by AJ Nuest
“I don’t need these pictures anymore. Not since I found you. But if you don’t want me to sell them, just say the word and I’ll call off this whole deal.”
A whimper caught in her throat, tinged with a combination of longing and misfortune. Her uncles had cautioned her. If she spoke plainly, the inhabitants of this realm would undoubtedly think her mad. But oh, how she hungered to confess the horrors in her heart. To watch understanding fill his gaze when she spoke of the dangers she faced.
“What’s seems to be the problem?” The dark-skinned gallery owner approached, the offended woman in tow slightly behind him, jowls swaying beneath the imperial angle of her chin.
Faedrah stepped away from Rhys and squinted at the set of the woman’s shoulders, the tempo and gait of her pace. No hint of Gaelleod showed upon the lines of her face…or in her eyes…and Faedrah dropped her focus to the floor.
She had surrendered to paranoia. This was nothing more than an exchange for goods tendered. “Do what you will.”
Rhys glanced at the gallery owner and his client before reclaiming the distance and clasping her upper arms. “Dammit, Faedrah, what aren’t you telling me? Do you know this woman?”
“I do not.”
“Of course we don’t know each other.” The woman crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “And I’m not about to let her bat those long lashes just so she can get her hands on a painting you’ve already sold…to me.”
Faedrah brought her attention back to Rhys, fearing he might believe the worst though his keen inspection never wavered from her face.
He smiled. “Now, lady, that’s where you’re wrong.”
A flick of his finger and her hat toppled to the floor. Panic shot through her veins, and Faedrah clamped both hands on top of her head. Oh no, he mustn’t. He couldn’t!
His jaw firmed and he shackled her wrists in his fingers, lowering her hands to her sides. “Don’t.”
Several heads turned in their direction. A hushed silence descended about the room. Impatience sparkled amid the striations in his eyes, and she stood mesmerized by the streaks of deep emerald surrounded by rings of the purest cerulean blue.
“Twenty years, I’ve been waiting to show off your beautiful face.” He plucked the pins from her hair and crammed them into the pockets of his jacket, over and again until her long tresses tumbled heavy and loose down her back. “Twenty years of everyone calling me crazy while I walked around with an image of you in my head.” He thrust his fingers in under her hair and a sigh slipped from her throat as he fisted the strands. One step forward and he tipped her head back, lowering his lips the width of whisper to hers. “Don’t ever hide yourself. Not from me and not from the people smart enough to buy your picture. Do I make myself clear?”
She searched the hard resolve etched upon his face, dropped her focus to his mouth and nodded. Not one soul in this entire realm would think him any less than the brilliant artist he was…not whilst she had the power to ensure as much.
He lingered a moment longer before slowly withdrawing, and she fell forward a step at the loss of his solid embrace. Opening his hand toward her, he met the stunned gaze of his well-to-do client. “This woman doesn’t need any of my paintings. All she has to do is look in a damn mirror.”
Faedrah scanned the slack-jawed expressions decorating the patrons in the gallery, a knot of anxiety lodged in her throat. Her attention snapped to the owner as he smacked his palms together, repeating the noise until all those present joined in his hearty applause. Before she could gather her wits, the crowd surged forward, all of them reaching for her and Rhys with outstretched hands.
Sweet tits, what had he done? She grabbed his arm and jerked him back several steps. With these people swarming in on all sides and her devoid of any weapons, the two of them were left dangerously exposed.
“Oh, shit.” He chuckled, captured her hand in his and raced for the far side of the gallery. “Come on, I think that’s our cue.”
Down a long hall, she sprinted at his side, yet her jaw dropped and she slowed when he momentarily ducked inside a sparsely appointed room and snatched a bottle of spirits off a glass-topped table. Had the man lost his reasoning? Now was not the appropriate time for a libation!
“Thanks, Nate.” He winked, tucking the bottle under his arm, and she rolled her eyes as he hurried her along the corridor to a plain white door.
The silver bar bisecting the middle gave way under the press of his hand and, as he placed his palm on the small of her back, she led them into the bright blue canopy of Helios’ warm rays.
Chapter 6
No matter how many times Rhys jacked the starter, that first ear-splitting growl erupting from the engine made him grin. Based on the way the angel standing beside him flinched and jumped back a step, she was just as impressed by the fine-tuned rumble shaking the chromed tailpipes of his motorcycle as everyone else.
A chuckle cinched the muscles of his stomach as he handed her his helmet, though the sound was lost under the sputtering exhaust bouncing against the brick walls of the alley. His laughter morphed into an amused frown as she held the helmet in both hands like a basketball, twisting it back and forth in her splayed fingers as if she didn’t understand what it was for.
Weird. Maybe she was worried about the fit being too big.
He grabbed the helmet, smirking at her wide eyes as he carefully worked the padded interior down past her ears and secured the neck strap under her chin. Rapping his knuckles on top, he lifted his brows. “Okay?”
She nodded, though her astonished blink was more like what the hell?
He laughed again and shook his head, tipping the bike to the side to heel the kickstand. Apparently, his muse had never been offered such a cool ride before. Another glance at her and he jerked his chin toward the empty spot behind him on the bike. “Climb aboard, princess.”
The inside of his mouth went dry as sandpaper. Christ, just the thought of her toned thighs straddling his hips shot urgency straight into his cock. He gunned the throttle and waited for the snarl of the engine to subside. “Or would you rather go back inside and face the music?”
One of her brows lifted in a defiant glare and she flipped down the visor. Grasping his shoulder for leverage, she swung her leg over the seat as if she’d been born to ride. Huh. Maybe he was wrong and she had been on a bike before.
He shifted into first and eased them to the head of the alley, a quick check both ways for oncoming traffic and he peeled right onto the street.
Her arms flew around his waist and he pursed his lips against a sly smile. That’s right, princess. Hold on tight. A bob of his foot, and he shifted into second and then third, revving the bike until the wind beat at his face. Her hold on him intensified. Heat throbbed through his groin as her breasts smashed his back, a persistent pulse that had nothing to do with the purring engine between his legs. The smallest wriggle of her ass, and she was plastered to him from nape to hips.
Shit. A peek down at her thighs pressed firmly along the length of his and he bit back a groan. Fuck, with her limbs draped around him like this, it was all he could do to think straight. He concentrated on the stop light before the expressway ramp winking from green, to yellow, to red, and shifted into a lower gear. The strain of keeping his hands off her was like a corrosive acid eating away every last ounce of his self-control.
The bike rolled to a stop and he placed his foot on the ground to wait out the light. She loosened her hold and shifted away from him, bouncing the seat.
No.
Every cell in his body mutinied as the order rang in his head. Christ, he’d completely lost it. Having her close was torture, but the thought of her tempting curves being less than an inch away was worse.
He reached down, wrapped his fingers behind her knee and jerked her right back to his hips.
She flinched, slapping her open palm to the middle of his chest, but she stayed put. A moment later, her fingers fisted the material of his shirt and satisfaction settled t
o a slow burn over his skin. Good. If he was reading her signals correctly, she felt it too. The constant need to be touching. The nearly sickening desperation that accompanied the thought of saying goodbye.
He unwound her fingers from his shirt and brought them to his lips, rubbing her knuckles back and forth across his mouth. The scent of her skin nearly made him topple the bike. Clean. Natural. Intoxicating. The exact opposite of all the grimy disappointments he’d faced up to this point.
God, he wanted to drink her in.
The light turned green and, as he hit the gas, she wrapped both arms around him like a vice and squeezed him snug between her thighs.
They moved as one, dodging and weaving through the traffic jamming the wide, four-lane tarmac of the crowded expressway, horns blaring and drivers flipping them the bird. The swivel of her hips, the way she leaned with him and anticipated each maneuver, was like they were linked. The tiniest adjustment of her hand over his stomach, and arousal slid like an errant drop of paint down the inside of his legs. If she was this in tune with him on a damn motorcycle, what kind of mind-blowing orgasm would detonate between them in bed?
By the time he swerved for the off ramp, changed gears and rounded the Christian Mission, he was keyed up, rock hard and aching like a horny teenager who’d just copped his first feel.
He slowed for the turn onto the back street behind his warehouse and squinted into the shadows for signs of any box-dwelling derelicts, the occasional strung-out hooker or the local pushers who invited his business with a gold-toothed grin. A slide of his foot along the ground, and swung the bike onto the freight elevator.
Lowering the kickstand, he killed the engine, and the immediate silence that followed pushed against his eardrums like weight. The only sign he hadn’t lost his hearing was the heavy beat of his pulse—throbbing with the same thick tempo as his groin.
“Let me get the door.” He climbed off the bike and a loud rumble shook the elevator as he lowered the gate. After jamming his key into the lock, he twisted it to the right, jabbed the button for the third floor, and turned to face her…and nearly swallowed his tongue.
Lowering his helmet to her thigh, she shook out her long white hair, the ends feathering the dark crease between the curve of her ass and the seat. He fisted his hands, teeth clenched and knees locked. Every synapse in his body screamed at him to go grab a handful of that unruly mass, wrench her head back and cram his tongue down her throat.
The elevator lurched into its snail-paced ascent and she startled, falling forward to brace her hands on the bike. That black strip of hair tumbled past her shoulder. Thighs tense, the toes of her sexy black boots perched on the footrests, she rotated her hips as if squirming on the edge of a cataclysmic release. One he’d brought to her with the rhythmic tap and stroke of his thumb.
Jesus Christ. He widened his stance to relieve the tight pressure in his jeans. Strip her down to a black lace thong, and he’d be staring at the completion of every erotic fantasy she’d starred in.
Blowing a steadying breath through his pursed lips, he tried and failed to find something else to concentrate on. Sure, he’d brought her here to have him all to himself, maybe talk her into sitting for him so he could achieve one of his lifelong dreams of painting her in real time, but the right thing to do—the proper thing to do—was to get to know her first. Spend some time talking with her until she was comfortable.
She walked her palms backward along the leather seat, the line of her back arched against the downward slope, breasts thrust forward, until her fingers bracketed the padding between her legs. A bead of sweat trickled down his spine. Sweet Christ in Heaven, he was never going to last. Tipping her head back, she stared at the ceiling, exposing the long cool length of her throat.
Her chest rose with a deep inhalation and the last scrap of his willpower went up in smoke. “Fuck proper.”
He strode forward, tossed his helmet aside, straddled the bike facing her and yanked her legs onto his thighs. Her sharp gasp cut through the creaking gears of the elevator. One hand clenching her hip, the other spearing through the hair at her nape, he hauled her flat to his chest.
A demanding sweep of his lips across hers and she went rigid, her mouth firmed. Denial streaked through his head and he switched angles, tipping her chin to the left. Nipping little love bites along her jaw, he frowned as her palm pressed his shoulder. Didn’t she understand how long he’d been waiting for her? Hadn’t the same hunger he’d lived and breathed since she arrived at the gallery nearly driven her insane?
Come on, baby, where are you?
He clasped her fingers and shoved them to the back of his neck. Flicking his tongue, he licked and prodded the seam of her lips. He wasn’t about to give up. He’d been caught in limbo too damn long to let her go.
She softened in his arms. Her mouth parted on a sigh. He inhaled the sweet, unspoiled warmth of her breath and dove deep.
Yes… Everything he’d ever wanted suddenly filled his arms. The eager swirl of her tongue gliding over his, the silky strands of her hair tangled in his fingers, the groan-inducing pressure of her spread legs balanced on his thighs. God, he’d never get enough. Kissing her was like living a wet dream. Her hips hitched and he moaned into her mouth when the cradle of her warm sex rode the side of his cock. Hell, reality was better.
The jolt of the ancient cables broke them apart and Faedrah leaned away from him, placing three fingers to her lips. Her eyes sparkled with awareness. The blush he’d already come to crave pinked her cheeks, and he ground his teeth to keep from pushing her hand aside with his chin so he could devour her lips. They’d arrived at the third floor and, if he had anything to say about it, would continue this exploration of one another’s bodies inside.
“My mother once told me ʼtwould seem as if the earth had moved.” She lowered her focus to his mouth, flipped her hand and skimmed a light touch over his lips. “At the time, I did not believe her description to be literal.”
God, she was cute. Though he had to admit, the way his head spun had nothing to do with bounce of the elevator. The seduction of their kiss, the promise of where it might lead, had made the ground shift for him too. Except…
His smile slowly faded as her words sank in. “Your mother’s description of what?”
“Why, a kiss, of course.”
Surprise rocked him back on the seat and he dropped his hands to her thighs. She’d never been kissed? How was that even possible? “Wait a second. Faedrah, how old are you?”
“I’ve just passed the twentieth season of my birth.” She squinted. “Why do you ask?’
Her twentieth season? Jesus Christ, she was practically a kid! He dug his index finger and thumb into the tight squeeze of his eyes and pinched them together over the bridge of his nose. Not to mention the most obvious setback this never-locked-lips realization brought to light.
She was a virgin. She had to be. All he could think about was screwing her brains out and she’d never so much as been kissed? Shit, he was an asshole. Not that his body seemed to care. Based on the stretch and flex tugging at his boxers, his cock was only too happy to accept the challenge of being the first to bring her to orgasm. God! What the fuck?
“You are dissatisfied.” Her statement was a fact not a question, and she shoved away from him and climbed off his lap. The sharp rap of her heels crossed the elevator and she lifted the gate. A few quick strides into the warehouse and she drew up short, and he couldn’t begin to imagine the shock tripping through her head as she came face to face with the mural of her on his wall. Add in the numerous canvases propped in the corners, the ones stacked like decks of playing cards around the room, and he was bound to come off like a complete psycho.
She whirled to face him, eyes bright with resentment and her jaw clenched. “I demand you return me to my uncles’ home at once.”
He huffed. “You’re not going anywhere.” At least, not until they’d had the chance to talk this through. “Cool your jets, woman. I’m not dissatisf
ied, I’m…” He tossed a hand in the air. “Cock blocked.” And he needed a drink. Like, right now.
He swung his leg over the bike and wheeled it off the elevator, rummaged through his saddle bags and rescued the bottle of champagne he’d lifted from Nate’s office.
His muse scowled, crossing her arms. “Whatever blockage is currently plaguing your anatomy, I will not stand idly by while you toy with me as if I’m a child. Either state your intentions in transporting me here or leave me be on my way.”
Tubes of paint rattled as he slammed the bottle on the table. “My intentions are the same as they were from the first moment I saw you.” Though he wasn’t about to pop her cherry with a “wham-bam thank you, ma’am.” She deserved better.
“And yet you place judgment on that which you do not understand.” Aiming a finger at the floor, she strode forward several steps. “You kiss me as if the next beat of your heart relies upon my surrender and then grow exasperated when I comply.”
Yep. Confusing as hell, right? And the pent-up frustration simmering in her brown eyes wasn’t helping. Apparently, several years of abstinence had left her teetering every bit near the edge as he was. All it would take is a few quick flicks of his tongue and she’d come in his mouth.
His hand shook as he tore the cellophane off the bottle neck and twisted the wire. Shit, that ball-busting brainstorm couldn’t have come at a worse time.
“I like it that no one has touched you, Faedrah.” In fact, if anything, her lack of experience made her more perfect. More…his, somehow. “But your innocence also complicates things.” He pried his thumb under the cork and a loud pop echoed against the rafters. Champagne fizzed and spilled down his fingers, foaming over the table and floor.
Whether or not she gave him her virginity, once they had sex she would be his and only his. Exactly the way he’d always planned.
The thought detonated like an atomic bomb inside his head, and he tipped the bottle to guzzle several deep swallows. The aftershock leveled everything, leaving one huge mushroom cloud that expanded with a reality so intense, he nearly choked on the wine.
