“Time for this to be removed,” he said, flicking the front clasp of her bra open and peeling the cups away from her breasts. His eyes were hooded as he looked down at her, and she saw the flare of his nostrils as he breathed in sharply. “So beautiful.”
He brushed one palm over her bared nipples, making her gasp and writhe. His touch tightened the coiling tension between her legs to the breaking point.
“Paul, please, I need to come now.”
“Thought you’d never ask.” He took hold of her waist, his thumbs pressed against her hipbones, and began to move, guiding her body in the water so as he thrust forward he brought her in against him. As he withdrew, he pushed her slightly away. The motion sent little crests of water washing gently against her sensitized clitoris, driving her arousal higher and higher without releasing it.
“Oh yes, please. Oh please. Oh please.” She begged for her climax, even as she wanted to prolong the extraordinary sensations.
He increased the tempo and ground against her each time they came together. That was all she needed to explode into a screaming, writhing mass of orgasm, the muscles inside her clenching into a hard, tight fist before opening to fling exquisite bursts of pleasure through her body. She wondered why she hadn’t swallowed gallons of water in her thrashing before she noticed Paul had slid his hands and forearms under her back to keep her afloat. His cock still filled and moored her to him.
She lay half in the water, half in his arms, as aftershocks danced through her. Once her body quieted, she opened her eyes to find him gazing down at her, his expression a combination of arousal, satisfaction, and tenderness.
“Paul, you didn’t finish.”
“I don’t need to,” he said.
“That wouldn’t be fair. You worked hard.”
“Damn straight,” he said, “but I got my reward.”
She started to shake her head before remembering she’d get water up her nose. She lifted her hands to his shoulders. “Help me up.”
He obliged by tipping her up against his chest while she kept her legs locked around his waist.
“Now take me over to that ledge.” She pointed to a shelf of the rock that was almost level with the surface of the water.
He carried her to the stone and eased her bare behind onto it. She unhooked her ankles, sliding her knees up onto his hips and leaning back against the boulder so her pelvis was tilted up for him. He started to pull out but she clamped her knees in hard. “No, do it here.”
She could feel his erection swell, but he looked torn. “Are you sure you’re ready?” He framed her face with his hands, scanning it.
“Born ready,” she whispered, turning her face to give his thumb a playful bite.
His restraint evaporated at that. He whipped his hands down to her hips and angled them to his satisfaction before he let go to brace his hands on the rock above her. He withdrew almost completely before slamming back into her, his eyes locked on the place where their bodies came together. He dropped one hand to feather his fingers through her pubic hair. “Ah, I love the color of this. It glows as brightly as the rest of you.”
His finger slid lower and she jerked in surprise as her body reacted with a leap of pleasure.
“Oh, I see,” he said, gently massaging the sensitive spot. He moved his finger in rhythm with his thrusting hips until his control snapped and he clamped his hands around her thighs and pounded into his own orgasm. He shouted her name so loudly, it echoed back from across the river. As he pulsed against her, her inner muscles fired once more, sending her sighing into a climax of rippling, delicate shudders.
Her strength sapped, she melted back against the warm, smooth rock as her eyes fluttered closed. She felt Paul slip out of her and heard some splashing before a warm touch brushed the outside of her thighs and a weight settled on her shoulder. She slitted her eyes open to see him braced over her on his forearms as his head rested on her shoulder.
“You think you can drive the bike home, sweetheart?” he mumbled against her shoulder. “You’ve wrung me dry.”
“Wimp. I had two orgasms. You only had one.”
“That was not an orgasm. It was a nuclear blast.”
She felt a smile of satisfaction tug at her lips. She might not be experienced, but she could sure as heck improvise.
She felt the huff of his breath against her damp skin and shivered.
He lifted his head and grabbed her wrists to tug her upright. “Let’s get you out of this cold water and onto a nice warm blanket.”
“I’m really not cold.”
“You will be soon.” He lifted her off the ledge and let her down into the water, taking her hand to lead her back to the natural stairway up the boulder. He scooped up her panties and the condom foil on the way past.
“Oh no, my bra!” Julia said, feeling around her bare back at the reminder she had been wearing her fancy new lingerie when she stepped into the water.
Paul put up a hand to shade his eyes as he scanned down-river. “I think I see it. Take these.” He pushed the panties and foil in her hand and launched himself toward a fleck of white bobbing along the shore.
“Paul! Don’t worry about it!” she called, but he was in full pursuit and either didn’t hear her or chose not to listen. She contented herself with watching the beautiful play of muscles in his shoulders and back as he stroked hard to outpace the current.
He caught the white spot and yodeled in triumph, waving it above his head before he dove into the water and fought his way back upstream. As he reached the pool, he stood up so the water streamed down his chest, which heaved with his exertions. “You look just like my drawing, only better,” she said, letting her gaze linger on the hard-cut lines of his abdomen and the lean sinews of his thighs.
With a mischievous smirk, he spread the bra between his hands and held it across his groin in the same position as the fish in her sketch.
She laughed as she splashed over to him and ran her hands down his chest, following the rivulets of water. “You’re so beautiful.”
His breathing seemed to stop. “That’s my line.”
“Men can be beautiful too.”
He seized her hand and kissed it. “Your fingers are going all pruney.” He towed her toward the boulder and helped her up to the flat top, his touch lingering on her hips and behind as he boosted her up.
She laid her bra and panties out in the sun while Paul pulled on his briefs and jeans. As she picked up her jeans, he reached out to grab the denim. “Wood sprites don’t wear clothes when they’re in the wild.”
“You’re dressed.”
“Because I’m half-human, remember?”
His gaze turned to molten silver as it skimmed down her body, making her feel wanton and daring. She dropped her jeans and lay down on the blanket, stretching her arms over her head and pointing her toes as she basked in the heat of his eyes.
He stood over her, scanning up and down her body, his chest rising and falling as though he’d been racing the river for her bra again.
“I’d pay every penny I have for a picture of you like this.” His voice had the texture of gravel.
“Maybe I could paint a self-portrait.” She arched up, wanting his hands to follow his gaze.
He dropped onto the blanket beside her and rested his hand on her stomach, gently pushing her downward. “Stop, temptress.”
“Why?” Her skin tingled deliciously where his palm lay against it.
He shifted away. “Because…oh hell, I don’t know. Because you need a break.”
“Mmm, don’t they say there’s no rest for the wicked?” He didn’t answer so she rolled her head sideways to see him staring across the water, his beautiful back curved as he draped his arms over his jeans-clad knees. His bare feet were long and elegant like his hands, and his hair glinted with droplets of river water. The image burned into her mind’s eye as her eyelids drifted closed.
Not until he heard her breathing go deep and even did Paul allow himself to turn his gaze
back to the infinitely desirable woman lying beside him. He had nearly gone up in flames when she stretched her satin-smooth body out on the coarse red-plaid blanket and offered herself to him. He wouldn’t have been able to withstand one more come-hither glance from her before he yanked her legs wide apart to feast on her and then bury himself inside that wet, welcoming heat.
He was like a horny teenager around her.
Despite her delicious sensuality, he knew she was inexperienced. For God’s sake, she’d told him so, but he would have known anyway. He needed to rein in his nearly insatiable appetite for her.
Truth was he wanted to experience everything he could with her before she disappeared from his life as suddenly as she’d entered it. The last thought sent a shudder through him, and he pushed it away, dwelling instead on the delight she took in the firsts he’d shown her.
Her first foosball game. Her first motorcycle ride. Her first time making love in the water.
What worried him was that he was no longer satisfied with being the first one to show her these things. Now he wanted to be the only one.
And he couldn’t. He couldn’t ask someone with her talent and potential to move to a place he himself could barely tolerate. He let his eyes drift over the gleaming copper hair drying in waves against the blanket, tracing down her arms to the slender fingers that held such genius. Her eyelids hid clear green eyes that saw the world in colors and shapes he never imagined.
Once the art patrons got an eyeful of her Night Mares, she would have that world at her feet. An actual physical pain made him wince as he realized he would not be there to see her reaction to New York and Paris and all the new places she would go.
Because he knew Julia was done with letting her family confine her. Her uncle thought she was going to meekly return to North Carolina after the show, but Carlos was wrong. She had broken those chains by coming to Sanctuary, and no one was going to be able to fasten them on her again.
He dragged his gaze away from Julia and pinned it to a river birch slanting over the water on the opposite bank as he remembered his conversation with Adam Bosch. The man could out-lawyer a lawyer when it came to being cagey about Jimmy’s chances of staying on the wagon.
But Bosch had tried to tell him something about manipulation. That was the part he kept replaying in his mind. Maybe he needed to have a heart-to-heart with his brother. In his bitterness and frustration, he hadn’t given Jimmy a chance to talk. He just shut down when his brother started spinning what Paul saw as his bullshit.
Maybe it wasn’t bullshit anymore.
A pulse of hope coursed through Paul until Eric’s face rose up in his mind.
It didn’t matter what Jimmy promised. If Paul left Sanctuary to follow his own selfish desires and something happened to Eric, he would never forgive himself.
Paul picked up a small stone and hurled it as far across the river as he could.
Chapter 20
A JAB OF discomfort in her hip sent Julia’s eyelids fluttering open to find Paul glaring across the river, his face set in the bleak lines she remembered from Saturday night. She shifted away from the protrusion of rock she’d rolled onto in her sleep and examined him with an artist’s eye. From the defeated curve of his back to the slump of his shoulders to the locked muscles of his jaw, everything spoke of a deep-seated despair. If she had to paint hopelessness, she would use Paul as a model.
She frowned as she considered his thriving legal practice, his close relationship with his nephew, and the vehicular toys he clearly enjoyed. He had wonderful friends in Claire and Tim, and the respect of an entire town.
Heck, she and he had just made love, and she was pretty sure he’d enjoyed it as much as she had.
So why would this man who seemed to have so much look like he had no hope of happiness in the world? His sadness tore at her.
“Paul, are you all right?” she asked softly.
He started and turned toward her. She could see the effort it took for him to paste a smile on his face. “Never better.” He leaned down to drop a light kiss on her lips.
Sudden self-consciousness made her pull the edge of the blanket over herself as she pushed up to a sitting position. “What were you thinking about just now?”
“Are you cold?” His eyes dark with concern, he flipped the other side of the plaid wool over to wrap it around her.
“No, just a little too naked.”
His smile was genuine this time. “There’s no such thing as too naked when it comes to you.”
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“It went clean out of my head when I kissed you.” He folded his legs under him and stood. “How about a nice cold one?”
“Cold what?” She recognized deflection when she saw it.
“Beer, sweetheart.” He climbed down and snagged the two bottles out of the water, holding them up to show her.
“Should you drink and drive?” she asked, as he returned and twisted off both caps.
He handed her a bottle before dropping down beside her, his bare shoulder brushing against hers. “If I can’t handle one beer, I shouldn’t be riding a hog.”
He clinked his bottle against hers before tilting his head back to take a long swallow. She admired the line of his throat before taking a sip of her own beer. The river water had chilled it to the perfect temperature and she purred at the deliciousness of the first taste.
“Nothing like a cold beer and a hot babe,” Paul said, his wink inviting her to laugh at his political incorrectness.
“I was thinking the same about a hot guy.” She leaned into him to get another dose of skin-to-skin contact. An imp of mischief made her press her bottle against his bare chest.
He yelped and grabbed her wrist to pull it away. He looked down at her with a devilish glint in his eyes. “That’s dangerous provocation from a woman wearing nothing more than a blanket. When I think of all the places I could put this bottle…” He let his gaze wander down her cocooned body.
Which made heat bloom over her skin under the scratchy wool. She went from being self-conscious about her state of undress to wishing he would touch every inch of her body. Deciding to take advantage of her newfound boldness in order to distract him from his revenge, she released her hold on the edges of the blanket. As it fell away, she leaned back on her elbows. “Do your worst.”
Instead of pouncing on her as she had hoped, he groaned her name and shifted away, lifting the beer to his lips and gulping down the rest of the bottle. Baffled and a little hurt, she sat back up and stretched out a hand to lay it against his back. “What is it?”
He jerked at her touch and she dropped her hand. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, sweetheart, I did,” he said, staring across the river again. He turned back to her with a smile so sad it made her chest hurt. “You’re so close to perfect I can’t find a fault.”
Tears burned behind her eyes and she blinked hard. If only he knew.
“We’d better get going. You’ll catch a chill once the sun starts going down.”
Leaping to his feet, he bustled around, scooping up her now-dry lingerie and handing it to her before he finished dressing.
She tried to think of a way to stop all the activity so she could drag the truth out of him, but his smooth, implacable facade was back in place. Anything she said would just slide off it. So she followed him up the path to the motorcycle, exchanging nothing more than pleasantries. She strapped on the helmet and climbed on behind him, pressing up against the sun-warmed leather covering his back.
As they roared along, she tried to savor the wind and speed and sense of being melded into one piece with Paul and his Harley, but her mind kept stumbling over the fact that her week in Sanctuary was blowing by faster than the scenery.
As she contemplated returning to her home, the image sprouted metal bars on the doors and windows, sending a shudder of revulsion through her.
She didn’t hate her home or her family. Maybe she felt a little smot
hered sometimes, but she understood their concern for her. It came from love.
She just didn’t want to leave the fascinating man whose waist she had her arms wrapped around. Anywhere she went without Paul was going to seem bleak.
So why not extend her stay in Sanctuary past the gala? Carlos couldn’t force her to go home. She could afford the inn and she had a free studio for now.
Would Paul want her to stay? If he did, for how long?
Julia faced the fact that she didn’t know much about how this sort of relationship worked. Paul was firmly settled here with his practice and his family and his strong connection to the town, so she would be the one moving, if it came to that. The idea didn’t conjure up any monsters.
But she would have to tell him the truth about herself at some point. She clutched harder at his waist.
Not yet. She wanted him to think she was perfect just a little longer.
The next morning, Julia settled into the heavy oak chair, rolling it forward so she could reach the mouse. When Paul had kissed her good-bye after a night in her bed, he’d advised her not to read Paxton’s blog until Claire vetted it. But both he and Claire underestimated her toughness when it came to her work.
The inn’s computer stood on a massive antique lawyer’s desk strewn with papers and brochures, lit by an old brass library lamp. The sleek lines of the large-screen monitor with its plastic base looked like a spaceship that had landed in a Victorian parlor. The office was empty and quiet. She wasn’t sure if someone had instructed the staff to give her privacy or whether they were all busy elsewhere.
She wound her hair into a bun and took a deep breath before she clicked on the Internet icon. The blog loaded quickly. Evidently, state-of-the-art equipment wasn’t considered an impediment to historic atmosphere.
Paxton Hayes didn’t feel the need for a catchy title for his blog; it was called simply “Paxton Hayes on Art.”
Julia Castillo Goes to the Dark Side was his headline. She chuckled at his unintentional double meaning.
Country Roads Page 19
