Ian

by Kate Hoffmann

  “You’re making me crazy,” he murmured, breathless and spent.

  She reached for the glass of champagne he’d set on the sink and took a long sip, then placed a kiss on the center of his chest. “Get dressed,” she said. “I’ll meet you outside.”

  With that, Marisol slipped out of the bathroom. Ian quickly reached over and locked the door again, then drew a long, deep breath. Hell, if he had to pay his brothers ten thousand to break their celibacy pact he would. He intended to have as much of Marisol Arantes as he wanted and he wasn’t about to put a price on that kind of pleasure.

  3

  “HE CERTAINLY IS HANDSOME.”

  Marisol nodded as she watched Ian converse with a small group of men. She wasn’t sure what they were discussing, but they seemed to be engaged in a very animated debate. In truth, she was surprised he fit in so easily. The society crowd could be closed-minded and judgmental at times. But Ian didn’t seem impressed by the wealth or position of the people around him and they didn’t question who he was or why he’d been invited to the party.

  “I guess, when I moved to Bonnett Harbor, I really didn’t expect to find anyone that interesting,” she murmured.

  “And is he interesting?” Sascha asked, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

  Marisol nodded. “He’s different. He doesn’t have an agenda, he’s just who he is,” she added.

  “Unlike David?”

  She winced at the mention of his name. “Maybe,” Marisol replied. “It really doesn’t matter, though, because I’m just using him for sex.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, she regretted saying them. Perhaps it was the truth, but she respected Ian enough not to take their attraction lightly. It wasn’t just the physical connection they shared that fascinated her. There was something more to this man, something hidden beneath the surface that she found undeniably attractive. She hadn’t known him long enough to define what it was.

  Sascha took a sip of her champagne as she scanned the guests on the terrace. “Speaking of lying, cheating scumbags, I spoke with David a few days ago. He and the Brazilian have parted ways. He actually admitted that conversation with her was such a chore he couldn’t stand her any longer. And, he asked how you were doing. I think he might give you a call. In fact, I expected him to turn up here tonight.”

  There had been a time, before she’d met Ian, when Sascha’s revelation would have thrilled her. But now, Marisol felt nothing but mild annoyance. How could she possibly care what David said or thought when she had Ian to occupy her fantasies? “When you see him again, tell him I’m not interested.”

  Sascha frowned. “You said it yourself, Mari. This Quinn is a temporary thing, so why close the door on David? You two were so good together.”

  “Looking back on it, I don’t think we were,” Marisol said. In truth, she and Ian were much better together and they barely knew each other.

  “You’re just saying that because you’re all caught up in this new man. Everything is very exciting. But this passion will fade, you know it will.”

  Marisol nodded, but she couldn’t completely agree with Sascha’s statement. There was something about the way Ian touched her, the way he made her feel, that seemed to hold so much promise. Their attraction was a mystery and no matter how she looked at it, it didn’t make much sense. He wasn’t the type of man she usually found herself falling for.

  But then, maybe that was the answer. She wasn’t falling for him. She was simply infatuated, as Sascha had said, swept away by the growing intimacy between them and by the fantasies yet to be explored.

  “Have I stayed here long enough?” Marisol asked.

  “Have you talked to everyone, introduced yourself and told them about the opening?”

  She nodded, then reached into her purse and found her car keys, handing them to Sascha. “Can you make it back on your own?”

  “And how are you getting home?”

  Marisol nodded to Ian. “Park the car in front of the gallery and put the keys behind the potted tree to the left of the door.”

  Sascha leaned closer and gave Marisol a peck on both cheeks. “Be careful. You don’t know much about this man. Don’t trust him so easily, all right? After that mess with David, you didn’t work for three months. I can’t afford you falling into a funk-and neither can you.”

  Marisol walked away from Sascha, her attention now fixed firmly on Ian. He looked so different in the jacket and pressed shirt. Though it wasn’t as sexy as the uniform, it made him look less imposing, more approachable. He’d combed his hair, but the evening breeze had messed it up, the dark waves falling over his forehead. As she joined him, she fought the urge to reach up and brush the hair out of his eyes.

  “Has everyone here been introduced to Marisol?” he asked, resting his hand on the small of her back. He made a few introductions and she listened distractedly, her attention focused on his hand. The simple yet possessive gesture sent a rush of warmth through her body and she held her breath as he let his palm drift slightly lower.

  As they listened to the conversation, she imagined his thoughts were on seduction and not on the subject of the discussion, the current state of the stock market. Ian’s hand drifted up and down her back as he smoothed his palm against the silk dress, the sensations driving her mad with the need to touch him in return.

  “Will you excuse us?” she suddenly said, taking Ian’s arm. They hurried back toward the house, Marisol pulling him along behind her.

  “Are we going to the bathroom again?” Ian asked, offering slight resistance.

  “We’re getting out of here,” she replied. “I’m tired, my feet hurt, and I can’t talk about myself any longer. These people bore me to death.” She turned to him. “And I have this overwhelming need to get naked with you. You don’t bore me.”

  It was so easy with Ian, she mused. She didn’t hesitate to tell him exactly what she wanted. Maybe it was because he wanted the same thing. But it wasn’t just sex and the act of pleasuring each other that she enjoyed. It was the intimacy, the feeling that at the very moment he surrendered, she knew him better than any woman on the planet.

  When they reached the privacy of the house, Marisol wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, her tongue offering a taste of temptation, her body molding to his. “It was nice of you to come,” she said as his hand skimmed along her spine to cup her backside. “But I think we should leave now.”

  “Are you sure?” Ian asked. He kissed her again and again, short, sweet kisses all around her mouth, his breath coming in little gasps, his eyes shadowed with desire. They stumbled back into a dark corner, laughing softly as Marisol’s hand brushed the front of his linen trousers.

  “Positive.”

  “We’d better get out of here before we get caught,” he murmured as spun her around. “I do have a reputation to maintain.”

  “And I don’t?” Marisol teased.

  “You make sculptures of naked men. And you don’t wear underwear. I think people expect you to be a little wild.”

  “There’s only one thing to do then,” she said, turning away from him. “I must find a way to ruin your reputation.”

  “There you are!” Ian and Marisol jumped apart as Cheryl Templeton hurried into the room, flushed from too much champagne. She grabbed them both. “You’re not leaving? It’s early.”

  Ian cleared his throat, then moved Marisol in front him, obviously embarrassed by the erection that pressed against his trousers. “Marisol has a lot of work to do before her opening,” he explained. “And I have to get back.”

  “Oh, pooh,” Cheryl said. “Well, before you leave, I have to show you our new acquisition. Come, it’s in the library.”

  She hurried ahead of them and Ian took Marisol’s hand, weaving his fingers through hers. They walked past the bathroom beneath the stairs and Ian made to pull her inside, but Marisol sent him a warning glare and dragged him back into the hallway.

  “George hates it, but I love it,” Cheryl said, stari
ng at the abstract oil. “Emory Colter’s work has grown so much in popularity over the past ten years that we paid far more for it than we intended. But I don’t care.”

  She stood in front of Marisol and Ian and chattered on and on about the painting, about their art collection, about the artists she’d entertained. He bent close and dropped a kiss on Marisol’s bare shoulder, his lips warm and damp. She pulled away, but Ian moved behind her and wrapped his hands around her waist, smoothing his palms along her hips, then around to her belly and lower.

  The silk provided no protection from his touch, the heat of his hands burning into skin. Marisol closed her eyes and leaned back against him as his hands moved up to cup her breasts. She didn’t care that there was another person in the room, yet she was aware that any moment Mrs. Templeton would turn around and see what was happening.

  Why was she so defenseless against his touch? When he put his hands on her body, she lost the ability to think for herself. He took control and she was happy to surrender. Through half-hooded eyes, she watched their hostess, waiting for her to move and recognize what was going on behind her.

  Ian’s thumbs brushed across her nipples, bringing them to hard peaks. Marisol reached back and ran her hands along his hips, rubbing against his erection, the silk transmitting the warmth and feel of him.

  Suddenly, she regretted her decision not to duck into the bathroom. Any show of resistance was silly at this point. The attraction between them had become wildly overwhelming and she loved the way it made her feel-alive with excitement, as if every breath she took was filled with a hunger that begged to be sated.

  When he touched her, or simply looked at her, she could think of nothing but tearing his clothes off and enjoying the pleasure of his body. And there were many pleasures to enjoy-his wide shoulders and narrow waist, his flat belly with the tiny trail of dark hair that led to temptations below. He had a small birthmark above his right hip and a scar on his left shoulder, just a few details she remembered from their time in the bathroom. But Marisol wanted more that just a map of his body. She wanted the key to his passion.

  What made his heart pound, what made his desire for her burn? Did he like to be kissed in a certain way, was there something in her touch that made him hard and ready? And what would he feel when he finally moved inside her, when his orgasm overwhelmed him?

  There were so many things she needed to know and she was impatient to learn it all, first in bed and then by sculpting him. Already, she could imagine Ian standing before her, quiet, still, relaxed and completely naked. But this time, she could touch him as she worked, run her hands along his flanks, explore the perfect curve of his backside and examine the beautiful line from his hip to his ankle.

  “Well, I’m sure I’m boring you both to death.” Mrs. Templeton slowly turned and Ian’s hands immediately returned to his sides. Marisol felt a warm flush creep up her cheeks and was glad for the low lighting in the room.

  “It’s a lovely piece,” Marisol said.

  “And I can’t wait to get a look at your new work,” Cheryl countered. “Your friend here has been singing your praises all night.”

  “Yes, well, I’m not getting much done lately,” Marisol explained, surprised that Ian had been talking about her. “And I really should work tonight.” She held out her hand. “Thank you for everything and would you say my goodbyes?”

  Cheryl nodded, and when Ian reached around Marisol, she took his hand as well, then led them both out to the foyer before bidding them good night.

  Ian and Marisol stood at the driveway while the valet retrieved Ian’s car, their fingers tangled together, Marisol’s thoughts focused on the rest of the evening. She was past playing coy games. When they got back to the gallery, she’d take him inside, tear his clothes off and force him to make love to her. She smiled to herself. She couldn’t imagine that he’d refuse.

  When the valet pulled up in front of them, Ian walked around to the passenger side of the convertible and helped her in. They drove out the driveway and through Newport in silence, the warm night air soft on her skin. Marisol glanced his way every so often, trying to discern his thoughts. A tiny smile was the only hint he gave and she nervously toyed with her evening bag, snapping the clasp open and shut.

  If everything followed as it had begun, he would stay with her tonight-and it would be wonderful, their naked bodies lying together, hands and mouths exploring until they both reached the point of no return and then the wild rush of pleasure as he moved inside of her.

  Marisol took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She’d drunk too much champagne, but her head felt perfectly clear, every sense piqued, every nerve on edge.

  “Are you tired?” he asked.

  Marisol turned to find him looking at her. “No. Not at all.”

  “So, you need to work tonight?”

  “No,” she murmured. “I was just saying that because I wanted to leave.”

  His smile widened and he fixed his gaze on the road ahead. Marisol didn’t even notice when they reached Bonnett Harbor or when he turned down Bay Street to the gallery. When the car stopped, she waited for Ian to come around and open her door.

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the car, then held out his hand. “Keys,” he said. But he didn’t wait for them. Instead, he pulled her into the shadows of the doorway and kissed her. “Keys,” he repeated.

  Marisol drew back to search through her purse, then remembered. “No keys,” she said. “I gave them to Sascha.” She moaned. “And she likes to be the last one at the party. We’ll have to go back and get them.”

  “No time,” Ian said, his voice low and seductive. “Come with me.”

  “Where are we going? We can’t go to your place. You have your reputation to protect.”

  “I know a place.”

  They got back in the car and Ian drove toward the water. When they reached the bottom of Harbor Street, he turned left and drove along the docks, then turned again in front of a sign that advertised Quinn’s Boatworks. “My father’s business,” he said, nodding at the sign. When he reached a chain-link gate, he hopped out of the car and unlocked it, then drove the car through.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “Wait,” he murmured as he locked the gate behind them.

  They pulled over a small rise and Ian turned off the lights and the ignition, then coasted to a stop. She stared out across the waters of Narragansett Bay. In the distance, the lights of Newport twinkled. Just above the horizon, the moon shone brightly.

  “We’re alone,” Ian murmured as he jumped out of the car. “This is the boat landing for my dad’s boatyard. The only way down here is through that gate. It’s completely private.”

  He helped her out. “It’s beautiful,” Marisol said.

  They walked around to the front of the car and Ian lifted her up to sit on the hood. He stepped between her legs and took her face in his hands. “You’re beautiful.” He kissed her gently. “And you’re making me crazy, Marisol,” he continued, his breath hot on her neck. “All I do is think about you…about this. All day long, I can feel you on my hands and taste you in my mouth.”

  “I’m sorry,” Marisol said, arching back, her hands braced behind her.

  “Don’t be.” He yanked her closer, then ran his hand from her collarbone to her belly and back again. “I can’t stop touching you. I don’t want to.”

  She closed her eyes. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this. Maybe it’s too soon.” But her words weren’t a warning, simply a test to see just how far he was willing to go for pleasure. She reached for his belt and began to work at the buckle.

  “I’m the one who shouldn’t do this,” he said, brushing the straps of her dress aside. “I made a deal with my brothers.”

  She yanked the belt out of his pants and tossed it over her shoulder into the car. “You made a deal?”

  “No sex, no women for three months. My idiot brother thought it would be a good idea.” He pressed her back on the hood and kissed
her neck, trailing kisses across her shoulder. “He thought it might help us understand women.”

  “And has it worked?”

  “No.” Ian reached down for the hem of her dress and drew it up, then groaned softly. “Do you ever wear underwear?”

  “Only when absolutely necessary,” she said. She furrowed her fingers through his hair and pulled him into another kiss, her head spinning. Every nerve in her body was on fire and his touch was the only thing that could soothe the burn.

  He found the spot between her legs and she groaned, watching him in the moonlight. “You don’t need to stop having sex to understand women,” she said. “I think you understand woman just fine.”

  “Do I?” He slipped his finger inside of her, once and then twice, and then began a tantalizing rhythm, teasing at her clitoris with each stroke.

  “You know what I want, don’t you?” she said in a ragged voice.

  “I do,” he replied. “I’m just not sure when.”

  “Now would be good,” she said. She slid off the hood of the car and stood in front of him, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Marisol smoothed her hands over his chest, a light dusting of hair slipping between her fingers. “I came prepared,” she said. She walked around the car and fetched her purse, then pulled out a condom.

  Chuckling, Ian reached for his wallet and retrieved a plastic packet. “So did I.”

  She snapped her purse shut and tossed it back into the car, then grabbed the condom from him. Holding it between her teeth, she finished undoing his trousers, desperate to feel him inside of her. Marisol didn’t want to bother with foreplay, not now. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down.

  When he was exposed to the night air, she tore the condom open and then deftly sheathed him, his penis hot and hard. He closed his eyes and held his breath, as if he were already close to the edge. Then, grabbing the lapels of his jacket, Marisol pushed him down on the hood of the car and straddled him.