Emily rubbed her elbow as she slipped into her work space. Crystal was nowhere to be seen. At least that was a blessing. However, standing in her space was her latest assignment. A simple bust of a beautiful woman. Attached was a note. “No fingers or peckers on this one, Baskins. Try to keep her head on!”
“Very funny.”
Emily’s phone vibrated in the rear pocket of her jeans. Caller ID told her it was the bridal shop. No doubt they were calling to schedule her final fitting. The wedding was in four days. Her ugly pink shoes must have come back from being dyed. She let the call go over to voice mail. It was too loud in the casting room to talk and, to be honest, if Emily had to think about the wedding right now, this poor bust’s head might not stay on her shoulders. Pulling out her sanding block and mask, she began to work.
Miracle of miracles, by the end of her shift, not only had Emily not “loosened” any parts of the bust, but her resolve had held fast as well. Losing herself in the work often had the power to calm her. Shutting out the din of the casting room and concentrating on the job cleared her mind and eased some of her anxiety.
But later, as she worked on her exhibit piece, she struggled to get the features of the figure’s hip just right, her stress peaked again. Max, deadlines, and this damn wedding. How much could one person take? One at a time, she could deal with them, but when they started stacking up like snow in February, she felt overwhelmed.
When seven arrived, Em was changed and ready. She was ready to let Max down easy by ending it as gracefully as she could. Maximo, while last night was very special to me, I think we should end this physical attraction we seem to be developing for one another and remember we need to behave in a more professional manner. I care about you but don’t feel this attraction will serve either of us in the long term. Simple, kind, yet straight to the point.
The studio was quiet when she slipped into Maximo’s area. No music played. Only a handful of lights burned. The space was cleaned. The dais cleared. His tools were hung and everything was neat. He wasn’t there.
What was there, was the bozzetto. Finished. It stood drying in the middle of a spotless worktable. The piece was done. He hadn’t needed the last session after all. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes as she looked over the statue. The anguish on the beautifully formed face mirrored the sudden ache in her heart. He’d captured her to perfection. The sweep of her body showcased his mastery. In clay, the work was magnificent. In stone, it would be breathtaking.
Emily swiped at an angry tear. She looked up the stairs to Maximo’s closed apartment door. Well, this was what she wanted, wasn’t it? He’d done her a favor. She hadn’t needed to practice her carefully chosen words to end it. He had without uttering a single syllable. So why wasn’t she relieved? Why wasn’t she dancing for joy?
Because she loved him. Realization punched the air from her lungs. Dear God, she was in love with him. From the first moment he held her hands and asked if she was cold. She couldn’t deny it. Even as the reality of his empty studio threw her heart under a speeding bus, she couldn’t lie to herself any more. He’d told her he’d break her heart. At least he didn’t lie.
She dropped onto a stool and tucked her chin into the neck of her robe. His robe. The smell of him stung her. Oh God. She shut her eyes against the sting.
“Emily?”
Gasping, she sat up. Maximo was coming toward her with a bottle of wine and two glasses. She turned away to wipe the wetness from her cheeks.
“I wanted to get word to you that you didn’t need to pose tonight, but I’ve been fighting a lavender witch for the past hour. The woman drives me completamente pazzo. Crazy. Tonight was to be for relaxing.” He lifted the bottle. “We celebrate the work, si? She is done.”
She stood and tightened the ties of the robe. “I’ll go change.”
“Nonsense. It’s fine.” He held his arms wide. He wore a pair of black denim jeans and a blue button-down shirt with its cuffs rolled back off his forearms. It fit him like a dream. “We’re dressing casual.”
“It’ll only take a minute. I feel foolish in your bathrobe.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. If she could just get past him and take a moment to pull herself together.
Maximo put the wine down and caught her as she tried to get by. “Are you crying?”
“No.”
He tipped her chin and she had no choice but to look at him. “You are. Tell me why.”
She pulled away from him and struggled to come up with a believable answer. She flipped a hand toward the bozzetto before crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s the piece. It…it is so…brilliant. It makes me weep to imagine its beauty in marble.”
He gave her a hard stare.
“Pour the wine. I need to toast your incredible talent.”
As he pulled the cork, the studio phone rang in Dante’s office. The muscle in Max’s jaw jumped. “Let us drink to anything other than my talent.”
Emily took the glass he offered. “Okay. Maybe we should drink to making mistakes?”
“Mistakes?” He frowned.
“Yes. About last night.” She studied the center of his chest. The third button down on his pale blue shirt to be exact. It was a good button. “I mean, it was wonderful and…beyond amazing, but I can’t help feeling like it was a mistake. I wasn’t thinking straight, and I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, and we…I think we both got carried away with the passion of the work, and it didn’t have anything to do with you and me.”
“It was a mistake.”
Emily kept rambling, “If I’m going to continue to work here, I can’t…” She met his gaze. “Did you just say it was a mistake?”
Maximo emptied his wineglass in a single swallow and poured himself another. “Si. I agree with you.”
Emily followed his lead and drank. The rich fruity wine warmed a path into her belly. “Wow. Great. I’m happy you feel the same way.”
“We were caught up in the moment.”
“Yes. Exactly.” She took another sip of her wine. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am.”
“No, it is I who am relieved. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you.” He motioned to the bozzetto. “Sometimes the inspiration is too great. The passion and the emotion, too grande. It spills over.”
Emily finished her glass and Maximo was quick to refill it. As he turned away, she raised her glass and muttered to herself, “Here’s to spillage.”
“Pardone?”
“Nothing.” She raised her glass once more. “Great wine.”
The office phone rang again. Maximo slammed the bottle down and a flood of Italian burst forth.
Emily caught at least one curse word in the rush. “Do you need to answer that?”
“No! I’m tempted to throw the damn phone into the parking lot. I’ve already spoken to her four times since she left here today. Enough is enough.”
“The lavender witch?”
“The woman, she is relentless.” He rubbed at the back of his neck and took another strong drink of his wine.
Emily found the remote and filled the space with his music. The phone’s ring could barely be heard. “Forget her.”
“I wish I could.” He sat on the stool and tipped his head from one side to the other.
“Don’t let her ruin your celebration. It’s a night to relax, remember?” She set her empty glass on the worktable and moved behind him. “Here, I can help.” She smoothed her hands over the muscles of his shoulders. The tension rippled beneath her fingertips. “I’m an expert at neck massages. I used to give them to my father all the time. That was another lifetime ago, but I still remember how.”
He sighed and tipped his head forward. “That feels good.”
“Try to let it go.” Emily kneaded at the bunched knots in his muscles. She hated feeling his stress. “Drop your shoulders. Try to relax.”
“Mmmmmm…”
The wine on an empty stomach was doing more than softening the edges. Emily pulled a deep breath to clear her h
ead. God, he smelled good. Too good.
She swept her thumbs along the thick muscles between his shoulder blades trying to forget the way they felt beneath her hands last night. “Wouldn’t it be great if we could forget?” Damn, she said that out loud.
“Forget?”
Again Emily scrambled to explain herself. “I mean, just for a little while. You know, forget you’re Maximo Vega. I’ll forget I’m bridesmaid number six. Forget it all. No pressure, agents, deadlines. No expectations. No needing to be anything for anyone. Prove anything. Be anything. We could just be us.”
“If only it could be that easy.”
Em finished her massage, smoothed the fabric of his shirt over his shoulders and stepped away from him. Every cell in her body wanted to strip the shirt off him and feel his bare skin, lay with him again. But the one thing she had to remember was that loving Maximo would only get her hurt. She needed to leave before her common sense was the only thing she did forget. “The wine is starting to make me poetic, and I’m a lousy poet. I should go.”
Maximo stood and caught her arm. “Wait. Please, don’t go.” The music swelled around them. His dark eyes captured hers before his gaze lowered to her mouth. “Forgetting who we are for a time,” His hand stroked her arm, “may make it simpler to put aside the pressure and the stress of our lives, but there are things I never want to forget.” He slipped his hand behind her neck and drew her in for a tender kiss. Emily tasted the wine on his tongue as it slipped between her lips and his mouth slanted over hers, deepening the kiss. A whimper whispered from her throat. She sighed against his kisses.
He pulled away and cupped her face in his palm. “Emily, I need to be honest with you. I’ve tried to tell you—”
Emily placed her fingertips on his lips and shook her head. “Please don’t. I know your feelings. You’ve already said it quite well. Last night was a huge mistake. We’re a mistake. I should listen.”
But she couldn’t listen. His gentle kisses had shattered her fragile resolve. She didn’t want to hear him dismiss what was happening between them. She wouldn’t deny it to herself again. She wanted him, if only for one more night. She was beyond caring about what was right or wrong. She needed him. Needed to feel the brush of his hands on her skin. Lose herself in his touch.
“I’m the one who needs to be honest. I lied to you just now. Last night…how I felt when I was in your arms. How could that have been a mistake? I’ve spent the entire day trying to convince myself it was. Trying to make myself believe I don’t care what happens. I lied to both of us. I do care.” Trembling, she stood before him and took the biggest risk she’d ever taken. She untied his robe. “How can my wanting you like this ever be a mistake?” She let the robe slide to the floor.
Chapter Seventeen
“Emily…” Her named slipped from his lips.
She reached to stroke his face and ran her fingertips along his mouth. “When you look at me, even the way you speak my name, makes me feel like the sexiest woman alive. I can relax and be bold and get lost in every moment.” She shrugged and shook her head. “I’m not the girl who left this town years ago. I grew up, but no one sees the real me, except you. You see the artist. You see the woman. I see her in your eyes.” She looked at the bozzetto. “I am that woman.”
“They must be blind and stupid not to see how amazing you are.” His hand held her face as he kissed her. “As stupid as an artist who would try to convince you that you are nothing more than his muse.” The gentle kiss was quick to flare into an inferno. His strong hands swept over her, grasping and pulling her tight against him. He lifted her off her feet and moved toward the stairs.
Emily quivered with a burning need to feel his skin next to hers. When they came to the stairs, he set her down. She stood a step taller than he and relished the new height. Her clumsy fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt as he kissed her up each stair. Pulling its hem from his pants, she ran her hands inside his open shirt, over his chest and into his waistband. The metal button beneath her fingers slipped from its hole.
Max grasped at her hips and swept his hands up her back. He was at the perfect height to have his fill of her breasts. Her fingers caught in his hair as he drew each tightened nipple into his mouth. Her heart pounded. Adrenaline and pure heat pulsed through her. He blazed a trail lower over her stomach to tease her navel with his tongue before moving even lower.
His roughhewn hand caressed her from shoulder to hip as he moved to press a kiss against her aching sex. She hung on to fistfuls of his shirt for balance. As his tongue swept over her hot flesh, her knees threatened to give way.
“Oh, God.” She clutched at his hair, his shoulder, feeling a desperate desire to have him take her right there on the stairs.
Strong fingers raked up the inside of her thigh, pressing her knee wider.
“Max…”
When he slipped two of those fingers into her, fireworks exploded through her limbs.
“Max!” She grabbed for the handrail to keep from tumbling down the steps.
Growling, Max scooped her into his arms, rushed them up the remaining stairs and pushed through the doorway into the apartment. Pinning her against the wall, his deep kisses left her breathless. Everywhere he touched added to the flames that threatened to consume her.
Emily wrestled the shirt from him and slid an impatient hand back into his jeans. When her fingers closed around his hard length, a heavy gasp released from him.
She insisted between hungry kisses. “We’re not a mistake. Never say it again.”
Dark eyes bore into hers. His chest heaved beneath her hands. Emily trembled at the sudden intensity of him, at the relentless pull to wrap herself around him and not let go, and at the explosion of love she had for him at that very moment.
He crushed her mouth with his. His body strained against hers. “I promise. Never again.”
****
For Emily, the next two days felt like she’d been wrapped in a cotton-candy cloud of rainbow-sprinkled bliss. Tuesday night’s passion had continued well into Wednesday. She and Max had made love in his studio, on the island in the kitchen and on the curly living room rug. There had been no more talk of mistakes and truths. Given the fact they couldn’t keep their hands off one another, there hadn’t been much talking at all. His kisses left her breathless. She began to wonder if Max was secretly a trumpet player.
Wednesday evening arrived, and Emily was working on her exhibit piece. It was late. Everyone had left for the day. She removed the original form behind the ribboned image and was finishing edges and adding the final details to make the piece shine.
Crystal LeMar stopped by and watched Em work for a few minutes on her way out. “You know, I hate to admit this, but you’re not half bad.”
Emily did a quick double-take to see if she was joking. She wasn’t. “Wow, that almost sounded like half a compliment.”
“It was, C.B. Don’t let it go to your head.”
After Crystal left, the studio around Emily got quiet, except for the calming lilt of Max’s music filtering over from his area. She hadn’t seen him since she left his bed early that morning, but she felt surrounded by him all day.
He’d told her he wanted to work on another piece and if the music was any indication, he’d been hard at it all day. Somehow the two of them working so intently on their own projects, honoring each other’s space and work, filled her with immense joy. She couldn’t wait to finish and see what he’d done today.
With a damp sponge, she smoothed an edge of the wide clay ribbon and worked on the section that crossed over the hip of the figure. She had overworked the area and still wasn’t happy with the illusion of muscle there. Adding more clay, she tried again, stepped back and frowned. It still didn’t look right. She planted one muddied hand on her hip and tipped her head.
It was then she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. Max stood watching her. He was in low-slung jeans and a sigh-inspiring black T-shirt, covered in clay with a day
’s growth of beard. He looked sexier than should be allowed by law.
“Hi.” Emily held up her filthy hands and pulled at the hem of her mucked top. “We make quite the pair.”
“Can you take a quick break? I want to show you something.” Max held out his hand.
Emily glanced back at her piece. “I might as well. I’m not making much progress here.”
“I won’t take you away for long, and then maybe I can help.”
“I’d love that.” Emily slipped her dirty hand in his.
Max led her back to his space and she was blown away by what she saw. He’d created another piece with her likeness. Smaller than the bozzetto, this one was of her reclining. Her knees raised with her toes pointed. Her upper half was propped on her elbows with her head tipped back. The line of her throat rose into the peak of her breasts and spilled into the belly of the pose. The deep arching curve of her back swept into the rounded dip of her hips capturing a flowing sensuality that was visually stunning.
“This is how you see me?” She breathed.
“Yes.” He cupped her cheek with a clay-smeared hand and kissed her before moving to the piece. He turned the base on its turntable, showing her each side. “She’s drying, so some of the detail is muted, but I’m happy with it. Do you like her?”
“Of course I like her. Every time I think your work can’t get any better, you show me how wrong I am. It’s amazing. I love it.”
“Good.” He kissed the top of her shoulder and gave her a quick squeeze. “Come. You have work to finish. Then I will bring you upstairs and find us some food.”
“You might have to eat without me. I have to finish this exhibit piece tonight, and I can’t get this one section the way I want.”
“Show me. I will try to help.”
Back on her side of the studio, she turned the piece so he could see the area giving her a difficult time. “Here. Over the hip, where the muscle drops into the lower abdomen in that classic V-shape.”
“The iliac furrow.”
“Yes, that’s it. Because of the visual break, I’m not getting the right angle or shape.” Emily pulled some photographs off the worktable. “I’ve studied my reference photos, but I’m still not getting it.”
Rock Solid Page 13
