by Karen Anders
Bridget got into an earnest conversation with the woman and soon she was searching the room for him. Wondering what she was cooking up in that blond head of hers, he met her gaze. Excitement crackled in the blue depths of her eyes as she motioned him over. When he reached her, Bridget turned to the tall woman and introduced him. “Matt, this is Sheila Bowden. Matt’s a great fan of your work. He has one of your nudes over his bed.”
“Does he? A fine connoisseur of artwork, then,” she said in a soft British accent.
“I like your work very much.”
“Matt, Sheila has invited us up to look at her studio. She has number seven.”
“This isn’t an imposition, Ms. Bowden?”
“Of course not, ducks, and please call me Sheila. Let’s go.”
Walking to a side door in the large expanse of the gallery, Sheila produced a key and unlocked the door. It led to a staircase and to her studio.
She opened that door, too, and flipped on the light, standing aside to let them in. It was a large room with numerous canvases standing against one wall. The thick smell of paint permeated the air along with the lingering aroma of strong coffee.
The walls were painted in a soft blue hue, the ceiling open beams and the floor hardwood. A chaise in a bright Mediterranean blue was situated near the back wall, a cozy nook for relaxing.
Sheila walked over to a long table where her art supplies were stored and picked up a pad and a charcoal pencil. Bridget walked over to the chaise.
“Bridget, would you mind taking off your dress and posing for me now?”
Before Matt could blink, she slipped the straps of the black dress off her shoulders, over her generous bare breasts until the soft material lay in a silky pool around her feet. Bending down, she retrieved the dress, smoothed out the material and laid the garment over the chaise. She bent over to remove the sandals, but Sheila said, “No, leave them and the thigh highs, too. For now, anyway.”
Matt shifted, backing up until he hit the wall. He looked over at Sheila, who was studying Bridget’s form with the eye of an artist. “I can see why you were a model, Bridget. You have the most perfectly proportioned body,” Sheila said as she grabbed the stool and dragged it closer to the chaise.
Bridget looked over at Matt. “Isn’t this exciting? She said she wanted to draw me.”
Exciting wasn’t the word that first came to mind. It was awkward to be present in the room, but as time passed and Sheila positioned Bridget into a profile pose, Matt couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming over her, his embarrassment replaced by a slow burn inside him.
He envied her natural abandon as Sheila touched her arm and turned Bridget’s shoulder, as Bridget nodded at Sheila’s instructions. Matt’s eyes roved over Bridget, her high, pert breasts thrust out, the nipples a raspberry hue under the soft lights. Her slender rib cage flowed to her small waist and slim flaring hips, tapering down to exquisitely long legs, taut thighs and muscular calves. His eyes caressed her fine ass, firm twin globes.
Matt’s breath caught as a sudden realization came to him. This was her—all wild abandon and bold display, so very different from him. He knew in that sudden moment that he loved her, desperately. She would go back to New York to pursue her dream and how could he stop her? He was a small blip on her radar, a fun time in Cambridge while she gathered her defenses and prepared for another assault on the fashion industry.
He closed his eyes as sudden pain rushed into his hard-beating heart. He’d always been in love with her and he was smart enough not to try to deny it. He loved her from afar as a teenager and now that he’d had the pleasure of loving her close up as a man, he felt bereft that she would walk away.
He didn’t know how to hold her, fit her into his life or how he could ever fit into hers. He knew he would lose her, had to trap this desperate love inside and keep it hidden. It was the only way he knew how to function. She could never know, never pity him.
Bridget looked at him then and smiled. In his state of mind, he wasn’t prepared for the well of emotion that spiked in him. It overwhelmed him. She reached out her hand and said, “Matt, come over here. Sheila wants us to pose for her.”
Together.
No. He wasn’t prepared for this. She didn’t even ask his permission. He didn’t put himself out there on a whim.
He had to think.
He needed air, felt as if he was suffocating on the intense feelings he had for Bridget. He stopped sideways, the small of his back hitting the doorknob with a stab of pain. He reached blindly back and opened it, sliding out into the hall where he took a deep, gasping breath.
She just didn’t understand his need for privacy. He should have realized that his desire for Bridget would mislead him and make him lose his control.
She was the only woman who could do that, make him forget about everything. He retreated down the stairs, back through the gallery and into the street. The summer air refreshed him.
He’d wait for her here, his thoughts in turmoil.
He didn’t think his intellect was going to get him out of this one. Even now he wanted to be immersed in her and in the next minute he wanted to run like hell.
But he couldn’t run. It was too late.
10
WHEN HE OPENED THE DOOR to the studio, Bridget had wrapped herself in a white sheet. She was looking at the sketch Sheila Bowden had in her hands. Their heads turned as he came back into the room.
“There you are,” Sheila said. “I have to go back downstairs to attend to my guests. You can stay here as long as you need, Bridget,” she said, giving Matt a telling look.Matt didn’t even notice when she left and the door closed behind her.
“I did something wrong,” she said.
“I can’t do what you do. Taking off my clothes without any preparation is just beyond me.”
“Oh. I’m sorry,” she said in a cool little voice he’d never heard her use before. Not with him, not with anybody.
His mouth tightened. His heart hurt.
Resignation, when he’d grown accustomed to sass.
Oh, he didn’t like this voice. It broke his heart.
Wearing nothing but the flimsy sheet and the skin he couldn’t get enough of stroking, she just stared at him, not moving, waiting for him.
“I know you are,” he whispered. “Our lives have changed so much since we were sixteen. I wonder what would have happened if your mother hadn’t interfered.”
“We’ll never know, Matt. We have to deal with now. With these feelings we have for each other and reality. I wish things were different, but we want different things and I’m not sure that can be worked out.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is that you are an amazing woman. You make me want to be a different man, one who puts himself on the line for what he believes in, regardless of the consequences. I don’t know if I have that in me.”
“Not everyone can change, some people just don’t want to. They like where they are. I would never force you to change who you are, Matt.”
He nodded. He should tell her right now that he loved her, but was afraid of what that meant. Afraid to move forward because of the unknown. Matt always protected what he held dear. He cherished his quiet and his solitude. Bridget was the only person to ever make him want to break out of those safe old habits. Fear welled in him. He liked having his safety net and this relationship with Bridget didn’t have one. He was too afraid of taking that first step. He was happy in his research, his well-known routines that grounded him. If he spoke his feelings out loud, it would lead to change. And change had consequences.
“What we have is so very special to me. The connection we had as kids has grown to something richer and more beautiful. I will always cherish this time we’ve had together,” she said.
“So will I.”
Cupping the back of her head, he gathered her up in a tight embrace, his hand tangled in her hair. Shifting so she was flat against him, he shut his eyes, the rush of sensation so intense that he had to grit his tee
th against it. He tightened his hold on her, his heart hammering, his breathing constricted. She moved, sending a shock wave of heat through him, the feel of her almost too much to handle in the aftermath of his discovery that he’d loved her for so long.
His fingers snagging in her hair, he tucked his head against hers, forcing himself to remain immobile. Every muscle in his body demanded that he move, and his nerve endings felt as if they were stripped raw, but he tried to ignore the feelings pounding through him. She had no idea what she was doing to him, but he was all too aware of what was happening.
It took him a while, but he finally got himself under control, and he could finally breathe without it nearly killing him. Releasing a shaky sigh, he adjusted his hold on her, drawing her deeper into his embrace, his lungs constricting. The thought that he hurt her made his heart clench hard in his chest.
He tightened his arms around her and simply held her, the fullness in his chest expanding. She was so damned beautiful to him. And vulnerable. She had needed him desperately when she’d showed up in Cambridge and once again, he’d been there for her. It gave him a jolt to realize that he’d been so glad it had been him.
Unable to control the urge, he widened his stance a little, pressing her against his hard ridge of flesh beneath the fly of his dress pants, turning his face against her neck and clenching his teeth.
She went still in his arms; then she made a low, desperate sound and twisted her head, her mouth suddenly hot and urgent against his. The bolt of pure raw sensation knocked the wind right out of him. Matt shuddered, and he widened his mouth against hers, feeding on the desperation that poured back and forth between them. She made another wild sound and clutched at him, the movement welding their bodies together like two halves of a whole, and he nearly lost it right then. But the taste of tears cut through his senses, and he dragged his mouth away from hers, his heart pounding like a locomotive in his chest.
He looked down into her face, her eyes luminous and full of emotion. And it was dangerous. There was too much familiarity between them, too much need. He swiped his thumbs underneath her eyes, fighting for every breath.
Inhaling jaggedly, he nestled her head closer, turning his face against her head. “It’s okay,” he whispered against her hair.
She clutched him tighter, as if she were trying to climb right inside him. There was so much desperation in that one small sound, so much fire; it was like a knife in his chest. Her arms locked around him, she choked out his name; then she moved against him, silently pleading with him, pleading with her body—and any connection he had with reason shattered into a thousand pieces.
The feel of her heat against him was too much, and he turned his head against hers. He caught her around the hips, bringing her roughly against him. He needed this—the heat of her, the weight of her. Her. He needed her.
Bridget made another low sound, and then she inhaled raggedly and pulled herself up against his arousal, her voice breaking on a low sob of relief. “Please, Matt.” She moved against him again, and Matt tightened his hold even more, unable to stop as he involuntarily responded. Body to body, heat to heat, and suddenly there was no turning back.
Shifting her head, he covered her mouth in a hot, deep kiss, and she opened to him, her mouth moving against his with an urgent hunger. It was too much—and not nearly enough, and Matt caught her behind the knee, dragging her leg around his hip. With one twisting motion, his hard heat was flush against hers. Grasping her buttocks, he thrust against her as she moved with him, riding him, riding the hard thick ridge jammed against her. But that wasn’t enough, either. Matt nearly went ballistic, certain he would explode if he didn’t get inside her.
Making incoherent sounds against his mouth, Bridget twisted free, and a violent shudder coursed through Matt when he felt her hands fumble with the button and zipper of his pants. The instant she touched his hard throbbing flesh, he groaned out her name and let go of her, desperate to be rid of his clothes.
Bridget unfastened, yanked and pulled until he was naked. The instant he felt her hand close around him, he lost it completely. Jerking her hand away, he backed her onto the chaise. He clenched his eyes shut and thrust into her, unable to hold back one second longer. The feel of her, tight and wet, closing around him drove the air right out of him, the sensation so intense he couldn’t move.
Bridget sobbed out his name and locked her legs around him, her movements urging him on. Matt could only feel the white-hot desire rolling over him. Angling his arm across her back, he drove into her again and again, pressure building and building. A low guttural sound was torn from him and his release came in a blinding rush that went on and on, so powerful he felt as if he were being turned inside out. He wanted to let it take him under, but he forced himself to keep moving in her, knowing she was on the very edge. She cried out and clutched at his back, then went rigid in his arms, and she finally convulsed around him, the gripping spasms wringing him dry.
His heart hammering, his breathing so labored he felt almost dizzy, he weakly rested his head against hers, his whole body quivering. He felt as if he had been wrenched in two.
He didn’t know how long he lay there, with her trembling in his arms, not an ounce of strength left in him.
It wasn’t until she shifted his hold and tucked his face against hers that he realized her cheek was wet with tears. Hauling in an unstable breath, he turned his head and kissed her on the neck, a feeling of overwhelming protectiveness rising up in his chest. There was no way he could let her go. Not yet. He waited a moment for the knot of emotion to ease, and then he smoothed his hand up her arm to her shoulder.
He levered himself off her and silently they dressed. Neither of them uttered a word on the way back to his house. And when they got there, he opened the passenger door and she looked up at him. He reached out his hand, so seriously needing to be alone and so desperately wanting to bask in Bridget. His love for her won out, thinking now that their time together was finite. He knew it. She knew it.
Just inside his front door, she wrapped her arms around him. Hit with a rush of emotion, Matt nestled her tighter and closed his eyes, slipping his hand across the exposed skin of her back.
Struggling with a thickness in his chest, he began stroking her back, feelings he didn’t want to acknowledge crowding in on him. Sliding his hand higher, he rubbed the back of her neck, and he felt her swallow, then swallow again, and he realized she was struggling with some very raw emotions as well. His own throat closed up a little.
Feeling a little raw himself, he cupped his hand along her jaw, and then applied pressure with his thumb to get her to lift her head. Inhaling unevenly, he covered her mouth with a soft, searching kiss, trying to give her some consolation. He knew by how still she went that she was not expecting that, and Matt experienced a flicker of anger. It was almost as if she expected him to push her away and storm off to be alone.
Determined to show her that tonight was special to him, he tightened his hold on her jaw, his tone commanding as he whispered against her mouth. “Open up for me.”
Her breath caught, but she yielded to the pressure of his thumb, and Matt adjusted the alignment of his mouth against hers, deepening the kiss with slow, lazy thoroughness. Working his mouth softly, slowly against hers, he drank from her, probing the moist recesses, savoring the taste of her. Her breath caught again, then she finally responded, and he grasped the back of her head, her hair tangling like silk around his fingers. His chest tightening, he massaged the small of her back, and he felt her muscles go slack, as if he had released the rigid tension inside her.
Slipping her arm around him, she mimicked his caress, and Matt let his breath go in a rush, an electrifying weakness radiating through his lower body. She did it again, and he tightened his hold on her hair, feeling himself grow hard.
Dragging his mouth away from her, he gathered her in his arms and marched to the stairs, up to his bedroom.
Laying her down on the bed, he stripped off his clothes and
removed hers. Settling her under the covers, he climbed in beside her and brought her back into his arms.
He kissed her ear, tracing the shape with the tip of his tongue, and then trailed his mouth down her neck. Her breathing grew ragged and uneven, and he found her beaded nipple and rubbed his thumb over the taut peak.
She cried out, and she caught his hand, pressing it hard against her breast, until Matt could feel the frantic beat of her pulse beneath his palm. His own breathing suddenly ragged, he caught her around the hips and rolled, drawing her under him. Shifting his weight on his elbows, he then took her face between his hands, holding her head as he kissed her with a thoroughness that made his own heart stammer. Damn, he wanted her.
He flexed his hips, and she rose up to meet him, tightened her muscles around him, and his mind clouded with desire. He would likely go to his grave still wanting her.
MOONLIGHT CAST long, faint shadows through the window, and off in the distance, a lone siren blared.
Bridget glanced up at the man asleep beside her, a disquieting feeling settling low in her stomach. She was lying with her head on his shoulder and her arm around his chest, the rhythm of his breathing indicating a very deep and heavy sleep.The feelings that rushed through her disturbed her. She tightened her arm around him to keep him close, and then stared at the telescope sitting in front of his balcony.
She stared at it knowing that, although she was very fond of Matt, their relationship wasn’t going to work. He wanted to observe the world at a distance. Stare at it until it made sense, but Bridget wanted to be immersed in the world, a part of it, a player. She wanted to be recognized and praised for her accomplishments. She wanted awards and money and fame.
