by Jaycee Clark
Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and relaxed, breathed deep the scent of pine that always clung to Taos and now mixed with the stringent smell of turpentine and oil paints.
Slowly, she started to relax her muscles. She’d been tenser than she’d realized. Can’t imagine why. Might have something to do with stress. Or unrelieved stress. Gee, could it be?
No, think nice thoughts. Easy thoughts. This room, the soft play of light across her body, the cool breeze that swished the silk hangings behind her.
Still he muttered, not loud enough that she could hear the words, but enough to know he was muttering. She wondered if he was as frustrated as she was.
Probably.
“You’re doing it again,” he whispered, his voice low and caressing.
“Doing what?” she asked, not opening her eyes.
“You know.”
“Nope. No idea. Haven’t a clue what the hell you’re talking about.”
Again he muttered, but she let herself relax and draw on that inner strength she’d questioned for so long, but knew in some part of her that she’d need soon. She’d need more than she’d ever needed anything before.
She’d been powerful once. Power could never be truly lost.
But she’d let someone strip her of that power.
She’d all but handed it over. Granted, she’d had years of self-doubt from her past to help it along, but she knew as well as anyone that only she could hand over her power. And she had.
She wanted it back, back like she used to have it, flowing through her.
Back so that she could look at someone and read them if she wanted to. Know if they were good or bad. If they were damaged or needed help. If they were healers or searching for healing themselves.
That she wanted back.
She imagined that power buried deep within her. Deep within her soul, locked away and protected. Maybe she hadn’t exactly handed it over, but put it away. Something inside her clicked. Not given away, just hidden. Hiding from the bad people who could be out there. Who might be out there. She didn’t want that. Didn’t want them.
She wanted herself.
She found her.
A low lavender flame, edged in orange. That was hers. That was who she was. Focusing, she reached in and cupped the flame, imagined herself holding that precious gift, and blew slightly on it. As she nursed it, the flame grew, and grew, bursting out sparks so that she could see them fluming up to burst outwards, filling every corner of her soul, every fiber of her being.
The warmth flowed as her energy tingled through her system, renewing her, rejuvenating her sense of confidence. Her sense of self. Her sense of power.
Herself.
Lake gasped and opened her eyes.
“What the hell just happened?” Max asked, standing away from his easel, with a confused look on his face.
She blinked. “Umm…I don’t know. Did I say something?”
His eyebrows rose. “No. No you didn’t say anything, you almost looked like you weren’t even breathing, then you sort of flushed and gasped.” He ran his tongue around his teeth. “Fantasizing about me?”
She only grinned and shook her head.
“No?” He tapped his brush against the side of his thigh. “Really?”
A chuckle worked its way out. “Really. I promise.”
She let it go at that as he went back to work on his painting.
But his aura…
God, before she thought she could feel it, but now?
Chills danced over her skin, flushed away by heat.
Where were her shields? Had she lost them?
Fear edged its way in, but she shoved it aside. This was different. She’d focus and she was focused on him. No wonder he was so clear. He was so clear she could see every color that shimmered and bled together. She could all but feel the waves of passion that swirled through the air only to be tempered with the cooler colors of logic, of reason. So analytical.
He glanced up and met her stare.
In his eyes was no malice. No evil. No anything but heat, passion, promise.
She licked her lips.
“You’re doing that on purpose. Dammit.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him, intent on telling him she wasn’t doing anything other than reading his aura, but what came out was, “I’m scared.”
He frowned. “What? Why? Of what?”
Lake sighed. How to explain this to him? “Never mind. I was just finding my inner strength. Sorry if that screwed your muse.”
He studied her for a long moment, not moving, hardly even breathing. But his aura pulsed and tempted hers, reaching deep inside her to tickle within her belly. She shivered. Finally, one corner of his mouth edged up.
“Fine.” With that, he picked up something that reminded her of paint sets.
Uh-oh.
“Uh…what are you…”
His eyes locked on her, moments ticking by, tension tightening her muscles. What was he thinking?
“You know me. There’s nothing to be scared of.” He still hadn’t moved.
Maybe. Then again, maybe not.
Passion and desire thrummed off him in red and orange waves, purple swirling through them.
“You lost your chance in all this. All you had to do was be good and be still.” He turned and sure enough it was a finger paint set. Finger paint? Next, he slowly poured a goblet of water.
She nibbled her lips, as something heated in her belly and it had nothing to do with her power.
He set the paints and the goblet of water beside her. His eyes narrowed as he unbuttoned the paint-splattered shirt.
She knew he was built because she’d watched him for months, felt his muscles as they’d rippled beneath her fingers last night.
But this?
Her breath caught.
Max might have a few gray hairs, but his body was one any woman between the ages of twelve and eighty-two would want.
He wasn’t a bodybuilder by any means. No. The fact he kept in shape through various sports was clear in his muscular arms, the long torso with a well defined six pack. Trimmed, toned and so damn sexy her mouth watered just looking at him.
The man shouldn’t be in better shape than she was.
Dark hair veed across his chest to trail down to the waist of his paint-speckled, ratty old jeans. She wanted to unbutton that fly and…
“Nuh-uh. Eyes on me,” he said, his voice rough.
“Oh, they are.” She licked her lips. “Believe me.” She raised her gaze to his.
He gently cupped the side of her face in his hand. “No fear.”
She sighed. “Fear is always waiting.”
“No fear here, not between us.” His thumb brushed back and forth between her chin and ear. “You want this.”
How did he do that? “You can read me way too easily.”
She ran her hand over his chest, watching the way her light-skinned hand contrasted against his tanned muscles.
His dark chuckle caressed her. “I take it you like?”
She shifted and tucked her legs up under her, wrapping the useless gold gossamer around her. Might as well have been mosquito net. “How come you get to stay dressed and I don’t?”
“It’s better this way.” His wicked grin tugged at her insides.
“Uh-huh.”
Max sat beside her and dipped a finger in the goblet of water. She watched him. She couldn’t not watch him.
That one-sided smile pulled at her gut. He glanced down and twirled the wet digit in dark purple paint.
Purple?
She leaned back as he moved towards her. “What are you doing?” She hadn’t meant to whisper, but she did.
“Painting,” he whispered back, coming even closer to kiss the tip of her nose. “Now close your eyes.”
Instead she cocked an eyebrow at him.
“I’ve lots of scarves if you don’t close them,” he whispered, kissing her softly, then more insistently.
He moved to her neck.
“Scarves?” she asked.
“Blindfolds.”
“I don’t like—”
“Trust me,” he whispered against her skin.
She opened her eyes and cupped his face in her hands. His stormy gray eyes held her stare. “I don’t even know how to trust myself,” she confessed.
The cool feel of his finger grazed up her arm. “Yes you do. You just need reminding. Now close your eyes.”
For another minute, she looked into his eyes, searching, wondering and finally, conceding. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes.
“Now relax.” His breath warmed the skin against the side of her neck before the heat of his mouth seared her. “And keep those gorgeous green eyes closed or I’ll have to find my scarves.” He licked her lips. “I think I have a purple one around here somewhere.” He nipped her lips and she met his kiss. “No green. You need a green blindfold. It’ll go great with your coloring.”
He was talking about colors?
Strong fingers on her shoulders gently pushed her until she leaned against the back of the weird lounge-couch—chaise. He said it was a chaise.
Colors and furniture and—Oh God.
Cool wetness trailed from her shoulder, down over her chest to swirl around her breasts.
“What—” she started.
“Shhh.” His mouth slanted insistently over hers, nibbling and nipping until she gave in.
She felt his smile against her mouth as he deepened the kiss. He tasted of coffee and cinnamon. The thick scent of oil paint and turpentine mixed with the spicy flavor that was all Max.
His fingers kept teasing, kept trailing cool wet paint over her skin. When he finally grazed across one nipple, she arched up and wrapped her arm around his neck. She bit his lip, sucking it deep then releasing it as he moved away.
One thigh moved between hers and again he patterned paint across her chest and stomach.
Without thinking, she opened her eyes and met his gray stare. His smile, slightly amused, reminded her of a tiger that just realized his prey had fallen right into his lap.
Reaching behind her, he pulled out a long green strip of silk. He kept his gaze on hers as he leaned close again and pulled out another silk piece, this one purple. “You choose.”
Her stomach flopped. “Oh, no. I promise I’ll keep them…”’
“Nope. You had your chance. No peeking. Keep them closed, I warned. You didn’t listen, my Viking, now you have to pay the price.” His deep voice rubbed across her nerves, teasing.
She blinked and, in that instant, she saw her own flame of power grow, felt the heat of it within her chest.
He breathed deep.
Reaching up, she grabbed the green. “This one.”
Never taking his eyes from hers, he brushed the long strands of her hair behind her ears and then wrapped the silk across her eyes, carefully tying it so that it didn’t pull her hair. His deft fingers were firm, yet gentle.
She hated to feel vulnerable.
“Now just lie back and relax.”
“Right.” But she tried.
This time, when he kissed her, when his chest pressed against hers, her breath stilled. The tickle of his chest hair, the warmth of his muscles. His hands cradled her face, his thumbs caressing the edge of the blindfold. His mouth devoured hers, and all she could think about was Max.
His scent, the other scents of the room assailed her.
The heat of his mouth contrasted with the coolness of his fingers. He kissed down her neck, grazed across her collarbone and twirled his tongue around her breast.
She moaned. She wanted all of his mouth on all of her.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his thigh coming between hers.
“I don’t…I don’t…” The gossamer whispered across her breasts, across her lower belly and she couldn’t think.
“Then I’ll just play until you figure it out.” He chuckled. The material, soft as butterfly wings pulled tighter across her stomach.
His hands were busy everywhere. Trailing over her arms. She could feel the chilled trails of paint, contrasting with the heat of his touch as his fingers, his palms, caressed her. Over her stomach, across her hipbones until she squirmed.
“A soft spot,” he whispered, his voice gruff, as he kissed his way down her body. “I love finding those.”
She wanted to touch him. Reaching out, she settled her hands on his shoulders. Then he stopped. “I have another idea. Give me your hand.”
She frowned.
“It’ll be better, you know it will.” He whispered against her lips.
Lake swallowed.
He placed a piece of silk in her hand. Then gently took her other hand and placed it on the other end of the silk. “Now stretch out.”
She turned her head towards his voice and shifted so that she was more reclining.
“Now put your hands above your head.”
She hesitated.
“Lake. I’m not going to tie you up, for crying out loud. We’ll try that another time. Today, I just want you to hold on to the silk in both hands.”
This she could do. Taking a deep breath, she followed his instructions. In her mind, she could see how she must look, blindfolded, her arms stretched above her head so that her breasts were on display for him. Her breasts? Hell, her whole body.
Max looked down at the work of art before him. And she was that, a fine, beautiful, luscious work of art. He dipped his fingers in the cool water, wiping the extra paint that remained on his jeans.
“You’re beautiful.” He ran his hand from her wrist down her arms, over her paint-patterned chest, over her stomach. “Some day I’m going to paint you just like this.”
He trailed his fingers across her hip bones, noticed how she jerked at the movement. He smiled. The gossamer was an interesting touch. He kept up the movements of his hands, noticing the contrast from his tanned, paint-splattered hand against the paleness of her skin.
The gold material…
Watching her face, he ran his hand up under her leg and lifted it, bending it at the knee. With the other hand, he took the end of the fabric and looped it between her thighs, tucking it up under her.
“What—”
He leaned over and kissed her, kissed her as he wanted to for the rest of his days. She tasted of secrets, of something that was only Lake. Her scent filled his nostrils and all he wanted was her.
But he didn’t want to rush. He didn’t want a quick fuck.
He wanted to cherish. To seduce. To enjoy.
This time, he followed his hands with his mouth. He played with her breasts, twirling, caressing, tweaking until she writhed against him, her breath coming faster. “Stop playing and get on with it.”
“But I like to play.” He kissed his way down her stomach. Instead of moving the thin gossamer out of his way, he kissed her through it. Soaking the fabric with his tongue. He twirled over her navel and moved lower.
The thin strip of hair covering her mound matched the dark red of her hair. He grinned as he eased her thighs apart. Knowing what she wanted, he kissed his way down each leg, running his hands up her inner thighs.
“Dammit, Max. Please…” She shifted on the couch and he smiled.
She spread her legs, giving him a view he wouldn’t forget any time soon. He traced circular patterns over her inner thighs, closer and closer, watching her reactions…
So responsive.
Lake wanted to reach out and touch him. But then he might stop… Instead she pulled on the material between her hands.
She jumped as his tongue, hot and wet, licked the inside of her thigh. Please…
Then his fingers circled higher and higher until finally, they touched her. She jerked at the first caress.
“Somebody is having fun,” his deep voice whispered. The heat of his breath against her sent chills dancing over her skin.
The soft material shifted against her yet again, rubbing across that bundle of nerves and she just wanted…<
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He kissed her, his fingers and his tongue making her forget who the hell she was. She wanted more.
The gossamer pulled tighter across her, and she jerked harder on the silk. His mouth, or her essence, soaked the fabric between her thighs even as it rubbed across that one spot that would… She couldn’t keep her moans locked in any more. His mouth was wicked, his tongue hot, his fingers fast, light, then harder until she couldn’t think, couldn’t reason, all she could do was feel.
Behind her eyelids, colors burst, sparked. Her purple flame teased bigger, hotter, brighter. She wanted that.
Fire licked through her veins, burning in her soul.
His tongue danced up and down her, from side to side through the material.
“Oh God, Max! Max!”
She was going to come and he hadn’t even entered her.
“Let go,” he whispered.
He twirled his tongue gently, lightly over her clit and she was lost.
Fire shot through her, from her center outwards to her finger tips.
She shivered, shook and moaned. And still he kept kissing her, kept licking her, kept playing over her, his fingers slick with her essence. Yet never once had he entered her.
Max kissed her one last time, the taste of her heady on his tongue. He wanted more. He wanted her.
Leaning up, he ripped the gossamer material away and watched as still she trembled. For him. What he could give her.
She’d surrendered. He unbuttoned his fly and shucked his jeans, grabbing the condom from the pocket. He’d hoped, hadn’t really planned this, but God, he’d hoped.
This time, he didn’t seduce her. He fisted his hand on himself as he rolled the latex on.
Kneeling on the lounge between her thighs, he realized he’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted this one.
“We’re not done yet,” he told her, looking down where she still glistened. He moved forward, until he could feel the heat of her against him. He wasn’t going to last long.
“God, I hope not!” she said, looping her arms around him and jerking him down for a kiss. Her mouth was hot, her tongue licking his lips. He knew she could taste herself on him.
He took a deep breath and ripped the blindfold off her. Her green eyes were even brighter than usual. “Not even close to being done,” he promised.
