The Painter's Passion

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  His thoughts now drawn back to Ana, his entire body tightened with a frustrating blend of anger and arousal. He looked at Tash.

  He needed to get out of here.

  He wasn’t going to wait for her to finish her phone call and return to making him think about truths that he’d rather not admit to.

  No. He had a better fucking plan. Actually, he had several better fucking plans, but since Queen Ana decided that his plans were not worthy of the group’s consideration, it looked like he was on his own to pursue them. And that was more than fine with him.

  First thing’s first – he needed to take care of the goddamn erection that he’d had for the past four weeks. Which mean he was heading to the nearest bar to get the largest glass of vodka on the rocks. And then, under the blurry bliss of alcohol, he would find himself a gorgeous blonde to bring home for the night – one that he could fuck and drunkenly convince himself that she was the woman that he wanted.

  Before she’d finished cementing the details with Morgan and her guys, Pierce stalked out of the house not even bothering to look into the room as he passed and slammed the front door behind him.

  Crap.

  She’d wanted to apologize. She’d been overwhelmed and determined to assert herself – to prove, mostly to herself, that she could stand strong against him after this morning when her attraction had almost gotten the best of her. And in that process, she’d been ruder than she’d wanted. She should have had the decency to at least hear out his ideas even if she ultimately came to the same decision.

  And that was why she was currently sitting on her bed, trying to read a Nicholas Sparks novel on her iPad while she waited for him to get home. She’d waited downstairs, walking around aimlessly, until it got to the point that if her brother or Tash came down, she had no good reason to give them for what she was doing; she wasn’t about to admit to either of them that she felt compelled to apologize. They would read more into it.

  They might be right.

  She sighed in frustration. It was a big house, there was a good chance that she wouldn’t hear him come in, but she wasn’t about to sit outside of his room and wait. So, she told herself that she would wait until midnight and then go up and knock on his door; he had to be back by then.

  Focus on your book.

  She tapped to turn the page, of course bringing her to a steamy scene between the two main characters. She clicked off the screen, her head falling back against the headboard as her eyes shut.

  She couldn’t read that right now, not when she was about to go see him; it would put the wrong train of thought into her head.

  She heard a thump coming from the floor above her. It could be Morgan, but she didn’t need any further excuse to move up her timetable and go check for Pierce. Sliding out from underneath the comforter, she quickly glanced at herself in the mirror: her long blonde hair French braided down her back and her flannel, blue-plaid, button-up pajamas comfortably covering everything that she needed to stay covered. She padded over to her door and slipped out, taking the smaller staircase up to the third floor.

  Thankfully, Morgan’s suite was at the opposite end of the hall and house. Even so, she still glanced over her shoulder every other step to make sure he hadn’t come out of his room. He would not be pleased about her confronting Pierce this late at night. Nighttime… darkness… it favored his personality and his preferences.

  She took a deep breath, stopping in front of his door. She raised her hand and knocked before her rational self could think the better of it.

  Silence.

  Her heart was beating out of her chest, her breathing shallow. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe the noise had been Morgan and Pierce still wasn’t home. She gnawed on her lip, glancing down the hallway again.

  This was a bad idea; she should just do this in the morning.

  As soon as she turned to go back down to her room, the door opened and Pierce’s musky scent tainted with the smell of alcohol overwhelmed her senses.

  “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Her Royal Highness in the flesh.” His deep, rich voice slid up her spine.

  She swallowed over the lump in her throat, put her game-face on, and turned her face up to his.

  Her breath caught. Those eyes… so dark; the same color as the black pit of his soul. His hair was disheveled, his shirt half-unbuttoned revealing only a hint of his scar, and his dark eyes brewed dangerously. Warmth spread between her thighs. God, he was so hot – like James Bond, if double-oh-seven had been the bad guy. Especially when he looked at her like that – like he’d take her up against the wall if she’d only ask.

  Focus on your task. Just apologize and get out.

  “Pierce.” She wanted it to come out curtly; instead, her desire betrayed her as his name slipped hoarsely from her lips, sounding more like a plea for pleasure than the beginnings of business. His eyes greedily scanned her body as his name left her lips, arousing every cell that it passed over. “I wanted to speak with you about earlier.”

  He raised his eyebrows at her, lazily leaning against the doorframe; he was definitely intoxicated. Ana bit her lip and his mouth immediately curled as a growl escaped him.

  There was a soft noise from down the hall and both their heads turned towards it immediately.

  “I… umm… do you mind if I come in just for a moment?” Bad idea. Bad, bad, bad idea. She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, but the noise had her worried that Morgan was going to come out any minute and his protectiveness would only add to her problems right now.

  The slow smile that spread across his face should have sent her running.

  Instead, she followed the lion into his den.

  Ana jumped slightly as she heard the door close behind her.

  “Why did you say you are here again?” he rasped into her ear, sending shivers flying up her spine as he stood at her back.

  “I wanted to talk to you about earlier.” Her breath caught as he rounded on her, standing much too far into her personal space. She stepped back, and like this morning, he followed. “I wanted to apologize,” she blurted out.

  Her words took him by surprise. He’d been expecting a lot of things – to be scolded, reprimanded, or insulted in some way – but not an apology. For a second, it dulled his raging desire; the alcohol obscuring every emotion.

  He shouldn’t have let her in here. He should have closed the goddamn door as soon as he realized it was she knocking; he’d thought it was Morgan.

  Instead, he’d opened the door to find his seductive sovereign standing outside of it. Her luscious blonde hair loosely restrained in a braid only served to make his hand itch with the need to undo it and run his fingers through its silky softness; he’d crossed his arms to contain them.

  She’d been wearing fucking flannel for crying out loud and yet, she might as well have been wearing a lace negligee for how hard the sight of her made him. Her pajamas literally covered every inch of her and he wanted nothing more than to rip them off.

  And then she’d bit her fucking lip.

  He hadn’t orgasmed in four weeks and in that second, he swore he could have come, thinking about taking that soft, sweet flesh in between his own teeth. He couldn’t control his growl any more than he could control his desire.

  And then she’d asked to come inside his room.

  Assuming she made it out of here unscathed, Morgan should give him a goddamn medal of sainthood, that’s all he had to say because resisting the man’s sister just might be the death of him.

  “And what might you be apologizing for?” He pressed, stepping towards her again, drawn to her subtle rose scent. She stepped back again in turn, but this time the wall came to her back, leaving her nowhere else to go.

  His black stare pierced through her, seeing the rapid beating of her heart, the tiny pulsing in her neck of the blood pumping furiously through her system, the shallow parting of her full lips to allow breath to escape her.

  She gave a small shake of her head as though forc
ing down her own desire. Raising a determined stare to his, she crossed her arms over her ample chest; the movement pushing her breasts up against the fabric. And even though it was flannel, it wasn’t thick enough to conceal the hardness of her nipples.

  His hand came up to rest on the wall on the side of her head as pain seared through him.

  If he had a soul, he’d gladly trade it to see those beautiful mounds, to take one in his mouth and feast on it for hours.

  “I wanted to apologize for earlier – for not letting you voice your suggestions before shutting you down.” Her big, hazel eyes stared up at him. “So, I’m sorry.”

  He heard her, but he wanted her too much to be able to think about anything else, and he was too drunk to be able to deny it.

  His head bent down, enjoying as she sucked in a breath but didn’t pull back or try to move away.

  “So, does that mean you are going to take my advice?” he said softly, his words caressing her cheeks.

  Her eyes darted to meet the burning black coals of his. “No. Just that it was rude of me to cut you off; it’s still my investigation.”

  His head tipped back and he laughed. Of course, Her Majesty wasn’t going to change her mind; she was just here to ease her conscience. She was here to make sure that he didn’t do something rash.

  “And what if my ideas are good ones?” His right hand came up and he trailed a finger down the side of her cheek. As he traced along the softness of her golden skin, it was like he could see his darkness tainting her light; but he couldn’t stop. Even the smallest touch of her subdued the storm inside of him.

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” she murmured, locked onto his stare.

  He brushed his thumb over her perfect, pink lower lip. What he wouldn’t give to see it suck on him.

  “I’m sure you will,” he replied hoarsely, his brain murky with alcohol and arousal. All he could focus on was that soft, supple skin underneath his finger.

  “So, tell me… what do you want to do, Pierce?” she asked in an attempt to focus him, but instead, the breathlessness of her query only made his dark ache for her ever worse. “What is your idea?”

  To taste every innocent inch of you. But, she was referring to the painting.

  “There is only one thing I want to do right now… one idea in my mind…” he rasped, his eyes burning like hot coals as he bent his head down close to her ear to whisper, “And it is a very, very bad one.”

  A sinful and seductive smile spread onto his face just before he kissed the sweet juncture where her ear met her cheek. Pierce let out a groan as he heard Ana gasp, wondering what her face looked like… wondering if she would gasp like that for everywhere that he kissed her.

  “Pierce…” She trailed off, her voice a poor version of the tone she normally used to scold him with.

  So, he kissed her cheek again just slightly below the last one. This time, her gasp was accompanied with a shiver, the vibration brushing her body against his.

  Her hands raised to his shirt-covered chest – the first step to pushing him away. He groaned, feeling her hands on him; his skin scorched underneath her touch, his scar burning. The touch had his arousal throbbing against the wall of his pants, begging to be next in line for her unintentional seduction.

  She meant to push him away, but when her hands only remained firmly planted on him, Pierce knew that she was feeling the same thing.

  They both wanted what they shouldn’t have.

  “Ana,” he rasped, kissing another sweet spot along her jawline. Her name was a warning… he was going to kiss her. Her name was a plea… either to let him do it or run from him; Pierce didn’t want to admit to what the better choice was right now; he just wanted her.

  “Pierce?” He heard his name, wondering why Ana sounded like she was questioning him; his intoxication made it so that it took a second to realize just where… or whom… the word had come from.

  Ana, however, realized right away, her body freezing immediately against him; the voice was female, but it hadn’t come from her.

  Chapter 5

  Ana’s head pulled back and her hands now pressed hard against his chest, pushing him away.

  Pierce groaned, running a hand through his hair as he began to remember what he’d been doing before Ana had knocked on his door.

  “Pierce… did you forget about—”

  Pierce turned, not missing the look of shock and betrayal that was written on Ana’s face as she stared at the topless woman who emerged from the door to his sitting room.

  “Oh! I didn’t realize we had company,” the blonde continued, a smile spreading over her face. Shit. “Is she going to join us?” Fuck. And then she winked at the both of them. Fucking fuck.

  “No.” His tone was accompanied by a stare that shut the woman up mid-thought.

  He quickly turned back to Ana, whose mouth was still ajar and whose face was bright red.

  “I have to go,” she muttered, not even meeting his gaze as she turned to his door, yanking it open.

  “Fuck,” he growled. “Ana…” but she was already out the door; yelling or chasing after her would only risk more problems.

  His hand speared through his hair painfully.

  It was better this way.

  Tempting himself… and her… would only destroy them both. And that was only if Morgan didn’t have his head for it first.

  “So, looks like it’s just you and me again, darling,” said the woman whose name he couldn’t even remember or if she’d even told it to him. Her shoulders shrugged, moving her generous, naked breasts with them.

  Pierce felt his desire begin to seep from him like water through a sieve and his anger and frustration magnified.

  He couldn’t go through this again.

  Jaw clenched, he strode purposefully over to the other woman, grabbing her chin with his fingers and crushing his mouth to hers. She began to moan and respond immediately.

  And it killed every last ounce of desire that he had.

  So, he kissed her harder, trying to will himself to want her. But the more he fought for it, the more it eluded him. He tore his mouth from hers; he couldn’t do this. He tasted nothing… felt nothing… his entire body was no longer interested.

  “Everything all right there?” she questioned. “Upset because your girlfriend couldn’t stay?”

  His eyes narrowed. “We’re done for the night. Thank you.”

  He didn’t bother to wait for a response, walking around her into the studio to grab the clothes that she’d shed earlier onto the floor. He turned to hand them to her just as she got her bearings.

  “You sure about that?” She gave him her best seductive look, but compared to the fucking flannel, it did nothing for him. “Wow. Ok,” she returned, a look of contempt coming onto her face as she grabbed her clothes from his hand. Pierce walked back into the bedroom letting her get dressed in private.

  Fuck. His head was pounding and as much as he wanted to feel bad about cutting the night short, the only thing eating at him was the look on Ana’s face when she heard this woman’s voice. God, he’d never forget that look.

  He was such an ass.

  He was just standing there, staring at the door and seeing only Ana. The irritated blonde stalked through his room without bothering to say anything to him before she opened the door and slammed it closed behind her; he winced at the noise, hoping it didn’t wake the rest of the house.

  He sunk down to sit on the bed. Normally, he never even touched the bed – anywhere… for anything. Even now, his scar began to tingle, but it was nothing compared to the ache in the rest of his body.

  Why the fuck had he touched her? Why had he even thought it was ok to attempt to kiss her?

  Because he wanted her. Because he was an ass.

  His head was pounding – the result of drinking almost half a bottle of Grey Goose by himself. And his heart was throbbing; it was the first time he’d ever felt anything from that part of his body since… well… since he’d stopped
sleeping in beds.

  Even though he kissed that woman, all he could taste was Ana. The pure sweetness of her skin that he had sampled was like rosewater and honey – subtly seductive just like her flannel and her demeanor. Her desire for him, though, was not so subtle.

  He groaned. He should have been thrilled – no, fucking elated – that she’d touched him, that she wanted him. It was all he’d been trying to accomplish for the past four weeks – to prove to her, and himself, that she wasn’t immune to his charms. Instead, he felt tortured in more ways than one.

  Yes, the barest contact between them – the softest kisses on her cheek, the feel of her hands on his chest – had aroused him beyond all measure. More than that, her half-hearted attempts to dissuade him and push him away, attempts that failed because of her own desire before they even came up against his, made him burn with the knowledge that he could have her; and, in spite of everything that she said to him and the way that she’d behaved towards him, she wanted him to have her. Head in his hands, he looked down at the bulge in the front of his pants, resigning himself to another unfulfilled night. Wanting her was pure torture.

  On the other side of that, his chest throbbed remembering the hurt in those hazel eyes when she’d seen the other woman.

  How could he have fucking forgotten that?

  Probably the same way he seemed to forget everything around her –including the most substantial fact that she was his best friend’s sister; his impressive level of intoxication didn’t help either. Fuck. She’d been so hurt.

  Anger seethed through him. Pierce stalked into the bathroom, placing his hands on either side of the sink. He stared at his reflection – his pure black hair a mess, his strong jawline accentuated by his clenched jaw muscles, and his even blacker eyes that stormed with rage at the man who’d hurt Ana. Unfortunately, he couldn’t punch himself, so he opted for the granite countertop, pounding his right hand into it several times… or more than several… until his knuckles began to bleed.