by Anya Breton
The trip to the gallery was short and quiet. A woman in a mock turtleneck greeted them at the door to the converted mill building. Though it was air-conditioned in the showroom, outside it was still a decent eighty degrees. Gemma didn’t understand the woman’s fashion choice. But she was in no position to question it considering her own shirt was held on only by ribbons she’d had to discreetly retie several times since leaving the house.
The gallery owner let them browse the different spaces in peace. With prints, paintings and sculptures on display, Aston had many options. He stood within the door, scanning the space as if he was trying to get his bearings.
“See anything you like?” he asked once she glanced around the room.
Gemma had spotted something that caught her fancy. She couldn’t be certain from this distance, but the piece appeared to be an intricate landscape hidden within a collection of leather-bound books.
“I’ll have to get a better look.” Rather than start for the books, Gemma began a circuit around the space.
Her first stop was a set of four beautiful faces done in a combination of markers and acrylic paint. It had a nouveau watercolor feel she’d discovered in Paris. Likewise, the papercraft sculptures of bison and intricately folded origami faces weren’t new art forms but were nonetheless decent for a small New Hampshire gallery. Next she visited an interesting abstract piece constructed of corrugated cardboard. This was an offshoot of papercraft but something Gemma had yet to see. She directed Aston to make a note of it for later reference.
Gemma led her companion to a pedestal holding a sculpture of an owl about to take flight. The object had been fashioned solely using woodcuttings. The artist’s statement claimed he’d used only recycled pieces in the creation. With the charity involved, she suggested Aston seriously consider the piece.
A true watercolor portrait of a fashion model’s fierce stare was next. Though the earth tones gave the painting a unique flair, it wasn’t anything that caught Gemma’s fancy. She did enjoy an environmentalist’s homage to Magritte—a silhouette of a man created from a lush mountain scene. Aston made the note without her needing to speak the words.
Another entry that required little assistance on her part was a photograph of a floral X-Ray. They agreed the print would be a good addition to the auction. Especially if they could get it framed and mounted prior.
At last they arrived at the books she’d seen from the door. Five hardcover novels stacked atop each other had been partially hollowed and carved into a cave shape from the right corner inward. The artist had cut a rough hole in the topmost book. Pale white light illuminated the interior courtesy of a hidden LED.
Gemma crouched for a closer look inside, marveling at the artist’s attention to detail. Stratification had been chiseled into the pages, resembling actual stone. A small hovel had been formed within the inner left corner. She could almost see the tiny native peoples of centuries ago fashioning clay pots outside one of the hovel’s three doors.
“This one,” she heard herself speak with soft reverence.
Aston nodded and then sought out the gallery owner for negotiation. Gemma moved to the door rather than hover around the book sculpture she wanted to take home. With no job, no prospects and no idea where she’d live, she could hardly buy art.
Her companion returned from his discussion with a set of folded pages. Aston gestured for her to go ahead of him.
“I asked her to hold the pieces we expressed an interest in until we finish in Portsmouth tomorrow,” he quietly explained at the SUV’s passenger door.
“That’s a good idea,” she murmured without looking at him.
It was a good idea. But that book sculpture…there’d been no question about it. Gemma felt anxious leaving it. The mood was silly because until a few minutes before, she hadn’t known the piece existed.
Aston’s radio played the local rock station on the ride back to the house. Neither spoke over the music. He waited until he’d parked in his usual spot to thank her for accompanying him. He was in the process of telling her what time they’d leave for Portsmouth in the morning when his phone rang.
He checked the screen.
“It’s my brother,” Aston explained as he started for the main house. “We’ll leave for Portsmouth tomorrow at eleven.” Heedless to her lingering, Aston brought the phone to his ear.
She called on Air magic to sharpen the sounds as he stepped through the door. The building and distance meant the only noises that filtered back were Aston’s words. But they were all she needed.
“Shouldn’t have bought a foreign super car,” the elder sibling was saying. “You’ll have to take it to Boston to get it fixed. Where are you? I’ll come get you.” There was a pause, no doubt while Drew gave the answer, and then Aston replied, “I’ll be there in a half hour.”
Gemma ducked into the house to avoid being caught. She rushed up the stairs, a giddy laugh bubbling out of her. Drew hadn’t meant to neglect her. He would have been back sooner if he hadn’t had car trouble.
But he’d be back for another early morning visit. That meant a long bath was in order.
Chapter Eight
Aston stretched out on his brother’s bed, nude beneath the sheets. It was dark, exactly the way Gemma liked it. Would she come?
Drew hadn’t invited her to visit him today. And Aston couldn’t be certain she’d overheard his mock call from his brother. What if she was outside when he returned? She might have seen the lack of Drew in his SUV. Then she wouldn’t come.
He stretched as a powerful yawn took hold. Sleep, he needed sleep. But he’d go without if it meant another visit from Gemma.
A little Air magic enhanced his hearing. And so he heard the back door creaking open. Soft footsteps padded over the wooden corridor. He held his breath as they reached the stairs. Aston didn’t let himself believe it was Gemma until the knob twisted on Drew’s door. He remained quiet while she tiptoed into the room and to the foot of the bed.
“Are you awake?” Her whisper finally cut through the darkness.
“Yes,” he responded in kind.
“Is it okay that I’m here?”
If he were a good man, he’d tell her to leave. He’d flip on the light and let her see who awaited her.
Aston wasn’t a good man.
He stifled his conscience’s nagging little voice to reply, “It is if I can go slow this time.”
There was an intake of air, perhaps a nervous sound or a laugh. “Okay.”
“What are you wearing?”
“What I was wearing earlier.”
Aston let out a low groan before he could stop the noise. Drew wouldn’t know what Gemma had been wearing earlier. “Come here.”
He reached for her long before she neared. She let him position her, facing away at the side of the bed. Aston slipped his fingers up the taut fabric, noting each laced ribbon he’d imagined unfastening countless times. By touch alone, he found the bow holding the garment together. A tug had it undone, and then he performed the ritual he’d contemplated all night. With the vast length of ribbon and two-dozen hooks to loosen, it took him a half-minute to unfasten her top. He leisurely lifted the fabric over her head, enjoying the goose bumps revealed with each inch of her smooth flesh.
Next, Aston unbuckled her complicated leather belt—the only thing keeping her skirt fixed to her torso. The thin fabric flopped to the ground.
“Don’t you have any clothes that fit?” Too late, he realized he shouldn’t have asked the question. There was a real danger of it being an insult.
But she didn’t huff, puff or burst into tears. Instead, Gemma calmly replied, “The airline lost my luggage.”
“In that case, we’ll get you clothes this weekend,” he said, clamping his mouth shut before he mentioned Portsmouth.
“There’s no need. They said my luggage would arrive within seven days.”
He curled his palms lightly around her waist. His fingers skimmed her delightful little belly. She shifte
d away—an attempt, he thought, to hide her fleshy protrusion. Aston tightened his grip so he could lift her onto the bed beside him.
And then he gave in to the urge that had been plaguing him for days. He plunged to her bellybutton to drop nibbles along the soft pooch. Again she tried to slide out of his grip. Aston settled his palm to the V of her legs to anchor her where he wanted her. Dry, sun-kissed, lilac-scented panties touched his skin.
Dry wasn’t a good sign. He swept over her pussy with feathery touches that soon made her breath catch. Slick heat quickly coated his skin. That’s when he renewed his assault on her perfect little belly.
Gemma couldn’t decide if she ought to be bothered by his attention to her flab or aroused. He seemed to enjoy toying with the extra bit of flesh. And the delicious strokes over her pussy made it difficult to complain.
Not whimpering for him to hurry took a good deal of self-control. Gemma formed a plan. She’d take matters into her own hands.
It didn’t take long to work out that her lover was nude beneath the crisp twelve-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. She found his crowning glory—an erection taut and ready for action.
Gemma rubbed her thumb over the tip, smearing the drop of pre-cum around the smooth organ. His lips faltered in mid-smooch. Then he continued. Clearly he required a more serious distraction.
She’d have liked to nibble on something fleshy of his but his position over her precluded her wish. Gemma urged him to change that by running her foot up the inside of his leg while her hand worked over his lengthening erection. Though the sound he made was slightly louder than a sigh, Gemma didn’t get an actual moan from him until she ran her nails through his hair.
“You’re trying to distract me from your beautiful belly,” he accused in between flicking his tongue around her bellybutton.
Gemma let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t think those three words have any right being strung together in the same sentence.”
He gave her stomach a light squeeze. “I like it.”
Her lover paused, as if daring her to complain, and then he kissed the skin above the curls at the junction of her legs. Desire arrowed down to her already hopelessly throbbing pussy. He was still too far from where she wanted him. Gemma counted to twenty, backward, drawing in steadying breaths.
And then she took control.
She threw her thigh over his hip, shoving until he was on his back. One quick jerk peeled the sheet back. Gemma wasted no time straddling his nude hips. He gripped her waist half a second before she could position him where she needed him.
“It was my turn to do it the way I like,” he reminded her in a startlingly low pitch.
Gemma pursed her lips into a pout he wouldn’t see in the darkness. The attention he’d paid to her flab hadn’t been arousing. But he was right, he’d said she was allowed to stay as long as they did it slow this time. She’d stolen the moment.
“We will do it your way, Gemma. This time. But you will owe me.” He was silent a beat before asking, “Do you want to owe me?”
Something in his breathy delivery made her wonder what he was really asking. Whatever it was, she knew how to answer. “Okay, I’ll owe you.”
He drew her forward with light pressure on her shoulders. His lips quickly captured hers, tongue flicking through as he smoothed down her arms to her sides. Gemma was very aware of him sliding her panties over her ass. She let him tilt her body to the left, resting against his chest rather than her legs so he could tug the scrap of satin over her toes.
And then she was on her back on the cushioned mattress with him bearing down on her. His fingers danced along her inner thigh, teasing her damp folds as he made his way up her abdomen to her breast. She arched at the wash of heat his touch brought.
He adjusted his pose over her, guiding his rigid cock into place with his free hand. A single, practiced thrust had him breaching her quivering entrance. Gemma exhaled as the sensation shivered across her body like a crackling current.
Tonight he didn’t try to hide her airy moans. Instead, he kissed her cheeks with reverence that squeezed her heart. His heady draws on her neck made her forget she wasn’t a beauty queen. And his nibbles at her ear were punctuated by encouraging groans. But it was the occasional deep swirls of his tongue through her mouth that she enjoyed best. He tasted of a decadence she’d never allowed herself.
Soon their pelvises slammed in time with the rapid beat they silently agreed upon. His devouring kisses were those of a starved man, making it easy to believe he wanted no other but her. She clung tightly to his slick back, willing her body to prolong what already threatened to consume her. But each urgent slide brought climax ever closer no matter how hard she tried to keep it at bay.
This time Gemma held back her tears until after she splintered into a hundred golden pieces. He rolled away with a blustery sigh and then a small laugh. Panting and sated, Gemma struggled to stay alert. She wanted to know when he left the room tonight.
But two late nights piggybacked on two long days contributed to exhaustion that claimed her within minutes.
* * * * *
How long could Aston keep up the subterfuge? Two nights, he’d sneaked out of his brother’s room without being caught. Two mornings, he’d wished he hadn’t had to leave Gemma.
The longer it went on, the worse it would be when the truth came out. Or would it? Would she receive the news better after he earned her trust in bed? A few more days…
Now he was reasoning away his future sins against her. That should concern him more than it did.
Aston tugged anxiously at his scalp. He wanted to come clean, to absolve himself. But he didn’t want to lose her. He needed time to warm her to the idea of him.
And yet…what could come of it? He was slated to become regional high priest.
The position came with clear expectations. He’d be expected to extend his brood within the new covens he gained upon his ascension. Key families would demand Aston breed with one of their females. Until recently that had been an abstract idea. Now the only face he pictured when contemplating sex was Gemma’s.
How could the housekeeper’s daughter turn everything upside down with so little effort?
* * * * *
Gemma scraped her brush through her hair so roughly that it ripped several strands from her scalp. Though she’d had another lovely visit to Drew’s bedroom, she wasn’t in the best of moods.
He’d done it again. He’d sneaked out of the room before she woke. And Drew had managed to disappear from the property as well.
Why? Clearly he was avoiding her. Was her station to blame? Or was it because of the fiancée?
Gemma wanted answers. But she feared that asking the questions would frustrate him. She didn’t want to do anything that could end their budding relationship before it became unbreakable.
She considered phoning the main house to tell Aston she wasn’t feeling well. Spending the day in Portsmouth with him while she worried over Drew’s feelings would be torturous. Would Aston give her Drew’s mobile phone number if she asked?
No doubt her mother had it. But Drew was an off-limits topic of discussion. Worse, her mother would know she was up to something.
Time slipped away from her while she peered, unseeing, in the bureau mirror. Someone rapped against the wooden door downstairs. She flinched at the sudden noise. Gemma glanced at the bedside clock, startled to find it was five past eleven. She snatched up her purse from the bed and then rushed to greet the visitor.
Aston stood on the side porch clad in another sports jacket, this one charcoal in color, atop a black V-neck T-shirt nearly the match for the one he’d worn yesterday afternoon. He blocked the door as he skimmed down her outfit.
Until then he’d been smooth about his perusals of her.
“The airline lost my luggage.” She sheepishly explained why she wore the orange georgette dress for the third time.
“We’ll visit the outlet shops in Kittery.” Aston didn’t wait for an ag
reement before turning toward the driveway.
“That’s not necessary,” she called after him as she quickly locked the door. “They said my luggage would arrive within the week.”
“We’ll have plenty of time,” was his strange response.
Then there would be time to argue later. She followed him to the SUV, surprised when he personally unlocked the passenger door for her.
Once settled in his seat beside her, Aston began a new conversation. “Do you prefer your coffee at Starbucks or Dunkin’ Donuts? Or perhaps somewhere else?”
She kept her attention on the windshield as he started the engine. It remained there while Aston backed into the turnaround. “I don’t really do coffee… Wherever you’d prefer is fine.”
“Starbucks has tea.”
A glance at him showed his brows were set in a questioning lift. He legitimately wanted to know where she preferred to buy morning beverages?
“I could go for a cruller,” she admitted rather than argue she didn’t like any breakfast drinks.
“Dunkin’ Donuts it is. A cruller sounds like a good idea. I’m hungry. Worked up a bit of an appetite last night.”
Her face and neck flared hot crimson at how she’d worked up her appetite. She kept her eyes on the road rather than give him a reason to gaze at her.
Aston was quiet on the drive to the nearby donut shop. In the drive-thru, he ordered a half-dozen crullers—far more than they needed—one large coffee and a large soda for Gemma. They each ate a cruller on the trip to the interstate.
Gemma’s high hopes for an uncomfortably silent trip to Portsmouth lasted until he merged onto the highway and asked, “So what did you do at school when you weren’t studying?”
It was going to be a long, long day.
“I slept.”
Aston maintained his neutral expression despite her unhelpful answer. Gemma’s pose—stuffed into the corner—screamed discomfort. As did the way she refused to look at him. The dominant male in him wanted to command her to sit up straight, direct her attention to his face and give him a real answer instead of her half-assed retort. He, of course, didn’t listen to the dominant male.
