Emily fought her way into her robe. The battle in her mind was back. She was no exhibitionist, and she sure as hell was no model. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“No, we were doing well. You can’t stop now.”
“I hate lying and sneaking around. It feels like I’m doing something wrong.” She pulled the belt tight.
Maximo threw up a hand. “You are doing nothing wrong.”
She gave a short laugh. “I know that, and you know that, but if Trixie finds out…”
He lowered the music again. “Who is this Trixie?”
“My mother.” Emily rubbed the tense spot between her eyebrows.
“Ah, the mamma. She would not approve?”
“I don’t know, and I really don’t want to find out.”
“Do I need to worry about the padre?”
“My father?” She shook her head. “No, he died a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry. What about your boyfriend? Your lover? What does he think of you here with me? Will he barge in and fight me for your honor?”
“There is no boyfriend.”
“No? This surprises me.”
“I had a serious boyfriend in high school, but he’s marrying someone else next Saturday. I had a few short lived things in Chicago. They didn’t last long enough to be called relationships. I was always too busy with my work.”
“I see.” He stepped closer. “It is the same for me. My wife did not understand the passion for the work. She marries someone else, too.” Maximo scanned her face. “What troubles you now? We were working well before Dante interrupted. Come let us get back to it.”
“I thought I could…”
“You can. You did. You must.” He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You are lovelier than I imagined. You are my vision. I need you.” The knuckle of one finger slipped down her neck into the vee of her robe. “You are doing nothing wrong.” He lifted her hands and kissed their backs each in turn. “Sei bella.” The tie of her robe slipped. Maximo released her hands and opened the edges of the silk, “Sei bella,” and slipped it off one shoulder. He led her like a lost child back to the dais.
She couldn’t argue that it was her mother’s disapproval she feared most. Or any sense of impropriety. It was his ability to charm her simply by speaking her name that made her so hesitant. This man could talk her into skipping over hot coals. Her robe fell away, and he gently returned her to her pose. The warmth surging through her had nothing to do with the heaters. She was his to do with as he pleased. He could tie her in a knot and send her up a flag pole if he wanted. There’d be no further objection from her.
After twenty minutes he gave her a break so she could regain the feeling in her fingers. Another stretch of thirty minutes and Maximo announced they were done for tonight.
He helped her on with her robe and kissed her numb fingers. “You were splendido.” After wrapping the piece to keep it from drying, he pulled a bottle of wine and two glasses from a cabinet. He handed her one.
“You could have offered me wine two hours ago. It would have made it easier.”
“No. Work before vino.”
Emily sat on a stool sipping the dry red wine. He cleaned his workspace. He was meticulous with his tools. She loved him. Okay, it was a crazy, mad rock-star crush. She didn’t care. He was hotter than sidewalks in the Sahara and unbelievably gifted, and she was sitting here in nothing but a silk robe. She grinned into her wineglass. How do you say “I want to have your babies” in Italian?
“We work again tomorrow night?”
She raised her glass. “There’s always tomorrow.”
Chapter Nine
Maximo smoothed the clay over the angle of her hip bone into the slight flare of her thigh. Tonight he would capture the dip behind her knees and the muscled bow of her tempting ass. Using a scooping tool, he removed some material. He’d been too generous with the clay. Her behind was as petite as the rest of her but with a gentle sweep upward into the arc of her slender back. He couldn’t wait to see her again. Touch those tender curves.
He loved the feel of her relaxing under the press of his hands kneading her shoulders. The tiny shiver she made when he kissed that shoulder. The gasp when he accidently brushed the sensitive tip of her tightened nipple. The faint floral scent of her skin lingered. What flower was it? The smell was familiar¸ yet he couldn’t place it.
He turned the piece and worked on the sweet tilt of her peach-tipped breasts, the soft plane of her stomach framed by the tip of her ribcage. He’d seen all of her. He could work from memory alone, but he wanted to spend more time with the woman. Much more time.
She had surprised him last night. He had tricked her into saying yes and fully expected her to find a way to reject his proposal at the last minute, but she hadn’t. She showed up in a whisper of a red silk robe and called his bluff.
It had taken a lot for her to pose last night. Her reaction to Dante’s interruption told him that. Still, she didn’t bail. He was glad. The girl had guts.
“Excuse me, Max?”
Max spun the piece to hide its face from Dante. “What is it?”
Dante jerked his head toward his office. “The tailor is here.”
“Tailor?” He wiped his hands.
“For your tuxedo.”
Max groaned, lifting his face to the ceiling. “Why do I feel it was a huge mistake to hire Ms. Lavender?” He was quick to wrap the figure and cover his clay. “I don’t have time for fittings for a suit I do not need to wear to an event I don’t wish to attend.”
Dante just nodded. Max wasted no more time arguing. The sooner this fiasco was over the better. Ms. Lavender would learn soon enough that there was a limit to what she could rope him into.
“He’s waiting in my office.”
“Fine.”
A heavyset man with a tape measure draping his neck was pulling samples of vests from a garment bag. “Mr. Bisby? This is Mr. Vega.” Dante stood to one side. The office was a tight fit, but Max didn’t care. This wouldn’t take long.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Vega.”
Max shook his hand. “Mr. Bisby.”
“Ms. Lavender gave me a quick idea of what you’ll need, but I’ve brought along some samples I think will give you a nice selection of what we can do for you at Fancy Pants.”
“Fancy Pants?” Max shot an angry glare at Dante who coughed and picked up a clipboard and hid behind it.
“Ah, yes, we’re the premier tuxedo provider for the area.”
“I am certain you are, Mr. Bisby. We’re both busy men. Let’s not detain either one of us any longer than necessary. What is standard attire for an evening at the opera?”
“Well, a nice three-button, un-notched lapel is a fashionable choice. One-button, notched is a less formal option. Medium weight wool. Black, of course. I like a white tie with the tipped collar, but black is classic. Do you prefer a French cuff?” Mr. Bisby held up a tray of cufflinks.
Hide all you want, Dante. You’re a dead man for roping me into this! Maximo unzipped a garment bag thrown over Dante’s desk and pulled out the suit on top of the pile. “This one. Tipped collar. Black tie. No cufflinks. Are we done?”
Mr. Bisby turned an unhealthy pink. Sweat beaded on his balding brow. “But, don’t you want to see—”
“No. Is there anything else?”
“I-I’ll need to take a few measurements.”
Ten minutes later, a flustered Mr. Bisby was escorted out along with armloads of unseen samples. Max heard him promising Dante the suit would be delivered by noon on Friday.
“Lucky for you they don’t take inseams anymore.” Dante grabbed a bottle of water from his refrigerator and tossed it to Maximo.
“No. Lucky for you.” He took a long drink. The icy water made his teeth ache. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“You’ll see, it will all be worth it. A beautiful woman on your arm, and a night listening to your favorite, La Boheme. I can think of
worse ways to spend an evening.”
Max could think of better. A nude Emily Baskins came to mind. A nice bottle of wine. La Boheme playing in the background. Candlelight.
“I stopped by last night, forgot my scheduling book. I would have poked my head in, but I heard your music. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”
The man must be a mind reader. “You did, but it was a small disturbance.”
“There was an old Jeep in the parking lot. Are you working with someone new?”
Throwing the empty water bottle into the blue recycle bin by the door, Max folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the edge of the desk. “Yes. A new model for Implorare.”
“I’ll need their information so I’m able to pay them. They need to sign a W-9 form.”
“I’m paying them myself. Off the books.”
“But, that isn’t how we do things.”
“For this one, it is. She’s modest.”
“Are you at least going to tell me her name so I can add her to the schedule?”
Max pushed off the desk and crossed to the door. “No, and the door will be locked tonight, so don’t forget anything.”
Oh his way back to his workspace, he took a detour to see what was happening in the studio. Truth was, he wanted to see the object of his growing obsession. He found her. She was working on a unique piece of sculpture in the intern’s area.
Encircling what looked to be a plain figured form of a shop mannequin, Emily had laid a swath of clay like a ribbon of features across a male’s torso. It began with a sweep of a strong jaw and down his throat to cross his chest. The detail along the banding was exacting. The result would be stunning.
The ribbon wound around the figure’s waist, swept across one hip to drape low and end on the figures thigh. Max had never seen anything quite like it. He’d never seen anything quite like her.
Emily was immersed in clay to her elbows. The mud stained her clothing and plastered her T-shirt across one peaked breast. She held a sculpting rib between her teeth like a Spanish dancer’s rose. So engrossed in her work, she hadn’t noticed she’d drawn a small crowd of admirers, including Dante who cranked an eyebrow and muttered, “Impressive,” as he passed by.
She was more than impressive. She was breathtaking. Her passion for her work screamed in every move of her hands. Her talent, clear for all to see. It seduced him. He couldn’t stop watching.
Emily took a step back and, tipping her head, appraised the piece. Muddied hands pressed into the small of her back and she arched against a stiffness there. Eyes closed, the slim line of her graceful throat was exposed. The fit of her shirt cupped the pert lift of her breasts. Max almost groaned at a sudden stiffness of his own.
****
Eight on the dot, Emily arrived back in his studio wearing her whisper of a robe and less nerves than the night before. She must have just showered, because her hair was damp. Wet, it darkened to the color of honey. She raked her hands through and swept it behind her ears as he had last night. He relished the memory of it slipping past his fingers.
Lifting her arms raised the short hem of her robe and opened its top. The view teased his increasing desire. A gentle whiff of perfume followed her as she step onto the dais. What flower smelled so sweet? He had to know.
“Good evening, Ms. Baskins.”
“Good evening. How do you want me?”
“Pardone?”
Beautiful green eyes met his in question, but there was no question in his mind. Oh, yes, he wanted her a dozen different ways—beneath him, on top…
“The pose. Which side?”
Images flipped through his mind like a slideshow and quickly ran from G-rated to XXX. He couldn’t think. No, that was wrong. He was thinking, just with the wrong part of his body. Thank God for his apron. “Si, the pose.”
She slipped off her robe. The ache in his jeans pulsed. “To the left?”
He had to turn his back to her. Dammit, he was a professional. Get hold of yourself, man. That only inspired another mental slideshow. He closed his eyes and stifled a groan. It had been far too long. His body was running on need and she was seducing him in more ways than one. The extra time he spent with her only added to his need to touch her, taste her mouth, and discover all her secrets.
Max made sure all was secure and hidden before facing her again. She stood with her robe clutched in front of her. Ah, not all the nerves were gone after all. God, she was beautiful. He loved the tender tilt of her breasts. The fragile sweep of her collarbones. The slight flare of her hips. Dammit all, it wasn’t need feeding his body. This was definite want.
“I want you.” His words tripped and fell flat on their face. He grabbed a tool off the table and waved it like an idiot. “The back.”
“Oh, you want me from the back?”
Kill me. “Si, si, the back.”
Emily turned away and tossed her robe aside. The view from the back was just as sweet. The slender back, the pale perfect curve of her ass. Her skin still held the mark of her panties low across her hips, but there were no such indications along the tops of her thighs. Dear God, she wore a thong. The air rushed out of his lungs like he’d been punched.
She peeked back over one shoulder, giving him yet another pose sure to haunt him in the middle of the night. “Are you okay?”
No. I’m trying to get some blood back into my brain! “Pardone. I’m distracted tonight. Too much in my…head.”
“I know the feeling.” She faced the back wall again. “My brain has been scattered lately. I’m not sure if I’m going or…or coming.”
Her choice of words was physically killing him. “Well, then, we need to focus on the work.” Good advice, focus on the work. She’s work. She’s work. She’s work.
Emily assumed the pose from the night before. She was still putting a slight twist to her hips. It gave a sassy tip to her backside. He needed to adjust the angle. He needed to touch her.
Wiping his hands, he moved behind her. “Turn your hips a bit.” His tanned hands against the pale ivory of her skin struck him, as if his touch tainted her. The soft hint of perfume filled his senses. He ran a hand along her spine “Arch the back more.”
She shivered even though the room was warm. Goose bumps rose on her arms.
“Are you cold, la mia bella?” He stepped closer fighting the urge to wrap her in his arms.
She only shook her head. Her breathing quickened. She trembled. “N-no. When you touch me,” she sighed, “it feels…”
He ran two fingers along her shoulder, imagining laying a line of kisses along the same path. He whispered, “You don’t like my touch?”
Emily gave the tiniest shake of her head. “No, it’s not that.” The space between their bodies hummed. “Just the opposite.” As he palmed the blade of her shoulder, she released a small gasp. “It feels so… It makes me want—Ah! Cramp!”
Max jerked his hands away.
“Cramp!”
He was quick to rub the base of her back. “Your back is cramping?”
“No. Leg. Ow, ow, ow!”
He grabbed the back of her left thigh.
“No!” She spun, reaching for the calf of her right leg. “Wrong leg. Ow!”
She twisted, he dodged. An elbow connected with his shoulder. Pain shot down his arm. Her balance shifted off kilter. An arm flailed. He tried to catch her, but his body was turned the wrong way. He made a move to wrap an arm about her waist. She fell into him. Her forehead connected with his jaw just before they both ended up in a tangled heap on the hard dais.
“Ow!”
“Son of a—” He saw stars.
Emily clutched her calf. Maximo clutched her. All of her glorious naked self lay half on top of him, cradled in his arms.
Her eyes were wide when they locked with his. Her mouth formed a perfect O. “Oh. My God! I’m…I’m…Oh my God!”
She scrambled to get off him until the sharp ache in his shoulder caused him to wince. She froze. “Oh no, I hurt you! I br
oke Maximo Vega! What have I done?” She reached out to touch him with shaky fingers.
“It’s nothing.” His head cleared as he captured her hand and laid a kiss in its palm. “Are you hurt?” He soothed and kneaded the muscle of her calf. “Does the leg still pain you?”
Watching him, she shook her head. Neither of them moved. When she lifted her gaze to his, the air held its breath. Blood rushed in his ears. He was surrounded by her scent. When she worried her bottom lip, molten heat flooded him.
He pushed a hand into her hair and pulled her mouth to his, crushing her lips with his. She gasped when he swept his tongue into the sweetness of her. She whimpered, opened her mouth to his invasion and met his scorching kiss with one of her own. Her teeth nipped at his lips. Her tongue traced the edge before slipping in, teasing, tempting. Making his breath catch as she sighed against his mouth.
Her enthusiasm sent a fiery rush to his groin. He tightened his hold and shifted to lay back across the dais with her beautiful body fully stretched out on top of him. He stroked her from hip to knee.
They shared another hot, deep, wet kiss that began with a slow intensity but flared into a fiery crush. She moved against him. Her body’s response to his touches made him ache. She tugged at his apron and at the fabric of his shirt. Rolling them to one side, he removed both.
Emily lay on her back. Her breathing matched his. Her lips were swollen and blushed. Her fingertips played with the hair on his chest. Max cupped a hand over the peak of her breast. Each breath she took pressed the butter soft flesh into his palm. He thumbed the tightened tip of her nipple and made her whimper and arch.
Slipping her hand behind his neck, she pulled him down to kiss him again. Chest against chest, skin against skin. It was all a sweet torture. He must have her. Now.
She tugged at the waistband of his jeans. Impatient fingers pulled at the button. His zipper made a soft tap as each tooth released its hold. When she slipped her hand inside his boxers, a low pleasured rumble slipped from his throat. Her fingers reached lower. Max broke the kiss to watch her face. Their eyes held. Their chests rose and fell in shared arousal. Her hand encircled his erection.
Rock Solid Page 7
