plainness of her underwear—a simple cotton bra with matching panties—but then he was sliding her T-shirt up her torso and over her head. Carelessly tossing the shirt aside, he went still. She saw the brilliant gleam in his eyes and felt the thrilling bulge of his erection against her stomach—unarguable proof that he was far from disappointed.
Gently, reverentially, he reached for her. His fingertips skimmed the swell of her breasts, which rose and fell with her breathless shudders. Moving with exquisite slowness he traced the line of white cotton to the front clasp of her bra. Her heart pounded as he unlatched the clasp and peeled the white fabric away. The bra dropped to the floor, unheeded.
His eyes feasted on her, taking in her slender torso and her heaving breasts, their dusky pink nipples tight with arousal. “I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world when I saw you walking out of the sea. You’re even lovelier up close, Gen. So delicate and yet so lush, I’m dizzy just looking at you,” he whispered huskily. “Let me feel how beautiful you are, too.”
Alex’s hands covered her breasts, squeezing and fondling, and the sensation was so exquisite it made her as dizzy as he, made her ache for more. But as his head dipped toward her, hunger etched on his face, she said, “Alex, wait,” aware that once his mouth touched her she’d be lost, utterly lost. “Your shirt. I—”
He paused. Heavy-lidded with passion, his eyes glittered in the half-light. Then his hands lightly stroked the undersides of her breasts, sending a shiver of pleasure down her spine, and he said, “Yes, my shirt, definitely has to go. Maybe you’d like to take it off for me this time?” His teeth flashed white in a smile of wicked invitation.
It struck Gen then, really struck her, the utter glory of being free to touch and kiss Alex. He was hers.
The thought electrified her. Desire lent speed to her fingers. They flew over his buttons. As the V of his shirt expanded, she drank in the sight of his broad chest, of his muscles quivering with sexual excitement. Leaning into him, she brushed the aching points of her nipples against his hot flesh.
A growl of need erupted from deep inside Alex. Wrapping his hands around the cheeks of her bottom, he pulled her flush against him. She moaned, feeling him hard and thick and straining just where she was dissolving and melting. He caught her moan, kissing her with erotic abandon, his tongue sliding in and out of her mouth to the rhythm of his hands squeezing her buttocks and his hips rocking against her cleft.
She was spiraling out of control, everything inside her coiling tighter and tighter, ready to fly apart. Frantically her hands moved to his waistband.
At the touch of Gen’s fingers grazing his naked stomach, Alex nearly burst. He was embarrassingly close to coming in his trousers, something that he’d managed to avoid even as a horny teenager. But then again, he’d never been this aroused in his life. He was dying to thrust himself into Gen, sheath himself in her slick heat, and claim her as his. The feel of her fingers undoing his belt buckle and working his zipper down over his rock-hard erection was enough to blow his mind—among other things.
The mere thought of her touching his straining cock had him growing, swelling even more. . . . God, she was so fine-boned, he thought with sudden concern, his eyes taking in
her slender body, her small, perfect breasts. Would he hurt her? His disjointed thoughts ended on an in-drawn hiss as Gen pushed at the fabric of his trousers and his boxers, shoving them down his hips. His cock sprang free, pointing like a divining rod at what he craved more than anything in the world: Gen.
He stepped out of his trousers, simultaneously kicking off his loafers, and saw that Gen was transfixed, staring at his groin. “This is what you do to me, Gen,” he said, his voice low and rough with desire.
Her eyes, saucer-round, flew to his face. Half dreading that she was going to run panic-stricken from the room, his heart did a joyous flip when that impish smile of hers lit up the room. “Why, Alex,” she said in an awed stage whisper, “you don’t look anything like the male models I’ve worked from.”
His laughter burst forth. “Thank God for that.” Grinning, he realized that he was happier than he’d been in years, and that his happiness was due to Gen.
As Alex stood before her, Gen knew she’d never beheld a sight as beautiful or as glorious as Alex naked and aroused for her. She stepped forward until her naked skin brushed his. She kissed him.
The sweetness of Gen’s kiss shattered the last of Alex’s control. His hands swept around her. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her to his bed and laid her down. “It’s my turn now,” he whispered as his fingers zeroed in on the metal buttons of her jeans.
Alex quickly dispensed with the jeans, but then had to tamp down on the lust that roared through him when only a scrap of cotton shielded Gen from his ravenous gaze. Gen’s pleasure was paramount to him. He forced his trembling hands to tarry, slowly peeling the panties down her narrow hips. His breath came in a labored rush as inch by inch the dark triangle at the apex of her slender thighs was revealed. She was so incredibly beautiful, he thought dazedly. So beautiful and so extraordinarily precious to him.
He touched her. His hands learned her delicate curves, stroking and caressing Gen until she trembled like a sapling caught in a tempest. Her body arched and bucked beneath his touch, beneath the kisses he rained on her as he whispered his approval. “God, you’re so soft and sweet, so very sweet. Like cream dusted with cinnamon. These,” he said huskily, his fingers lightly teasing her nipples, “are like wild strawberries. . . .” Lowering his mouth to her breast, he drew her nipple against his tongue, circling and lathing it as he suckled.
