All her life, Emily had noticed people’s hands. She loved them. They told her so much about a person’s life and work. Her first sculpture was of her father’s hands. Of course, Maximo had amazing hands. Strong, rough and scarred from years of molding clay and carving stone, but when he touched her…ran his hands over her skin…cupped her breasts, they were warm and oh so gentle.
Setting a work base, Emily used the freshly wedged clay to create a small piece capturing the strength of Max’s hands. His chisel and mallet carving a heart from a chest.
She worked straight through the rainy afternoon. At ten minutes to seven, showered and changed, she struggled with the ties of the only other robe she owned. Yes, she’d been unnerved the other night, but she’d kicked herself more than once for throwing away her red silk wrap.
The one she wore was supposed to resemble silk; however, the thin, white slippery material was cheap acrylic. Shangri-La Spa was printed in a swirly, hot pink logo over her left breast. It had been a free gift from a day spa near her school in Chicago. She and her roommates had splurged on a girl’s day just before she left. It was much too big and the belt refused to stay tied. Em pulled it as tight as she could. Nerves made her stomach flop in her belly like a dying fish.
Slipping into Maximo’s work space, she padded silently past him to the dais. She sensed the moment he caught notice of her, and her heart skidded in her chest. Heat washed over her skin as her emotions played ping-pong within her sense of reason. She was here to work—nothing more. Two more sessions and the bozzetto would be finished and all this would fade into a memory. A memory that would no doubt tease and haunt her for the rest of her life.
Neither of them spoke. The room held its breath. So did she.
Assuming they were picking up where they left off—before she’d become a naked pretzel in his arms—she tossed the robe aside and placed her back to him. Hand raised, fist to chest, weight on the front leg, she froze.
His shadow came up behind her and she flinched. He hadn’t touched her. Not that it mattered. She could already feel his hands on her.
He blew out a breath. “Turn your hips more to the right. Not too far. Back. There. Good, good.” His voice sounded low and graveled.
His music was off. Surely he heard her heart thudding against her ribs. The fist she held to her chest was so tightly clenched, her nails bit into her palm.
“Drop the shoulders,” he clipped.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Relax.”
Telling her to relax only made her tense up more. She tipped her head from side to side to loosen her neck and arched her back a bit to stretch. A tool dropped behind her.
It was too quiet. Where was his music? Should she say something? Discuss something benign, safe? Like politics, religion, world peace? “I saw your picture in the paper.”
“Si.”
“Did you enjoy the opera?”
“No.” His voice had a sharp edge.
“Oh.” The word fell into the conversational abyss. The silence gaped. “Congratulations on your showing.”
Another tool dropped, “Grazie.”
“Sounds like Ms. Lavender has plans to keep you busy.”
“Don’t speak.”
“Sorry.”
He huffed behind her. “Just be still. Per favore. Please.”
She froze, but she still wasn’t positioned right. She tried to loosen her shoulders. Maximo muttered something under his breath. It sounded like a curse. She cursed herself and stiffened again.
“You’re hips are not straight. Arch the back more.”
Her body ached with a tension that made every adjustment feel strained and unnatural.
After a few more agonizing minutes, Maximo growled, “Stop. Enough.”
She straightened, crossed her arms over her chest, and jerked her head to peer over one shoulder.
“Your back looks made of wood. You’re too rigid. What is wrong with you?” He threw a wad of clay back into the bin and pulled the covering back over the piece. “It’s no good. It’s over. Get dressed.”
“But—”
“No! The mood is ruined.” Passing her, he pitched his tools into the wash sink with a clatter. Then bent and picked up her robe from the floor and tossed it at her.
Nausea rolled over her. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She would not cry. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
The arm to her robe was inside out and she struggled in frustration and building humiliation to wrestle into the sleeve. If this was the price she needed to pay to be here, to be with him, the price was too high.
“I’m done. Find”—her arm punched through the end of the sleeve—“another model. Someone else. Not me.”
The door of the studio slammed shut behind her. Well, now she’d done it. Bet there was no question of being fired at this point. Good-bye internship. Good-bye degree. Good-bye career. Dante was right. She hadn’t lasted two weeks. That wasn’t what was causing the pain in her chest, however. The bitter edge to Maximo’s words cut her. He’d rejected her again. She didn’t understand, but refused to keep throwing her emotions into a grinder.
Emily shivered. Cold realization joined the drenching rain that poured down upon her as she reached her Jeep. Dammit! Her clothes, but, more importantly, her car keys were still in her locker.
She thumped a fist on the hood and hung her head. Water dripped off the tips of her hair. There was no way she was going back in there. She was desperate enough to consider unsnapping the cloth roof and trying to remember what Elliot, that odd metal sculptor she’d known in Chicago, taught her about hot wiring a car.
Her soaked robe clung to her and the thin fabric had started to resemble cellophane. Through chattering teeth, she cursed herself again. Scrapping her last shred of dignity off the pavement, Em spun on her heel to head back inside.
Maximo. He stood a few feet away. His dark eyes captured hers beneath the watery lights illuminating the parking lot. “I’m sorry.”
She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat.
He held his hands out from his sides and shook his head. “I’m a selfish bastardo.” He stepped closer and ran his gaze down the length of her.
Emily didn’t have to look to know her robe had turned transparent.
“Come back inside. You must be freezing.”
Emily closed her eyes. She couldn’t watch the rain plaster his shirt to the hard curves of his chest. She couldn’t lose control of her emotions again. Water ran into the open neck of her robe.
“I can’t do this.” When her words met silence, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. “I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know how to act when I’m with you. Part of me is so…so star struck by being in your presence, I end up acting like some goofy teenager with a crush. I’m so grateful to be here working on my art. Thankful for any opportunity to watch you work. To learn from you. But then…” She shook her head and dropped her gaze.
“Then?”
Emily raised her eyes to the bow of his mouth. “I kissed you and you kissed me back. Maybe it was nothing to you, but I was stupid enough to think it meant something. That you wanted me. If only for a moment. The way you touched me.” She studied the middle of his broad chest. God help her, she couldn’t meet his eyes. Here she was as bare and naked as she could possibly be, body and soul. If he rejected her now, at least she’d know why. Wasn’t it better to know than play this endless guessing game?
She wiped the rain off her face. “I can’t think of anything else but that night and how much I wanted to be with you. I replay it over and over in my mind, trying to figure out what happened, trying to understand why you pushed me away. If you’re involved with someone else—”
“No.” He’d stepped closer. His voice reached out to her through the rain. The single word touched her heart.
Emily made the mistake of looking into his eyes. The intensity she found there stopped time. The hush of the rain falling cocooned them. She c
lutched the front of her robe. “If there’s no one else, then it must be you don’t want me. Now I really feel like an idiot. I must have believed something that wasn’t there.”
Maximo closed the distance between them. He grabbed the tops of her arms and pulled her to him. His lips met hers in a crush. Emily whimpered as his tongue plunged hungrily into her mouth. Heated passion radiated off his body and she shivered as it engulfed her.
He pushed her back against the side of the Jeep. One strong leg slid between her knees as he pinned her to the vehicle. Cold rain water wicked through the thin fabric of her robe to chill her back, while the searing heat of his body pressed into her front.
Shoving his hand into her hair, he captured the back of her head and deepened his kiss. Em held tight to fistfuls of damp shirt along his sides, pulling him closer, crushing her chest to his. He broke the kiss to heat a pathway down the side of her neck. He murmured something along the delicate skin beneath her ear. It didn’t sound Italian. She wished she knew what he said. Did he want her as much as she wanted him? All was forgotten in an instant when he sucked at the lobe of her ear.
Emily gasped, lifted her face to the kiss of the rain while Maximo licked and nipped his way to her shoulder. Impatient hands pushed the clinging fabric of her robe aside to knead her breast. When his fingers teased the firm tip of her nipple, she cried out and arched into the rush of pleasure that coursed through her.
“Oh, V—”
His mouth silenced hers with another fiery kiss. “Max,” he whispered into her mouth. “I’m just Max.”
“Max,” she sighed. “Oh, Max, please don’t stop.”
He wrapped a strong arm around her and lifted her off her feet. Holding the back of her head, he moved toward the building while delivering a kiss that needed no translation.
Emily wound an arm around his neck and murmured against his lips. “Where are you taking me?”
“To my bed.”
Chapter Fourteen
They were both breathless by the time Max reached the second floor and carried her into his darkened bedroom. He’d peeled away the tissue of sodden fabric she called a robe and dropped it somewhere along the way. With her naked in his arms, the pressure in his pants made him groan. It had been close to a year since he’d been with anyone. If he didn’t take her soon…
He laid Emily on the bed, kicked off his boots and stripped out of his clinging shirt and jeans. The only light spilled in from the lamp in the living room, but it was enough to help him find the condoms buried in the top dresser drawer. Ripping one from its foiled pouch, he unrolled it over the hard length of him.
Gentle hands soothed over the bunched muscles of his back. He hadn’t heard Emily cross the room. She laid a kiss there and slipped her hands around to slowly caress his chest. Her fingers raked through the crisp hair. He still had his penis in his hand and gave it a squeeze, praying he wouldn’t come too soon.
“Bella…” She sighed against his damp skin.
Oh dear God. He gave his rock-hard cock another squeeze. Max lifted and kissed her fingers.
He turned in her arms. “Men are not beautiful.”
“You are.” Her hands skimmed his stomach. “You’re a work of art.” When her fingers closed over his penis, he held his breath.
“Easy,” he teased, “I’d still like that attached when we’re through.” He grinned.
Her mouth dropped open in amused surprise and he took advantage of that parting to kiss her back into his bed. He pulled the thick comforter across their bodies and settled over her. The combination of their heat quickly warmed the space. The sweet smell of rain-washed skin and her faint flowered scent filled his senses.
A smile touched her lips. “Perhaps I shouldn’t touch you. I am a klutz. I’m liable to break all sorts of things.” Her smile faded. “Are you fragile, Maximo Vega?”
“Only the heart.” He brushed her mouth with his. Their breath danced. “Will you break my heart, Emily Baskins?”
Their voices were muffled beneath the covers. She stroked his cheek and met his gaze in the dim light. “I’ll try not to.” Her thumb brushed his lower lip. “Will you break mine?”
“Yes.” On this he couldn’t lie. Even risking the passion building between them, he couldn’t take her without some sliver of the truth. He couldn’t give her anything more. He owed her nothing less.
Feather light fingertips grazed his lips. “I know,” she whispered.
Her words reached in to squeeze at his heart. He’d been wrong. It wasn’t an air of innocence that drew him to her like the clichéd moth to a flame, it was her honesty. There was no guile behind those clear sage eyes. No illusions of what this night would mean tomorrow. It was her. Wanting him. Here. Now.
Emily ran her hand into his hair and pulled him to her for a shattering kiss. One beautiful leg lifted to slide a silky thigh along his hip. She opened herself to him, welcoming him in, offering him everything.
He fought the urge to drive into her and satisfy his blinding need, but in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to love her as she should be loved.
Max lowered his head and ran his tongue over the tightened rosebud of her nipple. When he drew it between his lips and sucked, she sighed and ran her fingers into his hair, holding him to her. His hand grasped at her curves and drew her wet heat closer.
She arched. A small whimper escaped her throat. The hand holding his head moved to tug at his shoulder. Her knee pressed open. Her hips lifted.
Shifting to one side, Max skimmed her inner thigh with his fingertips until he reached the trimmed strip of soft hair between her legs. He teased that pale pathway before laying his palm against her sex. The heat and pulse there filled his palm. He watched her face. He didn’t move, just held his hand still.
He loved the feel of her. Warm satiny skin caressed his fingers. For too long he’d created visions in cold stone and clay. He’d forgotten the heady pleasure of holding a flesh-and-blood woman in his arms. This flesh and blood woman. He wanted to savor every moment.
Emily opened her eyes to look at him in question. Her chest rose and fell in short pants. Her nails bit into his arm. Moaning, she closed her eyes and pressed into his hand, urging him, begging him. “Please…”
He bent a single finger, running it between the slick folds, making her cry out. She trembled beside him, still clutching his arm. Her other hand knotted the sheets. A second finger joined his first, stroking and teasing before sliding inside her. Her sheath throbbed. A low moan slipped from her as she rocked her hips upward.
The rush to his cock was almost too much to bear, but he wasn’t finished with her yet. Her wetness bathed his fingers. She was more than ready, but he wanted to prolong her pleasure…and his. Her response only strengthened his resolve. He slowed the press and sweep of his touches and kissed her panting mouth.
“Oh, God. She ground her hips against his hand. When he dipped his head to tease her breasts with his tongue, she writhed and pulled him atop her. “Please, now!”
Cradled in the heat between her thighs, he ceased to think. Forgotten was the slow building fire. The flame had flashed into an inferno. Emily wrapped her legs around his waist and her nails clawed at his back. His heart was pounding out of his chest, as he drove into her tightness.
She gasped out his name and clung to him, matching his strength and rhythm as if they’d been lovers forever. He quickened their dance. Sweat broke out on his brow. The muscles in his arms tightened as he held himself from crushing her. He plunged into her faster and faster. Driving deeper with every thrust. Stronger. Harder.
Beneath him, Emily screamed as a powerful orgasm lifted her. The tremors within her rocketed his body into a world-shattering climax. Clinging to one another, they rode the waves of each other’s pleasure higher as he ground his body into hers until the tremors began to still and they both fell back to earth.
Later, with their breathing returning to normal, he tucked Emily along his side. She curled around him, her body
beginning where his ended. A languid hand teased the hair on his chest before making a slow sweep over his stomach to grasp his penis with her hand.
“Oh, thank God,” she sighed. “It’s still attached.” She kissed his shoulder. “Yay.” She smiled against his skin.
Max did something then that surprised and delighted him almost as much as the passionate woman in his arms. He laughed.
****
Silky sheets slipped over her skin. Emily loved the sensuous feel. The soft sound of distant music reached her ears, and she didn’t have to roll over to know the bed was empty. What time was it? She stretched. A delicious ache thrummed between her thighs as she remembered their lovemaking. Maximo had been incredible. Three times, incredible. Emily hadn’t believed it could get any better than their first time, but she had been wrong.
They hadn’t yet caught their breath when she made the quip about his penis, and the next thing she’d known, he was slipping on another condom and pulling her on top. He lowered her onto his thick length and proceeded to send her into orbit again. He had magic fingers and what he could do with his tongue… Wetness pulsed from her core at the thought. Her whole body tingled with need.
She slipped from his bed. A thick, lush robe sat folded at the foot. Max’s. It wrapped her in warm black terry cloth and surrounded her with his scent. Emily pushed the wide collar around her ears and drew his spiced smell deep into her lungs.
A small clock next to the bed read 4:12. The music was coming from somewhere below. Maximo must be working. She padded through the sleek living room decorated in black, grays and chrome. Clean lines and sharp edges. The floors were bare except for a thick area rug that resembled a dark, curly sheepskin.
Past a darkened kitchen, light came from a door left ajar. The music was louder. Opening the door, she was back in the studio’s cavernous space. A set of stairs led to Max’s private lair. She pulled his robe tighter and let the music carry her down the steps.
He was working on the bozzetto. Her breath caught in her throat at the beauty of him. He wore only faded jeans, which rode low on his hips. The muscles of his arms and back flexed as he worked. His feet were bare, dark stubble covered his jaw and his hair was a tousled mess. A dark curl fell across his forehead. Classical Italian music crested around her as she watched him pause to wipe his hands across his demined ass. Oh. My.
Rock Solid Page 11
