Ian

by Kate Hoffmann

  “I have to take a shower,” she said. “And I don’t have anything to wear.”

  Sascha raised her arm and a garment bag dangled from her finger. “I know,” she said. “You love me. It’s from Bergdorf and you’ll look fabulous in it. And don’t think of combing your hair. The bed-head look is perfect for you. It makes you seem just a tiny bit eccentric and they’ll love you for it.” Sascha handed her the garment bag. “Now, get ready. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes. And try to look like you’re going to enjoy yourself, darling. You need to work up some buzz about the gallery opening.”

  Marisol gave Sascha a reluctant smile, then ran upstairs to change. The silky slip dress was beautiful. Instead of the usual black, Sascha had chosen a lovely champagne color with delicate beading around the low neckline and on the tiny straps.

  She stripped off her T-shirt and capris and slipped into the dress. It clung to every curve so underwear was impossible, but the skirt was just long enough to provide modest coverage. A pair of strappy ecru heels from her closet finished off the look. She searched through the boxes of clothes for her black pashmina shawl and threw it around her shoulders.

  As she applied a bit of lipstick, Marisol paused and stared at herself in the mirror, her gaze falling to her mouth. She touched her lips, remembering the feel of Ian’s mouth on hers, the taste of his tongue and the warm damp that he’d left behind. His skills hadn’t stopped there and a warm sensation pulsed through her blood as she remembered the shattering orgasm she’d enjoyed.

  Until a week ago, her life had been so sedate. But now, she had a new place to live, a new business to run and a new lover. A tiny shiver skittered down her spine. When would she see him again? Would he call her or were they supposed to meet by chance? Perhaps he’d walk by her gallery tonight with another excuse of insomnia.

  She’d have to make sure Sascha didn’t keep her out too late. If she saw him tonight, Marisol had every intention of finishing what they had begun that morning.

  “Hurry,” Sascha shouted up the stairs.

  Marisol grabbed a small clutch and stuffed her lipstick and a comb inside, then gave herself one last look. Too bad Ian wasn’t here, she mused. He’d definitely appreciate the dress, and the naked body beneath it. This was an outfit that could get a girl laid and she didn’t want to waste it on the Town & Country set.

  Sascha was waiting at the door when Marisol came back downstairs. She pointed at the crate. “Something new I haven’t seen? Remember, I have first dibs on all your work.”

  “My father sent it,” Marisol said as she searched for her keys. “I think he might be painting again.”

  “I’ve always loved his work,” Sascha said. “If he needs a place to show, I’m sure I could find-”

  Marisol giggled. “You and my father. You’d eat him alive. Besides, I don’t think he can work at the pace that your considerable sales skills require of an artist.”

  Sascha’s Volvo station wagon was parked out front, but Marisol insisted on taking her car, knowing she could leave whenever she wanted. She wrapped her shawl over her hair and tossed the ends around her shoulders, then started the car and pulled it out into traffic.

  After a week, she’d learned enough about the area to find her way over the bridge and into Newport. But as she steered the car around a wide curve in the highway just outside of Bonnett Harbor, she heard a siren. Glancing into the rearview mirror, Marisol saw a squad car following her, lights flashing.

  “Oh, shit,” Sascha said. “What is this all about? You weren’t speeding. Well, not that much.”

  “Don’t worry,” Marisol said. “This won’t be a problem.”

  She pulled over to the side of the road and put the car in neutral, then waited. Marisol watched in the rearview mirror as Ian approached, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, his face a mask of authority. She pushed the shawl off her hair and smiled up at him. “Hello, Officer,” she said with a teasing tone. “I’m beginning to think you really are following me. I may have to get a restraining order.”

  Ian chuckled. “Yes, restraint. I think we could both use a little of that, don’t you agree?”

  “Was I breaking some law?”

  “Are you aware that you were driving over the speed limit? I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you a ticket.”

  “Oh, dear,” Marisol sighed, sending him a playful pout. “Another ticket. Well, we know how this went the last time you gave me a ticket. Can I count on it going the same way?”

  A boyish smile quirked at the corners of his mouth and she knew exactly what he was thinking. He glanced up and down the road, then squatted down beside the door of her car. “I don’t think that’s appropriate for this location, Miss Arantes. We’d need a bit more privacy.”

  He pulled out his little ticket book, but this time she wasn’t going to let him use it. There had to be some benefit to their “friendship.” Marisol reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer until his face was just inches from hers. “You moved my sculptures,” she whispered.

  “You ripped up my citation. I figured I was keeping you out of further trouble.”

  Marisol let go of his shirt, but he didn’t step back. She smoothed her hand along his chest, toying with a button on the front of his uniform. “I put them back in the window where they belong.”

  Ian shrugged. “Then I’ll be back to write you another ticket.”

  “Why waste your time writing out tickets? You’re far more successful at other efforts,” she said.

  He took off his sunglasses and Marisol caught her breath as his gaze met hers. Those eyes, she mused. Every desire he felt was reflected in the blue depths. “Where are you going in that dress, Miss Arantes?” His gaze dropped to her chest. “Because that dress is definitely against the law.”

  “To a cocktail party. Would you like to come?” She paused. “To the party, I mean?”

  “I’d love to come,” he replied, making a careful examination of her lips. “To the party. But I’m not dressed for a party.”

  “Then go home and get dressed. I’ll put your name on the guest list. It’s in Newport at George and Cheryl Templeton’s estate.” She turned to Sascha. “Do you have the invitation?”

  Sascha stared, confused and utterly speechless at the exchange between them. She fumbled in her purse and withdrew an envelope. Marisol handed the envelope to Ian. “Don’t wear the uniform,” she said. “But bring the handcuffs.”

  He grinned, then slipped his sunglasses on and walked back to the squad car. Marisol watched his retreat in the rearview mirror, admiring his easy stride and the fit of his uniform. A lot of men had modeled for her during her career so she’d become rather immune to the male form. But Ian’s body intrigued her. She’d touched him, but she hadn’t had a chance to just look…to breathe him in and let the beauty of his body burn into her brain. She’d had several very vivid fantasies about what might lie beneath the uniform and suddenly she felt desperate to know for sure.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Nothing,” Marisol said. She waited for Ian to make a U-turn and head back into town, then she pulled back into traffic.

  “Nothing? That was not nothing,” Sascha sputtered. “That was something. And I want to know what it was.”

  “We’ve met before,” Marisol explained.

  “I would hope so. That’s not the way one talks to strangers.”

  Marisol smiled slyly. “He’s going to be my next lover,” she said. “And it’s going to be wonderful. And that’s all I’m going to say.”

  “WOW, YOU LOOK SHARP.” Sally stared at Ian as he walked into the station. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a tie. Don’t tell me you have a date.”

  “You think it’s too much?” Ian asked, turning to stare at his reflection in the window. “I’m going to a cocktail party. What the hell is that exactly? I’ve never been to a cocktail party. I’m not sure what they wear.”

  “It’s summer, so it’ll be pretty
relaxed,” Sally said. “You could probably get rid of the tie. And maybe even your socks. Loafers without socks are cool.”

  Ian glanced down at what he was wearing. He usually took his fashion cues from Declan, who spent enough time with rich people to know how to dress. Thankfully, Declan had left a closet full of clothes at Ian’s house, just in case he didn’t have time to drive back to his place in Providence before attending an event in Newport. The linen trousers were finely pressed and a nut-brown shirt and tan blazer had been clipped together in the dry cleaning bag so Ian took that as a cue that Dec had worn them at the same time.

  “Did you get anywhere with the Penis Lady?” Sally asked.

  “Don’t call her that,” Ian muttered as he unknotted the tie. “Her name is Marisol Arantes.”

  “Are you really going to let her show all those…bits and pieces in her front window?”

  “She’s an artist. It’s freedom of speech. There’s no law against it. In fact, I remember a few years back when a few of the old biddies in town wanted to put a dress on that naked statue in the lobby of the library and the village board said no.”

  “That was a woman,” Sally said.

  “We can’t discriminate,” Ian replied.

  She frowned. “I suppose not. So what do you want me to do with all the calls?”

  “Tell them I’m working on the problem. And if they have any more complaints they can call Ken Francis. He’s the village president. Let him pass an ordinance.”

  Ian glanced over at the clock. It was nearly seven. He figured if he arrived late, he’d have a better chance of spending the rest of the night with Marisol. But he didn’t want to arrive after the party was over. “This thing started at four,” he said. “How long do you think it will last?”

  “It all depends on the guests,” Sally said. “If it’s a good mix, it could go all night. From what I understand, the Templetons are known for their parties. My brother’s wife’s sister does their catering and she says Cheryl Templeton would throw a party every night if her husband would allow it.”

  Ian waved to Sally, then remembered the favor Marisol had requested. He hurried back to his office and grabbed his handcuffs, then shoved them into the waistband of his trousers, beneath his jacket. “You know where I’ll be,” he called as he walked out the front door of the station.

  The ride over to Newport was slow going, a fender bender on the bridge bringing traffic to a halt. He glanced down at the clothes he wore and wondered what Declan would have to say about…his smile faded. Oh, hell, what if his brother was working the party tonight? Declan provided security for many of the big events in Newport. But this really wasn’t an event, was it? A cocktail party was just a-

  Ian cursed and banged his hand against the steering wheel. He’d made a pact with his brothers to stay away from women for the next three months. And he’d hadn’t even lasted twenty-four hours. But they’d have to understand. When a woman as beautiful as Marisol Arantes comes along, a guy just can’t walk away. She was a once-in-a-lifetime, the kind of woman he’d still be talking about years from now.

  The idea behind the pact had been valid. Taking a break from the opposite sex could provide some valuable perspective. But he’d been in the midst of a five-month drought when they’d made the deal and he hadn’t experienced any miraculous revelations in that time. He’d enjoy Marisol for as long as she’d have him, guilt free, and if the time came, he’d pay his brothers for the pleasure.

  The sun was beginning to set when he pulled onto Ruggles Avenue and drove toward the water. The address was easy enough to find and Ian took some small comfort that the party wasn’t in one of Newport’s largest “cottages.” But he still couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place as he steered the Mustang up the circular drive.

  A valet ran out to take the keys and Ian pasted a smile on his face as he walked to the door. If Dec was here, he’d have to come up with a plausible excuse for his invitation. But to his relief, the guy at the door discreetly checked the invitation and asked Ian’s name, then encouraged him to have a pleasant evening.

  Music drifted in from the terrace and Ian wandered through the elegant house, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Paintings hung in every available spot and Ian stopped and stared at a colorful depiction of two horses, appreciating the power of the painter’s vision. He searched the room, looking for something he’d recognize as Marisol’s, but the Templetons seemed to prefer animals to naked men.

  Wide French doors lined the back side of the house, providing a beautiful view of the ocean just past the Cliff Walk. Ian stood in the doorway, sipping his champagne and observing the small clusters of guests enjoying their drinks and eating hors d’oeuvres in the warm summer night.

  The only time he ever came in contact with these people was when they wandered across the bay to shop in Bonnett Harbor. Bonnett Harbor couldn’t boast a single 30,000-square-foot summer cottage or even a few billionaire citizens. It offered just enough to tempt the tourists across the bridge for an afternoon of shopping or a nice dinner at one of the town’s many restaurants.

  “Nice view.”

  The voice sent a shiver through his body and Ian slowly turned to find Marisol watching him from a nearby doorway. His gaze drifted from her face to her feet and back again.

  “I like my view better,” he said, chuckling softly. “That dress is definitely going to get you in trouble.” The way it clung to her body, he was certain she wore nothing beneath it. He could see the curves of her breasts, her nipples as they pressed against the fabric and the sweet spot between her legs as she leaned against the door.

  She crooked her finger at him and Ian walked across the room. Grabbing his hand, Marisol pulled him through the doorway and into a wide hall. They walked past the main stairway and Marisol opened another door and pulled him inside a tiny powder room built beneath the stairs. As soon as she locked the door, she turned to him and began to unbutton his shirt.

  Ian leaned back against the edge of the sink and watched her, his heart slamming in his chest, unwilling, or perhaps unable, to stop her. Her hair brushed against his chin and he smiled as the scent of her perfume wafted up to his nose. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Undressing you,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “I have to.” She shoved his jacket and shirt off his shoulders at the same time. Ian reached behind himself to unbutton the cuffs, then let the clothes slide to the floor. She immediately began on his trousers, unbuckling his belt and working the zipper open.

  When she slid them down, the handcuffs clattered to the floor unnoticed. Ian kicked off his shoes and stood in his bare feet, left in just his boxers.

  Marisol stepped back, to the far wall of the bathroom, her hands clenched at her sides. “Now the rest,” she said.

  Ian shook his head. “What are we doing here?”

  “I have to see you,” she said. “Naked. I just have to. Humor me.”

  Ian wasn’t sure what kind of game they were playing now, but she seemed dead serious. Her brow was furrowed and her breath came in quick little gasps. He reached for the waistband of his boxers, then slowly slid them down to his ankles.

  Ian straightened, bracing his hands behind him on the edge of the sink. He’d been so surprised by her behavior that he hadn’t had time to react. But now, as her gaze drifted over his body, he felt a rush of heat course through his veins. Ian glanced down and watched as he grew harder with each passing second.

  “You’re beautiful,” she murmured, a tiny smile curving her lips. “I knew you would be.” Slowly, she crossed the space between them, then reached out and ran her hand over his chest. Her fingers slowly outlined each muscle, as if she were making a scientific study rather than beginning a seduction.

  Her fingers dipped lower, to explore his belly, and then even lower still. The moment she brushed against his erection, Ian sucked in a sharp breath. Her hand stilled for a heartbeat, her gaze fixed on his crotch. Ian wasn’t
sure what she had in mind, but the curiosity was just about killing him.

  Marisol slowly sank to her knees in front of him, her gaze still fixed in one spot, her hands exploring every detail. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, hoping that she didn’t intend to stop. If this was one of the activities usually practiced at cocktail parties, then he’d have to attend many more.

  He watched as her lips came closer. The wait was excruciating but it was sweet torture, the kind that made the anticipation as much fun as what was about to come. He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair. What act of fate had put this woman in his life? He felt as if he’d been caught up in some fantasy. Things like this-women like Marisol-just didn’t happen to him.

  Ian closed his eyes and drew a deep breath as her hands circled his hips to smooth over his buttocks. And then, she kissed him, her lips damp against the base of his penis. He groaned softly as she worked her way up the length of his shaft. If this was a dream, if he was somehow asleep, he’d feel like a fool later. But awake or asleep, he planned to enjoy it.

  Her tongue danced over the tip of his erection, sending currents of pleasure racing through his body. When she took him inside her mouth, the shock of her caress made his knees weak. Ian had enjoyed this particular act many times in the past, but he’d never felt such an intense connection to his reactions. Or to the woman causing them.

  Every movement brought him closer to the edge, but he fought it, wanting these strange and wonderful sensations to last. He looked down, but the sight of her, kneeling in front of him, her lips surrounding him, only brought him closer to completion, his orgasm just a heartbeat away.

  A knock sounded on the door, but Marisol didn’t seem to notice. “Busy,” he called, his voice cracking slightly. And then, from out of nowhere, the orgasm hit him, sending a deep shudder through his body. He stifled a cry and tried to stop the spasms, but then realized that he didn’t want to.

  She took him in, continuing to surround him with her tongue and her lips, sapping him of every last bit of his desire. When it was finally finished, Ian looked down at her and found her smiling, satisfied that she’d pleasured him well. She ran her tongue over him one last time, then slowly stood.