He would love her. That was what he would do now. It was all he could do. All thoughts of pain and loss and revenge were cast aside. He didn't need that anymore. Gabriel, Hope, they were nothing to him now. He had her. He wouldn't hurt her, wouldn't risk her.
He would just simply love her.
* * * *
They lay quietly in each others’ arms for Rogue didn't know how long. Night was full upon them as they nestled in the brilliant circle of light created by the bright spotlights. Finally, he shifted her gently and rose up, crossing the floor to lower the intensity of the lights to a warm sepia glow. He paused at the easel as he went back to her, curious to see what she had created.
He was amazed at what he saw.
She had rendered him accurately, yet somehow not. There was a peacefulness, a luminosity to the naked figure on the canvas that he never would have associated with himself. For the first time, the curls he resented so much actually added to his masculinity. Of course, the prominent erection didn't hurt that, either.
But more compelling was what she had included from her own vision. For, extending outward along his outstretched arm and upward unfolding above his shoulder were a pair of angel's wings, heavy and strong, long white feathers straight and unblemished. He looked like a fantasy of Raphael come to rest, sleeping the sleep of the righteous.
He looked at her, her beautiful form laid out naked and feminine in the softened light. If he did nothing else for her, he was determined to give her back her art. That it had ever been taken away was a greater crime against nature than any he could imagine.
She was a work of art herself. Someone should frame her and hang her somewhere to be marveled at.
His eye fell on her cameras, still sitting atop her drawing caddy.
He took up the thirty-five millimeter, removed the flash and reset the stops to compensate for the muted light. Then, as quietly as he could, he began shooting her.
She lay on her back, her hair spread out around her head, one arm stretched out above her while the other one lay across her belly. He carefully captured her from several angles before picking up the Polaroid camera. Standing near her feet, he snapped the picture.
She jumped at the bright flash and looked up at him. “What are you doing?"
He tossed the picture on her belly. “Portrait of the artist as a wanton sex goddess."
She smiled and blushed, sitting up to watch the picture develop. He took the opportunity to take several more shots with both cameras.
"Will you stop that?"
"Nope.” He caught another one as she rose to her feet. “I didn't see any self-portraits in your collection. Maybe these will help."
"Or maybe you're just a dirty old man who wants naked pictures of his girlfriend."
"Maybe.” He grinned wickedly at her. He caught up his duster and tossed it to her. “Here, put that on."
"Why should I?” she groused, slipping her arms into the sleeves.
He stared at her, his mouth suddenly dry. The black leather against her dark hair and tanned skin, those beautiful breasts framed by the jacket lapels, was almost too much for him. “Because it makes me hard."
"Oh.” She thought about it. “All right then.” She slouched down into one of the armchairs, legs wide, arms spread along the chair's rests, every part of her exposed and framed in black leather.
He just drank in the sight of her. “Exactly how much film have you got up here, pet?"
Chapter 20
Lindy's heart was pounding as she got off the elevator at the seventeenth floor of McDaniels Polk and Marks.
She knew she shouldn't be here. It was too much of a risk. But he needed to be in the office most of the day, even though it was Friday, and she found she was lonely at the thought of not seeing him for so long.
So she dared coming down here during the noon hour, hoping that most of the staff of Intellectual Properties would be out for lunch.
Fortunately, her gamble seemed to pay off. The staff section of Michael's unit was empty. Even Carly was conspicuously absent.
She was just about to turn the knob on his office door when a voice just over her shoulder said, “I don't think you want to go in there, luv."
She spun around to look into Michael's smirking face.
"Why not?” she asked breathlessly, a smile on her own face.
"Well, your husband is in there with a handful of stodgy German types arguing about the best methods of diversification."
"In your office?"
He shrugged. “I was in on it for a while, but I had to go make another call.” He studied her up and down. “Not that I'm not thrilled to see you, but what are you doin’ here, sneaking into my office?"
She blushed but stepped closer to him, running her tongue across her teeth. “Looking for a quickie?"
His eyes darkened in that oh so familiar way. “I think we can accommodate that,” he said, his voice gone low and sultry. “Let's just find someplace a little more private."
His hand rested possessively on the small of her back as he guided her down the hall, through the reception area and into Gabriel's office.
He threw the deadbolt and leaned against the door. “Come here,” he growled, desire thickening his voice.
Her heart and groin tightened at his command, but it also called up something a bit wicked. She backed up slowly, her eyes bright, her mouth slightly open, as she moved her hands under her skirt and up to draw down her panties. She stepped out of them and leaned against the front of the desk, holding the plaid cotton thong up on one finger like bait. “You come here."
He growled again and advanced on her slowly, stopping a few feet away to reach out and take the scrap of fabric from her, rubbing the damp lining thoughtfully between his fingers. “You've been naughty."
She started unbuttoning her blouse. “It was a long cab ride down."
He tucked the panties in his suit coat pocket and undid his tie. “You give the cabbie an eyeful?"
"Thought about it.” She opened the front of the blouse and slid her hands up over her stomach to unhook the front catch of her bra, spreading it open to show him her bare breasts. “But I wanted to save it for you."
His eyes were locked on her mouth as he finished unbuttoning his own shirt, his hand dropping to the button on his trousers. “That's my good girl."
She pulled herself up on the edge of the desk, spreading her legs as she began inching the skirt up over her thighs. “You can't have it both ways. I can't be naughty and good."
He released his already solid shaft from his fly and stepped between her thighs. “No, but you can be good and naughty."
"Mmm, I like...” she was silenced by his mouth crashing down on hers and surrendered instantly, groaning in pleasure as the softness of her bare chest ground against the warm hardness of his. His hands seemed to be everywhere, in her hair, on her back, around her breasts. Hers were equally mobile, sliding under his shirt to sculpt his back, dipping below the waistband of his pants to cup his muscled ass.
He bucked against her, and she could feel the velvet hardness of his cock pressing into her. He pulled back to look into her eyes hungrily. “You did say a quickie, didn't you?"
"Oh god, Michael, give it to me! Please!"
"You only had to ask.” He gripped himself firmly to guide his head to her dripping center. She gasped as he thrust shallowly, pushing past the tight muscles to seat himself squarely within her. Then he wrapped his hands around her hips and thrust deep.
She wailed into his shoulder in relief, jerking hard to push him even deeper.
"I've got you, beauty,” he crooned into her ear as he stroked his hips hard and fast against her. “Don't fret, I'll give you what you need. See to your every. Want. And. Desire.” He punctuated the last with deep, choking thrusts that made her cry out. “Shh, pet.” He grinned but didn't slow his assault. “Don't want to tip off the wage slaves."
"Just ... oh god ... please don't stop."
"Only one good way to sh
ut you up.” And his mouth descended on hers once again, his hand slipping between them to thumb over her clit hard.
Red fire exploded across her brain and she howled into his mouth, clutching at him as she convulsed against him. A moment later, she felt him spasm deep inside her, setting off small aftershocks to her own orgasm.
They were still for long moments, wrapped around each other as their bodies settled. She felt him lightly stroking her hair, placing delicate kisses along her temple, and she felt protected and deeply cherished, as well as truly and thoroughly ravished.
But finally they had to separate. She contentedly began buttoning his shirt as he tucked himself away and closed his slacks before turning his attention to her. He caught up the two halves of her bra, settling her into the cups and refastening the catch. “You know, pet,” he said, pulling her blouse shut, “I like the way you think."
She smiled, reaching up to knot his tie. “It's a perspective I'm coming to embrace myself."
He draped her skirt back modestly over her knees, then reached into his pocket. “Want these back?” he asked, holding up the tiny panties.
"Hmm,” she thought for a moment. Then she held her legs out, shoe tips pointed. “Put them on me?"
He looked at her in absolute wonder. “When did you become such a vamp?” But he dropped to his knees and began fitting her feet through the narrow bands.
"You've been an inspiration,” she murmured, enjoying the satiny feel of his hands on her bare legs, sliding over the curve of her behind as he slipped the strap in place between her cheeks. She closed her eyes and just reveled in his touch for a moment, then reluctantly stepped away. “Keep that up and we'll be spending the evening explaining to my husband what we're doing in his office."
"No problem at this end. Bring him on. I can take him."
"I can think of better ways to spend the evening.” She kissed him gently.
"Well, if you're going to put it that way.” His voice was thick with emotion. He adjusted his tie and slicked back his hair with his fingers, settling his jacket on his shoulders. “And since you mentioned it, what is the plan for the evening?"
"I'm going down to the studio for a couple of hours. You could meet me there if you'd like."
"Frankly, as comfy as those rugs on the floor were, I think I'd rather spend the evening making love to you in a nice, soft bed."
Her heart caught at his sentiment, more gently expressed than he ever had before. “So,” her voice hitched softly, but she hurried on, “your room it is. Want me to bring dinner? There's a great rib place not far from the studio."
His gaze turned lascivious. “Do I get to lick barbeque sauce off your wonderful breasts for dessert?"
She shivered. “Sounds ... messy."
"Yeah.” He grinned. “Clean up is half the fun."
"Come on. You have clients waiting for you.” She unlocked the door and opened it.
To run straight into Gabriel.
"Lindy!” He was surprised to see her. “What are you doing here?"
"Oh! Well,” quickly she called up the lie she had created. “I was on my way down to the studio, and I thought I'd stop in to see if you wanted to join me for lunch."
"I can't,” he spread his hands in apology. “Rogue and I have to go to lunch with some clients."
"So Mi ... Mr. Fitzwilliam here was explaining. He saw me looking around for you and was kind enough to fill me in."
"It's Rogue, pet. Everyone calls me that.” She could hear a tense edge in his voice.
Not everyone called him that. He was her Michael, dammit.
"Well, thanks, Rogue,” Gabriel said magnanimously. “I appreciate you looking out for my wife until I got back.” And he leaned down and kissed her.
She almost jumped out of her skin. Gabriel never expressed physical affection in public, but here he was, kissing her on lips still soft and swollen from Michael's feverish attentions. Surely he would notice?
But he didn't seem to. Instead he was smiling when he lifted his head.
Michael's face, however, was a fury.
To stave off any possible scene, she quickly spoke, as much to Michael as Gabriel. “I probably won't be home until late tonight. Kathleen is taking me to a new gallery opening down in Tribeca, so it will just be easier to go there from the studio. And I'm sure she'll want to go out afterwards, so I doubt I'll be back before one or two."
"Why is she dragging you to all these things?"
"Because she's developed an interest in art and needs a translator.” She dared a glance at Michael. The color had gone down in his face, but his eyes still blazed murderously.
"Well, just make sure you get your beauty sleep. Masters’ reception is tomorrow night, and we don't want you baggy-eyed, now, do we?"
"No, of course not."
"Come on,” he put his arm around her waist. “I'll walk you to the elevator."
"Alright.” She screamed mentally in frustration, but had to accede to his offer. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Fitzwilliam.” She looked Michael in the eye, trying to convey volumes with a look and a few words. “It was a real pleasure."
His expression was stoic, closed for the first time since she'd met him. “Not at all, Miss James. The pleasure was all mine."
"Let's get you on your way, Lindy.” Gabriel directed her out of the room. “Don't want Rogue and I to be late for our appointment."
"No, of course not.” And with one last glance back, she left.
From behind her, she heard the sound of a door slamming hard enough to shatter glass.
Chapter 21
He spun around as the door opened and she entered, white bags of take out food in either hand. “Honey, I'm..."
He slammed her hard against the door, the violence of his assault knocking the bags from her hands. All the rage, the impotence, the frustration he had carried all afternoon boiled over as he ground his mouth against hers, attempting to wipe away all trace of Gabriel from her mouth. Her cry of pain and surprise was muffled in his throat as her fingers dug sharply into his biceps. The pain drove him on and he smashed her against the door again, tasting blood in his mouth as he drove his pelvis into hers.
He had left human behind, become some sort of primal animal capturing, claiming its mate. She was his, and he was going to show her what that meant.
He brought a hand up to the throat of her blouse and wrenched it down without finesse, tearing the shoulder seams before the buttons gave way. She whimpered, a combination of fear, pain and desire that went straight to his manhood. His hand slid under the torn silk to roughly squeeze and fondle each full breast.
She finally tore her head away from his grip to stare into his eyes. He didn't hide from her, let her see the mania burning there.
In her eyes he saw confusion, and a touch of fear. But something else flared there, something dark and restrained. He knew it reflected the look in his own eyes, knew she understood what he was. A creature of rage and pain and desire.
She shoved him away and punched him.
The left jab hit him squarely in the chest. The right cross he caught deftly. The knee to the groin he trapped as he slammed her back against the door once more. He chuckled wickedly at her fury, his eyes locked on her mouth.
This time she attacked him, her lips violent on his, biting and grinding, her fingers locked in his hair and pulling painfully to keep him in place. He finished shredding her blouse, then made short work of his own shirt, desperate to feel her hot skin against his. She lashed out, sharp nails slicing over his pectoral, making him shout out in pain and lust. He bent his head to run his tongue over the soft curve of her breast before sinking his blunt teeth into her in revenge. Her own squeal of pain was accompanied by renewed thrusts of her pelvis.
He jerked her to him and tripped her, collapsing with her onto the coarse wool pile of the carpet. He hitched her skirt up as she yanked at his hair, exposing his neck to her mouth where she sucked and bit down along his shoulder and back as he worked her skir
t up around her hips. He reached up and tore the delicate panties off her, making her cry out before grinding her bare center against his trousered thigh. Her hand descended to work the fastenings on his slacks, colliding with his as he drove his fingers into her wet folds. She bucked and cursed, and the sound was heaven to him. He echoed her a moment later as her hand twisted around his bare cock, no longer gentle or tentative but pulling and twisting against the dry skin almost painfully. “Beautiful little bitch,” he growled into her throat and felt her arch against him. “You want it?” he ground out. “You want what only I can give you?"
She answered him with a feral, alto growl that vibrated along the length of his cock.
He was between her legs in an instant, positioning himself at her slick opening as she moved against him. “You. Are. Mine.” And he thrust home.
She wailed at his invasion, and he could feel how tight she was as she squeezed down around him. He pulled back and drove home again, and they both cried out in animal lust as they pounded against each other.
But suddenly she struck out, knocking him over and out of her with the force of the blow. She quickly straddled him, sliding her swollen cunt along his shaft as she centered herself. “No,” she denied his words. “I am mine. I don't belong to anyone. I say. I decide. I choose.” And she impaled herself on him once again.
This wasn't lovemaking. It was too primitive even to be called fucking. They rutted, like a pair of wild dogs, all gentler emotions and sensations lost in the demands of their bodies. She rode him hard, and he growled in frustration at being denied the view of their joining as her skirt tumbled down to cover their hips. She bent her head to run a wet tongue up along the oozing scratches she had left on his chest, and the pain and pleasure of it sang through his veins.
He flipped her over again onto her back, this time not losing the connection, and began pounding into her, bending his neck to wrap his lips around one tight nipple to suck hard, pulsing it in time to his thrusts. She keened, losing her grip on him as the approach of orgasm rendered her incapable of thought. She was his mate, regardless of what she said. Her pleasure was his, her needs his needs. And he would hurt her and please her and love her as his mate deserved.
What They Call Sin Page 15
