Ian

by Kate Hoffmann

  His brother stood and nodded at the folder. “Just read it. I think you’ll find that Marisol Arantes is connected to some pretty shady characters, the kind of characters that the police chief of Bonnett Harbor might take a particular interest in.”

  With that, Dec turned and walked out of Ian’s office, leaving the folder sitting on the desk. Ian reached out and ran his hand over it, tracing the logo of Dec’s company with his fingertip. Did he really want to know what was inside? Or was it better to just let it go?

  This was his fault. He could have insisted that they learn more about each other, that they at least spend a day or two discussing their pasts. But it seemed that the moment he saw Marisol, all he could think about was sex. If he spent as much time getting to know her as he did trying to seduce her, he could probably write her biography.

  But did he really care about the silly details of her past? What counted was the time they spent together in the present. And in the present, she was the perfect woman for him-no matter what Declan thought.

  Ian grabbed the folder and shoved it into the top drawer of his desk, then strode out of the office. But halfway down the hall, he turned around and went back to retrieve it. If he was going to allow himself to need this woman, then he deserved to know everything about her-the good and bad. And if the bad was very bad, then he’d be better off knowing.

  With the folder tucked under his arm, Ian walked to the front desk and grabbed a radio, then told Sally to call him if he was needed. He decided to walk the seven blocks to Gallerie Luna, hoping the exercise would help him decide what to do.

  But by the time he reached Bay Street, the answer was no clearer. Though his curiosity was killing him, he was afraid to learn something that might ruin his relationship with Marisol.

  The front door to the gallery was propped open and Ian peeked inside. He saw Marisol standing over a huge canvas that she’d laid flat on the floor. Her hands were hitched on her waist and her hair tumbled around her face as she stared down at the painting in progress. She wore a baggy T-shirt and a pair of pants that ended just below the knee, showing off the pretty curve of her calf.

  He watched her for a long time as she dabbed paint onto the canvas, then stepped back to look at her work. He was tempted to turn around and walk away, and to dump the file in the nearest trash bin. But instead, he stepped inside.

  She heard his approach and turned. A smile broke across her face and she dropped her brush in a nearby coffee can and ran across the room. Throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed him. Ian held her body against his and thought about how easy it was to take her into his arms. There was no longer any clumsiness or hesitation. It was as if they’d been together for ages and just knew how they fit, her hips against his, his hands spanning her tiny waist, her fingers furrowed through the hair at his nape.

  “I was hoping you’d stop by,” she said. Marisol grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind her. “You have to see. I’ve been working on this all day and it’s just happening. I don’t even have to think, I just paint.”

  The painting was of a nude in a familiar pose. “That’s me?”

  She nodded. “It’s not finished. But I can already tell it’s going to be perfect. See across the shoulders, how there’s a sense of movement. As if I’ve caught you shifting beneath the light. It’s powerful and alive.”

  Ian could see what she meant and he was surprised at how her simple charcoal sketches had been transformed into a painting.

  “You have to pose for me again tonight. There’s something else I want to try.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “This could be a series. I don’t usually paint on a canvas this large, but I think it works. It just has to be big, don’t you agree?” She took a deep breath, then sighed. “I could use something to eat. Why don’t we go out and celebrate?”

  Ian scrambled for an excuse. He and Marisol had kept their affair quiet for this long for no particular reason. He was ready to pay up on the bet with his brothers any time they might ask. But Bonnett Harbor was a small town and rumors usually began small and escalated. The police chief involved with the town’s newest resident would provide plenty of titillating gossip, especially if there was sex involved. And Marisol’s art made her the subject of plenty of speculation.

  But now there was something else to add to the mix. If Marisol was involved in something shady, then he couldn’t afford to make his relationship with her public. The last thing he needed was a scandal to drag him down. “I’d love to,” Ian said, “but I’m still on the clock.”

  “You don’t even have time for dinner?”

  “It’s two in the afternoon,” he said. “It’s lunchtime, not dinnertime.”

  Marisol giggled. “All right, lunch then.”

  Ian shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “Dinner later?”

  “I have to work this evening,” he lied. “Why don’t I call you?”

  She gave him a confused look, then shrugged. “All right. But can you at least stay for a snack? I’ve got some ice-cream sandwiches in the fridge.”

  He nodded and Marisol hurried off to the small kitchen in the back of the gallery. When she returned, she pulled him over to the sofa and sat down on one end. “So, if things continue to go well, I think I should open the gallery in three weeks. That means I have to get invitations printed up and hire a caterer and figure out what to do about parking.” She took a bite of the ice-cream sandwich, then handed it to him. “You’re going to be famous, you know.”

  “Why?”

  “And you have to be at the opening. Everyone will want to see my muse.” She reached out and ran a finger down his forearm, sending him a tantalizing smile. “Unless you want to be my secret muse?”

  “Maybe that would be best,” Ian said. “I’d prefer that my ass stay incognito in this town.”

  “You’re my secret lover, too,” Marisol said. “Does that make it more exciting for you?”

  “Maybe,” he replied. “Have you told anyone about us?”

  “I’m not sure what I’d say,” she replied. “I’m not sure what’s going on with us. I know we’re lovers and…”

  Ian nodded. “And?”

  She pushed up on her knees and crawled over to him, then wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a lingering kiss. When she drew back, her gaze met his and for a long moment, Marisol searched his face.

  She kissed him again and he tried to react normally, but it was as if she were testing him, evaluating his response. The conversation had suddenly turned serious. When she looked at him again, it was there in her eyes-a tiny hint of sadness and resignation, bewilderment and then acceptance.

  Marisol forced a smile. “You know, I should really get back to work,” she said, her tone cool and indifferent. “And I’m sure you have speeding tickets to write and criminals to arrest.”

  She jumped off the couch and wandered back over to her painting, turning her attention to the canvas. Ian stood, not quite sure how he ought to leave things. He’d almost forgotten their time together would probably end, and sooner rather than later. He’d been so caught up in the excitement, in biding the hours until the next moment he’d be able to touch her or kiss her, that he hadn’t planned for this or even run it over in his head. But this was reality, not the fantasy life that they’d been living.

  Was this it? Was this the beginning of the end for them? In the past, there had always been accusations and anger, a long list of his faults and explanations of how it should have been. With Marisol, it wouldn’t be so dramatic. She’d simply let go of his hand and walk away, no regrets and no doubts.

  Perhaps their relationship was just a sexual flash fire, burning hot and bright for a short time before quickly smothering itself. He didn’t want to walk away and it took every ounce of his willpower to move to the door. “I’ll call you,” he said.

  “Or I’ll call you,” she replied, not even looking at him.

  He nodded, the unread file still clutched in his hand. He didn’
t bother to glance back, knowing that he’d only question his choice to leave. Ian didn’t need to be reminded of how beautiful Marisol was, or how her smile had the capacity to make him feel as if he owned the world. Or how being with her had become his primary reason for getting up in the morning.

  Ian opened the door and stepped out into the bright afternoon light. A little more than a week ago, he’d been content with his life, happy with his work and hopeful that his social life might improve. And then he’d spent the most incredible week caught up in an affair with a sexy stranger. In the end, what had he really lost?

  As he strolled down the sidewalk, Ian decided the best course of action would be to shred the file the moment he got back to the station. It didn’t matter what Declan had found. Until Marisol Arantes did something illegal on his watch, in his jurisdiction, she was just another citizen of Bonnett Harbor.

  And what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  6

  MARISOL PACED back and forth across the length of the gallery, counting each step in an attempt to distract her mind. It was nearly midnight and she hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the past two days. She’d been operating on caffeine and confusion, her mind filled with thoughts of Ian Quinn.

  Over and over again, she’d tried to explain to herself how things had gone from so good to so bad in the blink of an eye. The moment he’d walked into the gallery Tuesday afternoon, she’d known something was wrong. He couldn’t seem to look at her for more than a few seconds, and the moment she’d kissed him, she’d felt him pull away.

  The end hadn’t come as a surprise. But the way it had ended still didn’t make sense. She was missing a piece of the puzzle, some clue to his behavior that could help make it all become clear. At first, she suspected that he might have found out about her father. But why wouldn’t he have simply confronted her and asked her about Hector Arantes? He certainly couldn’t know about the painting. She’d kept it well hidden and David had left town the night Ian had almost arrested him.

  Had he grown bored? She stopped her pacing and closed her eyes, trying to remember that night in the gallery, when she had sketched him. Their passion had been mutual, there was no question about that. So how had it cooled so quickly?

  Marisol wasn’t one to sit around and guess at the answers to her questions. Grabbing her keys, she headed to the door. A phone call first would only give him an excuse to brush her off. She’d go to Ian’s house, and if he wasn’t home, she’d wait for him.

  The street outside the gallery was quiet, the heat of the day still radiating from the sidewalks. The sound of music drifted on the warm night air, entertainment from one of the nearby bars. Most of the citizens of Bonnett Harbor had turned in, but a few tourists still strolled the streets, looking for something to do on a Friday night.

  Confronting Ian would be difficult, but they’d always been honest with each other. They could be that way now. Once she reached the street, Marisol stopped, a tiny sliver of doubt ruining her resolve. This shouldn’t make a difference! He’d been nothing more than a brief infatuation. Or had he?

  Marisol cursed to herself, then continued down the sidewalk to her car. She hadn’t really paid attention to where Ian lived in Bonnett Harbor, but the town wasn’t that big. And maybe driving around for a while would calm her nerves and wash away the frustration she felt.

  In the end, she found Ian’s house on the very first try, the Mustang parked in the driveway a clue that he was indeed home. She parked her car down the block, then walked beneath the huge maples that lined both sides of the street, the night breeze rustling the leaves overhead.

  When she reached his house, she stood at the front door for a long time, unable to make herself ring the bell. What was she doing? Was she that desperate to have him that she couldn’t stay away?

  She reached for the bell and, at the last moment, tried the door. To her surprise, it was unlocked. She pushed it open and stepped inside. The interior of the house was dark, illuminated only by the light that filtered through the windows from the street. Marisol waited for her eyes to adjust, then slowly wandered through the living room to the kitchen.

  The surroundings were familiar, even in the dark, and she walked to the stairs and slowly climbed to the second floor. His bedroom was at the end of the hall and the door was open. The floor creaked and Marisol stopped, holding her breath and listening to the silence around her. A few seconds later, she continued until she reached his bed. She glanced around the room, not really sure what to do now that she was here.

  Kneeling down beside the bed, she rested her arms on the mattress and studied his face. His hair fell in boyish waves across his forehead and he looked so much younger when he was asleep. Her fingers twitched and she fought the impulse to touch him, not sure if she planned to stay.

  She reached out and skimmed her fingertip above his lip, his breath warm against her hand. And then, leaning over him, she kissed his mouth, so softly that he wouldn’t awaken. But to her surprise, he opened his eyes.

  They stared at each other for a long moment, then he jerked, pushing himself up on his elbows. Marisol sat back on her heels, her gaze still fixed on his face. She waited for him to speak, unwilling to make explanations for her presence.

  When he didn’t, she stood and reached for the buttons of her loose cotton dress. One by one, Marisol undid them until the dress gaped open. Then, she shrugged her shoulders and it fell to the floor around her feet, leaving her naked.

  She didn’t wait for an invitation, but as she stepped forward, he moved across the bed, lifting the sheet as he did. He was naked beneath and Marisol slipped in beside him. A heartbeat later, she was in his arms again. His lips came down on hers and he kissed her hungrily, roughly, the taste of his tongue warm and sweet in her mouth, the stubble of his beard sharp on her chin.

  All her fears and doubts instantly dissipated as he ran his palms over her body. Ian touched every inch of her, as if he were reassuring himself that she was real and not just some vivid dream. And when he was satisfied, he began a lazy exploration, this time taking more care with each caress.

  She sighed softly as his hands cupped her buttocks and pulled her hips against his. He was already hard and his erection pressed against her belly, branding her skin. He continued to kiss her, communicating his need without words, as if speaking might somehow break the spell that enveloped them both.

  Marisol wasn’t thinking about everything that had gone wrong. Her thoughts were focused on everything that was right between them, a desire so deep that neither one them knew its limits.

  His lips trailed along her jaw and then dropped to her shoulder, kisses mixed with a soft bite here and there. There was pleasure in the tiny bits of pain and it only seemed to make her need more urgent.

  When he found her breast, she arched against him and he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked gently until it grew hard and sensitive. With every touch, every kiss, she surrendered a bit more of herself to him, and by the time he reached the spot between her legs, Marisol no longer had ownership of her responses.

  When his tongue flicked at her clitoris, Marisol’s breath caught in her throat. Every nerve in her body jolted, as if an electric shock had just shot through her. Every shred of her being focused on that one spot, on the delicious caress of his tongue and on the wild sensations that coursed through her.

  She shifted until she could give him the same pleasure, taking his shaft into her mouth and then drawing back. Suddenly, every action was met by an equal reaction, and she wasn’t sure whether she was initiating or receiving. It didn’t really matter. They were caught in an endless circle of pleasure that came closer and closer to spinning out of control.

  Marisol danced at the edge and she knew if she just let go, the pleasure would wash over her in waves. But she wanted more than what his tongue could give her. Reaching down, she tangled her fingers in his hair and drew him away.

  As if he sensed what she needed, he pulled her up to her knees an
d then wrapped his arms around her body from behind. His palms cupped her breasts and she reached back and grabbed his hips, pulling him tightly against her.

  They tumbled forward, Marisol falling to her hands and knees. Ian grabbed her waist and slowly pushed inside her, burying himself deep. A low moan slipped from her throat, enough to tell him that she wanted more.

  From that moment on, Marisol lost all sense of what was real. Every thought focused on the feel of his shaft, moving in and out of her. Each stroke brought her closer and closer to completion. And when he felt the shift in her desire, Ian increased his pace, driving harder and harder.

  She couldn’t touch him, couldn’t see his face, but that didn’t matter. The connection between them was relentlessly carnal, driving them both forward.

  When her orgasm hit, she was unprepared for the power of it. No longer able to control herself, she fell forward and he went with her, shuddering as he found his release, as well.

  They lay perfectly still except for the short gulps of breath they both required. Ian nuzzled his face into her hair and she listened as his breathing returned to normal. He slowly slipped out of her and when he was completely apart, he gathered her in his embrace and tucked her body against his.

  They didn’t speak. In truth, Marisol was afraid to-afraid they’d go back to the strange, stilted conversation of the last time they were together. Maybe they weren’t good at relationships. But they were fabulous at the sex.

  Someday, that might not be enough. Someday, she might want something more. But for now, Ian’s body was what she needed, his passion, his strength and his complete surrender.

  IAN SAT QUIETLY in the dark, sprawled in an overstuffed chair near the bed. He’d been watching Marisol sleep for hours, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing, noting the tiny movements of her fingers. He knew so many little things about her, things that might go unnoticed in a normal relationship, yet he seemed to find them particularly fascinating. Gradually, pieces were becoming a whole, but there were still huge gaps to fill, questions that needed to be answered.