His By Design

by Dell, Karen Ann

  He leaned down and kissed her, never stopping the rocking, fluid movement of their mating dance, until she realized he was bringing her back to the peak once again. Her eyes flew open.

  “Oh yeah, darling, we’re not done yet. Not by a long shot.”

  He reached between them and circled her bud with his thumb. Then he lifted her legs to his shoulders as the exquisite sensations built and built toward climax. This time his strokes were fast and furious and when her release took her, he followed, shouting her name.

  Zoe gave some consideration to staying in this position—pinned to her mattress by a gorgeous hunk of male—for the next few days. That plan had a lot of merit. Until . . .

  “Was that your stomach growling?” Astonishment was clear in his question.

  It was. And loudly too. No mistaking that sound for anything remotely sexual.

  “Um, yeah,” she admitted. “I was in the process of inviting your for dinner when we . . . got sidetracked,” she offered in her defense.

  “Sidetracked? Is that what they call it now?” He laughed and kissed her on the nose.

  She poked him in the ribs and sighed. “Really. I have to have food. I know it’s not fashionably ladylike, but I have a very healthy appetite. Much as I hate to move even an inch from this spot, if you don’t want to hear an even louder chorus from stomach-central, you’d better let me call Donatelli’s and order us some dinner.”

  She gazed up at those sparking blue eyes and sexily tousled hair. It was enough to cause her nether regions to produce an orgasmic echo. Which in turn caused one of Jeff’s brows to shoot up and a quirk to appear on that expressive mouth.

  “You are staying for dinner?”

  Or would this be a slam-bam, thank-you-ma’am, I’ve really got to run, but thanks for the memories, kind of thing? Now would be the time to find out if he’s playing me like a violin for all the fun and games he can get, or if this might actually turn into . . . something.

  His eyes turned tender and he brushed a kiss across her lips. “Yes, sweet cheeks, I’m staying for dinner. I will even volunteer to put on clothes and brave the night to go pick it up. That way you can stay gloriously naked. Which has become my favorite view.”

  He planted another kiss on the peak of one breast. It immediately pebbled.

  “No. Stop. Let me at least order dinner.” She looked up at him with a smug smile. “That should give us almost thirty minutes before you have to go pick it up . . .”

  He grinned wickedly. “Let me get your cell. And another condom.”

  He slid off the bed and headed for the kitchen. She enjoyed the view of his retreating backside and quashed the whispering voice in her head that said, “This is too good to be true. Beware. Life-sized replicas of Michelangelo’s David must have dozens of women’s numbers in a very thick little black book. You’ll merely be the latest entry.” She tucked the sheet around her and sighed. Maybe not. Maybe she could be ‘The One.’

  “Yeah, right,” the inner voice said.

  The subject of her musings was back in seconds and slid under the sheet as he handed her his phone. “I couldn’t find yours. Do you know the number?” He was already running his fingers across her belly, sending quivers through her muscles and heat arrowing to her core.

  “Yes, I know the number. I— Stop that for a minute, will you? I have to talk on the phone. Like a normal person. Not like one who is being ravished while she tries to order linguine with clam sauce and garlic bread.”

  His hand stilled but he continued to nuzzle the side of her neck. She managed to put the order for take-out in without sounding too much like a woman who was about to have mind-blowing sex.

  For the third time.

  In an hour.

  She tossed the phone onto the nightstand, and purred, “Now, Studley-Do-Right, you may have your way with me.” She threaded her fingers through his hair and tugged his mouth to hers.

  Jeff exited through the front door, glad of the cool evening air, cell phone already in his hand. He had to let Jen know he wasn’t coming home for a while. He didn’t want her to worry. He was amazed he even remembered Jen when ninety-nine percent of his brain cells were occupied savoring the memory of the best sex he’d ever had.

  The petite ball of fire was a surprise in so many ways, he could barely catalog them all. Her small but beautifully proportioned body was a sculptor’s dream. High, firm breasts, not overly large, fit his hands perfectly. His palms itched to feel them again. Her hair was like silk, so long it almost reached her waist when she let it down. Her skin felt like satin and tasted like . . . sin.

  He stopped walking and adjusted his jeans as Jen answered the phone. Now it was his turn to make sure he sounded normal.

  “Hey, Bug, I’m gonna be late getting home tonight. Is there enough left over from last night for you to have for dinner?”

  “Oh yeah, there’s plenty. Don’t worry about me. Are you still at Zoe’s, arranging furniture?” She chuckled. “Putting everything where she wants it?”

  Well, he put one thing right where she wanted it.

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah, sort of. You know how you women like to change your minds every ten minutes when there’s some poor sucker available to push sofas and shit around.”

  “Yeah, I know. We’re such a burden to you big strong men. Well, tell her I said hello.”

  “What?” He jerked to a stop at Donatelli’s door.

  “Only kidding. Just wanted to see if you were really paying attention to this conversation, or deep in thought about how you could get into Zoe’s pants.”

  “Bug, I’m not trying to get into Zoe’s pants.” There was no trying. He’d been there, done that, and wanted to do it again about a million times. This conversation needed to end before she asked more questions that he couldn’t skirt around the truth answering. “I may be late. Who knows how long furniture arranging could take. So I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Sure, hot shot. Time to start telling her what a great artist you are. Laying the ground work so to speak.”

  “Right. I’ll do that. Bye, now.”

  He snapped his phone shut. He was definitely laying some groundwork. But the sands were already shifting under his feet. The little white lie of passing Jen’s paintings off as his own was starting to look very gray.

  Back at the apartment, he found Zoe had donned a short silk robe, the sash around her waist not enough to keep it from gaping open when she reached for the paper sack.

  He couldn’t resist slipping an arm around her and pulling her into his embrace. “I thought I gave you strict instructions to remain naked.” His hand slid up underneath the hem and caressed her bare backside.

  She pushed against his chest and made an exasperated sound. “I’ll get naked when you get naked.”

  He let her go and began to unzip his jeans.

  “Stop. We’re eating dinner first, Studley. Leave the pants alone and uncork that bottle of wine.” She gestured to the counter where a pair of glasses, the wine bottle and a corkscrew waited.

  “As you command, sweet cheeks.” He busied himself with the wine while she dished out the pasta. “Mmm, smells good.” He leaned over and nibbled her behind the ear. “Not as good as you, though.”

  “You’re good for my ego, Studley, but you don’t have to lay it on so thick.” She smiled up at him.

  I’m not saying anything that isn’t true.” So far. “You smell like honey, and flowers, and hot, tropical sunshine. It’s very sensual. And what’s with the Studley nickname?”

  “It’s a take-off from Dudley-Do-Right, from The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show. You’ve heard of him, right? The Royal Canadian Mounty who’s so loyal and honest, strong and handsome and, you know, always looking out for the damsel-in-distress? The difference is”—she leaned over the counter to
kiss him—“you are most definitely a stud not a dud.”

  He snorted derisively.

  “Well, you are strong and handsome. And you’ve been completely honest in your business dealings with me. The loyalty part? I guess I’ll have to wait and see about that.”

  “You make me sound like a saint, Zoe. When really”—he chuckled evilly and twirled the end of an imaginary mustache—“I’m much more comfortable in the role of sinner.”

  She gave him a seductive look. “Well, everyone’s entitled to a few flaws.”

  She handed him a glass of wine and clinked hers with it. “Here’s to the success of the first half of my renovation. It turned out better than I ever could have imagined.”

  He drank to her toast, grateful she was so happy with his work, but feeling more and more trapped by her idealistic vision of him.

  They sat on barstools at the counter and feasted on bread and wine and pasta.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that obnoxious dude who showed up at the gallery the day you cut your finger. He said he was your partner.”

  “Fredrick Barker isn’t my partner. He’d like to think he is but believe me that’s never going to happen.” Zoe took a sip of wine. “He used to be my boss. He’s rolling in money and owns several art galleries on the East Coast. I worked in the one in D.C. cleaning and repairing canvases he bought on the cheap and sold for thousands. He was training me as an appraiser, and at first I was very grateful for the opportunity, since I’d had to leave school before I completed my master’s degree in fine arts. Made it tough to find a job. He let me live in the apartment above the gallery, too, which stretched the meager salary he paid me a good bit.”

  And kept her nice and handy for after-hours activities, I bet.

  Jeff refilled her glass and she took another swallow, then continued. “It’s pretty hard to move up in this field without credentials, so of course I was enthusiastic and willing to work long hours to prove my dedication.”

  Jeff nodded. He had a good idea where this was going.

  She grimaced. “At first everything was fine. Fredrick taught me a lot and free rent helped me pay for the courses to get my master’s degree. When he saw my work, he had me copy a few famous paintings to ‘sharpen my skills.’ Paintings which he then sold as knock-offs. Lots of people would like to have a painting close enough to the original to pass off as the real thing to their friends. As long as we sold them with the understanding that they were copies, I had no problem with it.”

  Zoe slid off her barstool and began to pace. “Then Fredrick started taking me out to dinner. At first with clients, another ‘learning experience.’” She made air quotes. “Then just the two of us, discussing his plans for the galleries he owned. It wasn’t until he tried to kiss me one night when he brought me home that I realized he had more in mind than training me to run one of his other galleries. From then on it was a constant struggle to stay out of his reach without pissing him off enough to fire me.”

  Seeing that his plate was empty, Zoe put the remaining linguine in the refrigerator and set their dishes in the sink.

  “I imagine that must have made your job . . . difficult.”

  “Yeah.” She paused while she wiped the counter top. “I’m not a fan of big cities and the art scene in D. C. was elitist, high-powered and intense. I grew up in Santa Fe and I longed to live somewhere with that kind of culture. It occurred to me one day that maybe I could find a small town not too far from some big cities and start an artistic community.” She gave him a big grin. “I did some research and here I am.”

  Jeff split the remaining wine between their glasses and led her toward the new sofa. He sat and she snuggled up against him, curling her legs underneath her.

  “And your old boss? How did he feel about your plans?”

  “He laughed at me. Told me there was no way in hell I could take on something like that and succeed. I bet him that I could and he took me up on it. He loaned me fifty thousand dollars and gave me one calendar year to make good.”

  Jeff began to have a bad feeling about this. He was almost afraid to ask, but her success was key to getting the money for Jen’s surgery, so he needed to know what she was up against. “What happens if you don’t pay him back on time?”

  “There are two things Fredrick has always wanted from me. The first is a painting I did for my mom. It’s probably the best work I’ve done so far, and she adored it. When Fredrick saw it, he offered to buy it for seventy-five hundred dollars, right on the spot. I told him it wasn’t for sale, and he didn’t believe me. He kept offering me more and more money, figuring sooner or later I’d sell. But I’ll never sell that painting. It reminds me of my mother every time I look at it.”

  “Do you have it here?” Jeff looked at the corner of the studio where boxes and canvases from her storage unit were stacked against the wall, waiting to be unpacked.

  “No, it’s over at Marjorie’s in my room. Tomorrow I’ll bring it here and you can help me hang it, okay?”

  “Absolutely. I can’t wait to see it. All of your work actually. The samples I got to see when we cleaned out your storage locker were amazing. I think you’re a very talented artist.”

  “Thanks, it’s nice of you to say that. I’ve never had much recognition. Over in D. C. I was a small fish in a very big pond. Here, I think my works will have a better chance to sell.”

  “So, the painting is one of the two things Fredrick will get if you don’t make the gallery fly?”

  She nodded.

  “What’s the other thing?”

  Zoe didn’t answer him for a long time. She stared into her wine glass and shook her head. He coaxed her, “You can tell me. If you think I would judge you for whatever you agreed to, don’t. We all do what we need to do, no matter the personal cost. I truly understand that.”

  Zoe looked at him, her large brown eyes somber. “He’ll get this gallery. Become sole owner. I’ll be his employee again.” She grimaced. “It’s not your problem in any case. Let it go for now.”

  Shit.

  Her unspoken worry was obvious. He only had to look at Zoe to know what he’d want from her. She’d be back to fighting off Barker’s advances. Or maybe not fighting them off was part of their ‘deal’. The thought sickened him.

  She may think it wasn’t his problem, but if Barker became sole owner, he’d decide what paintings to accept for display. Considering their instant animosity, Jeff felt his chances to keep Jen’s works on the walls would be slim to none.

  Jeff wanted her to count on his help, if she wanted it. He’d never let that jerk force her to do anything. He’d let the secrets of her deal go for now, but until when? Until she trusted him? Considering his current plans, that day may be a long time coming. From her reticence and the downward turn of her mouth, he suspected he was right.

  The son of a bitch! The moment Barker walked in, I knew he was trouble. I should have . . . done what? Punched him out? What good would it have done to bloody his nose, other than give me the pleasure of rearranging the guy’s face? Maybe a nice boat ride five miles out into the bay would work. With Mr. Sleaze accidentally falling overboard. Shit floats so there was a chance he could make it back to shore . . .

  Chapter 11

  Zoe led Amanda around the curve of the counter to the last, and most secluded, booth in Ed’s Diner. At Amanda’s questioning look after they passed several empty booths, she explained, “It’s quieter back here and more private.”

  Amanda’s brows rose. “Are we sharing secrets?”

  “Not secrets exactly,” Zoe hedged, then paused as the waitress came over to take their order.

  “Hi, ladies. Are we doing breakfast or lunch?” She held a pen poised over her order pad.

  It was eleven o’clock and the lunch rush hadn’t started, while most of the breakfast
crowd had come and gone.

  “I haven’t had anything but a cup of coffee and a cheese danish, so I’m going for your full breakfast,” Zoe decided. “Eggs, over easy, bacon, home fries, and toast. Oh, and orange juice too, please.”

  Their waitress scribbled hastily then turned to Amanda. “And for you, miss?”

  “I’d like to take advantage of your lunch special, if I could, Christy. It’s not too early, is it?”

  The girl smiled. “Not at all. Today’s special is a cup of broccoli cheese soup and a BLT.”

  “Perfect, thank you.”

  “And to drink?”

  “Oh yes, coffee, please.”

  The waitress nodded and hurried away.

  Zoe watched her for a few seconds. “If that skirt were any shorter we’d know what kind of underwear she’s wearing.”

  “Well, it probably gets her better tips.”

  “I thought her shirt would take care of that. The strain on the top button is pretty severe.”

  Amanda laughed. “I guess she goes by the ‘If you’ve got it, flaunt it’ rule.”

  “I guess. Anyway I wanted to tell you about a new uh, development.” Zoe leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Between Jeff and me.”

  Amanda followed suit and leaned closer. “Tell me.”

  “Well, last Friday when I moved into my new place, Jeff helped me unpack and move the furniture around, so I invited him for dinner.”

  Both women sat back as Christy brought Amanda’s coffee and Zoe’s juice, then leaned in again as soon as she walked away.