by Julie Kenner
Of course, her inhibitions had slipped dramatically away over the last few days, so what she said now about her father was hardly telling. He smiled a little, thinking about their wild nights—and days—when they were away from the canvas. Her father was hardly the focus of their conversations. For that matter, conversation was hardly a priority lately.
But even before he’d started pushing aside her inhibitions so that he could get at her soul, he’d been astounded by the strength he’d found in her. A strength that made her stand up to her father, even while continuing to love him deeply.
He finished washing his brushes and then headed out of the classroom to find Delilah in the reading room.
“She’s not here,” Carrie said. “I thought she was with you.”
“With me?”
“You’re the only one around her being a bad influence, Mr. Front Page of the Tabloids.”
Nick spread his arms, indicating the center. “I don’t see any paparazzi around right now, Carrie. You want to explain what your problem with me is?”
Carrie crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down, her dark eyes flashing. “She’s been acting differently ever since she’s started modeling for you.”
“Different how?”
“Wilder. Party girlish. It’s almost like she’s a different person.”
“Maybe you’re just jealous,” he said coolly. “This is what she wanted, right? To be a model? Do you have what you’ve always wanted, Carrie?”
When she didn’t answer, he pressed the point. “Don’t deny Delilah her happiness just because you haven’t found yours.” He turned and walked out, clearly the victor in their minor skirmish, but the taste of success was bitter, not sweet.
He checked the rest of the facility, but couldn’t find her. Finally, he went back to the reading center. To his relief, Carrie wasn’t there. He found the director and asked if he knew where Delilah was.
“Hasn’t been in for two solid days now,” the older man said, his words a surprise considering Nick had walked to the center each day with Delilah by his side. “I assumed she was sick.”
Nick frowned, but said nothing. He supposed that sick was one way to put it.
He headed out of the facility and scoped out the street. Not much nearby. Some shops. A few office buildings. A deli. And a pub.
He decided on the pub, although when he first stepped inside he had his doubts. Music blared from a jukebox, and combined with the sound of voices and pool balls clicking, the cacophony was so much Nick could hardly hear himself think.
He found her there, nursing a pint at a back booth, her skirt hiked up and her foot on the booth beside her. Her position revealed all, and gave the burly cretin in denim and a flannel shirt sitting next to her plenty to stare at. The view was so enticing, in fact, that the man was almost drooling.
“Take a hike,” Nick said, sliding in on the other side of Delilah.
“Screw you,” Paul Bunyan said, getting up and demonstrating to everyone in the bar that he fully fit the nickname that Nick had just saddled him with.
“I said leave,” Nick said, and for the first time in centuries, he called upon his heritage to make his will be done. The man stared, then blinked, then turned and walked out the door.
Nick pushed the man from his mind, turning instead to Delilah. “Are you okay?”
“I was,” she said, “until you scared my date off.”
“Date?” he repeated. “You were going to go out with that guy?”
Her mouth curved up. “Well, maybe it’s too much to say I was going to go out with him. But I wouldn’t have minded letting him take me to the back. You know what I mean?”
Nick had a sick feeling in his stomach that he knew exactly what she meant. He also knew that the only reason those kinds of thoughts were in her head were because of him. He stood up, held out a hand for her. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’re leaving,” he said. “In case you forgot, the only reason we were at the arts center was because of you. We should be back at the loft, working on the portrait.”
“Oh, right.” A slow smile spread over her face, and she drew in a breath, her hands brushing the front of her shirt as she exhaled. “I love the way you touch me when you paint me.”
“I don’t touch you when I paint you,” Nick said, trying to control a frustration that was building in him like wildfire.
“Sure you do. Maybe not with your hands, but you touch me.” She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered. “I think about it all the time. I was sitting here, actually, thinking about you painting me when that guy came in. Since I didn’t have you …” She trailed off with a shrug.
“You want me, but you’ll settle.”
“Never,” she said. “But a girl does have urges.” She took his hand, pressed it between her thighs, then sucked in a long, shuddering breath. Despite himself, Nick hardened and had to fight not to pull her close and sink deep into her right there.
“Do you think anyone’s watching?” she whispered, voicing his thoughts even as she reached down, pulling the crotch of her panties aside so his finger could slip deep inside. “Do you think they can tell what we’re up to?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“I hope they can,” she whispered.
“Delilah…”
She pulled away, and Nick wasn’t sure if he was furious or relieved. Then she slid out of the booth. “Follow me.”
He told himself he only followed to make sure she stayed out of trouble, but of course that wasn’t the case. She went into the men’s room, and after a second, he followed. He found her leaning against the sinks, her blouse unbuttoned.
He went to her because he wanted her. As plain and simple as that. But there was more to it, of course. He’d had a hand in this, erasing her inhibitions, opening the way for him to steal her soul. In a way this new Delilah was his creation, and while part of him desperately wanted to see the sweet girl he’d first brought home to his loft, he had to admit that another part of him wanted nothing less than the vixen in his arms.
“What are you waiting for?” she demanded, and since he didn’t know the answer to that question, he reached under her skirt and ripped off her panties. As he did, she threw her head back and moaned with pleasure, the sound flowing through him like a hot pulse in his veins.
A rattle sounded behind him, and he looked up, barely able to concentrate on anything other than the woman in front of him. In the mirror, he saw the reflection of a kid, twentysomething, looking both scared and turned on. “Get the hell out of here,” Nick said. “And lock the door.”
The kid swallowed and nodded, then ran out. Delilah laughed. “Silly Nicky, he could have stayed and watched.”
“No,” Nick said, “he couldn’t.”
“Whatever you say,” she said with a smile. “Until you finish that portrait, you’re in charge of me, right?”
Nick wasn’t at all sure about that. Certainly, he was losing control right then, his only thought a desperate need to be inside this woman. A woman he wanted more than any he’d known in all his centuries. Almost desperately, he pushed her skirt up around her waist, then lifted her so that her rear was pressed against the sink. She was already wet, and he slid into her with one hard thrust. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and she clung tight, her hips working in tandem with his as they moved in and out, their rhythm matching the low thrum of the bass reverb from the nearby jukebox until they both finally exploded, clinging together in a haze of heat and passion.
The banging at the bathroom door startled them apart. “Hey! You wanna let someone else get in there?”
He glanced toward the door, then back at Delilah. Their eyes met, and he grinned. “Come on,” he said, helping her down. “Let’s go give the folks out there something to talk about.”
They got a few interested glances as they left the men’s room, then headed straight for the street.
“Admit it,
” Delilah said, sliding her arm through his. “You liked that.”
“I did,” he said. “Sinking deep into a willing woman—what’s not to like?”
“I’m just keeping score,” she said.
He stopped walking, pulling her back to him. “Score?”
“That’s two. Things that you like, I mean.”
“And the first?”
“The arts center, of course. I told you that you’d like it, and you do.”
He started walking again. “You’re right. I do. And I thought you liked helping at the literacy center.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I got bored.”
“Mmm.” He looked sideways at her. “I hope you’re not bored modeling for me.”
“Never,” she said, aiming a genuine smile at him.
He matched her smile. “Glad it’s not torture.”
“Maybe it is,” she said, stopping on the street and hooking her arms around his neck. She pulled up on her toes and brushed her lips over his. “Maybe I like torture.”
“Do you now?” He cupped her rear in his hands and pressed her close, his body reacting immediately from the contact.
“Take me home, Nick. Take me home and torture me some more.”
They hurried the last two blocks, stopping only at the corner deli to grab a couple of sandwiches and some sodas.
“Sixteen-fifty,” the clerk said.
“My treat,” Delilah said to Nick. “I’ve got this incredibly lucrative modeling job,” she told the clerk. “I should splurge on sex toys and drugs, but sandwiches are more my speed.”
“Oh,” he said, looking so baffled Nick almost laughed. “Right.” He took the twenty Delilah handed her, then returned four dollars and a couple of quarters. She took the sacks, and they headed back onto the street.
“He gave you the wrong change,” Nick said.
“I know. A whole buck. It’ll hardly break them. They charge too much for these sandwiches anyway.”
She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, then nodded toward the door. “Come on. I’ll race you up.”
Late-afternoon sun streamed through the windows as they burst into the loft at the same time. Beams of golden sunlight filled the otherwise dim room, giving it a dark beauty that Nick itched to paint.
“Fairy dust,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“You should dust more,” she said, raising an eyebrow and obviously stifling a laugh. She waved a hand through a ray of sunlight, setting a flurry of dust particles dancing.
“I gave the maid the month off,” he said. “She’s the jealous type.”
“Is she?” She understood the invitation for what it was, stepping into his arms and opening her mouth to his. Her kiss was raw and eager, and he felt himself harden from the soft firmness of her lips against his. She slid her hand down between them, cupping his cock and applying just enough pressure to drive him just a little bit crazy. “From what I’ve read in the tabloids, your maid’s probably jealous of all of New York City.”
“What can I say? I like variety.”
“And yet I haven’t seen even a hint of another woman in all the time I’ve been here. Could it be the tabloids lie? Or are you keeping the other women hidden?”
“Keep me satisfied, and I won’t need any other women,” he said. His tone was teasing. But as he spoke the words, he realized that he meant them. The realization chilled him, and he shook it off, willing himself to focus on the room, the light, and his model.
“The window,” he said. “Let’s get you in front of the window while the light’s still good.”
She hesitated for a moment, then went to stand there. She put her hand on the glass, chin up in the pose she’d held like a pro for days now. One beat, another. Then another. Time started to slip away as Nick lost himself in lines and colors. And, of course, in the bits of Delilah that he’d pulled free to illuminate his canvas.
Not too much—not yet. He’d had to start slowly, getting to know the woman he was capturing in the canvas. And over the last few days he’d done just that. Getting to know her even as, little by little, he started to fall for her.
It was an unwelcome realization, but one he couldn’t deny. All he could do, in fact, was ignore it and lose himself in the miracle of creation. His art was all that mattered. This masterpiece that was coming to life in front of him. That was his only focus, his only concern.
He’d do well to remember that.
“I was thinking,” she said, pulling him from his thoughts. “I was thinking that maybe we should do something just a little bit different.”
Her voice was low and sultry, flowing over him like warm honey. The sultry tones teased, tugging at his libido and making him as hard as steel. That was saying a lot considering that nothing more than the way his brush traced the lines of her body had made him erect and on edge.
He took a deep breath, making sure that he’d wrested control away from his libido before answering. “What did you have in mind?”
“This,” she said simply, then started to unbutton her blouse. It fell away, revealing her bra that she unhooked, then let slide to the floor. She reached up, her hands flat, her palms rubbing lightly over erect nipples. “You make me horny when you paint me,” she said. “I think it’s because I trust you. I’ve never been this uninhibited before. So the only explanation I have is that it must be you.”
He swallowed, desperate to move away from the canvas and take her in his arms. “Is that good or bad?”
“Very good,” she said with a come-hither smile. “Whatever you’re doing to me, I like it.”
“I’m glad,” Nick said, but without the sincerity in his voice that he would have hoped for. What the hell was wrong with him? She was practically giving him permission to continue chipping away at her soul, stealing bits and pieces until it was all gone. He should be thrilled. Guilt free. Happy and sated with the promise of this woman, wild and uninhibited in his bed.
Instead, he just felt lost.
She moved away from the window, her head tilted to the side as she watched him. “I want more, Nick. I want you.” She took his hand and pulled it toward her, capturing his fingers between her legs. They’d left her panties in the men’s room trash can, and now his fingers found her damp and silky, and damned if his hesitations didn’t evaporate in the face of his near-desperate desire.
He pulled her roughly to him, crushing her mouth under his even as his hands attacked her skirt, ripping open the zipper, then yanking it down over her hips. She squealed in pleasure, urging him to move faster, to do whatever it took to get inside her.
Seconds later, he was, and they bucked together in a wild frenzy, a storm of erotic intentions that filled him as much as his art ever had. She came with him, crying out as her body spasmed and her fingernails tore down his back. He ignored the pain, seeing only the expression of rapture on her face as she found release in his arms.
“I’ve been an idiot,” she murmured later as they lay together on top of the sheets, the gentle breeze from an oscillating fan cooling their overheated bodies. “I thought modeling was the ultimate rebellion against my father.”
“It’s not?”
She shook her head. “Nope. You are.”
He rolled over, propping himself up on his elbow so that he could see her face. “How do you mean?”
She lifted a shoulder, then rolled away so that she was talking to the wall rather than to him. “It’s hard to put into words. But it’s like what I really wanted was to take a risk.” She rolled back, facing him again. “You’re a risk, Nick. A big one. You make me feel wild and decadent, and that’s something I never felt at home. It’s like I go a little crazy when I’m near you. And especially when you paint me. Like I’m losing my footing. Turning into a bit of a bad girl. And I don’t know. Maybe that’s just what I needed.”
“You like the way you’re feeling?” he asked, weighing his words and trying not to entertain the little bit of hope fluttering around his head like a moth
holding the promise of redemption. “What you’re becoming?”
She licked her lips, her expression sultry. She lifted herself up, then climbed up to straddle him. “I love it,” she said, writhing against him. She took his hand, lifted a finger to her mouth, and sucked. Like red-hot sin, fire shot from his finger to his cock. She reached down, stroking and urging him along, then lifted her hips and settled herself on him, moving so slowly that the sensation was pure torture.
She’d turned the tables on him somehow, taking control of a seduction that should have been solely in his hands. Never before had he been so controlled by a woman, but the truth was he didn’t mind at all. He wanted to lose himself, both in her and to her. Most of all, he wanted to lose himself in a fog of passion so thick that he could forget that the woman he was falling for was quickly losing touch with herself, and that his brush was the weapon that would ultimately devour her soul.
“Fuck me,” Lila whispered, not even shocked by the words that were coming out of her mouth. Not even a full week yet with Nick and she’d changed so much. So much more confidant, so much more daring. She felt sexy and alive … and at the same time desperately terrified that she was sliding into a chasm from which she’d never escape. As if all these exotic sensations were masking something else. As if good were hiding evil.
She shook herself, then ran her hands firmly down Nick’s hard chest. That was her father talking and the last thing in the world she needed in bed with her was a head full of her father’s thoughts.
Nick’s hand had moved from her lips to her breast, and now she took it, sliding it down until his finger stroked her swollen clit, sending ripples of pleasure through her body. She arched back, letting the sensations flow through her, building and building until she was so close to the edge that just a feather touch would draw her over.
She held her breath, holding back the inevitable as she pulled herself off him, then leaned over to capture his mouth with a kiss.
