relationship with David, she never felt the way she did when she was with Ian. Her heart beat ten times more each minute when Ian touched her and she always seemed to be a little breathless when he was near. And at times, she couldn’t think straight.
He wasn’t just in her life. He’d carved out a corner in her heart and stolen a tiny piece of her soul. “Yes,” she finally admitted. “I guess you are.”
At that, Ian pulled her into his arms and gave her a fierce kiss, his mouth covering hers until she had no choice but surrender. When he finally pulled back, Ian brushed her tousled hair from her eyes and smiled. “I was worried about you. He was breaking in and all I could think about was your safety.” He paused and frowned. “Why do you think he was doing that?”
“I don’t know that he was breaking in,” she lied. “I saw him earlier today and told him I didn’t want to talk to him. Maybe he wasn’t ready to take no for an answer. And I’ve been so distracted, I probably did forget to lock the door.”
Ian pulled her along to the rear of the gallery, then gently pushed her down on the sofa. He sat beside her, her hands folded in his. “Tell me,” he said.
“Why? It’s over now.”
“Humor me. I want to know who this guy is and what he meant to you.”
She sighed. “He’s an art dealer in Manhattan. We met at a gallery opening two years ago, we moved in together a year ago, and six months ago, I caught him in our bed with a twenty-one-year-old Brazilian model. I kicked him out, he took his stuff, and I decided to move up here for a while.” The story made her sound like a gullible fool, but she knew Ian would side with her and consider David the enemy.
“And that’s it? It’s over?”
“For me,” she said. She stood and pulled him to his feet. “Completely over. Now, are you going to come to bed or are you going to continue to interrogate me? Because, if you’re going to continue with the questions, I might have to call a lawyer.”
Ian grinned. “You’re not under arrest. You don’t need a lawyer.” He held up his handcuffs. “Unless you want me to put these on you.”
She took them from his fingers. “What do I need to do to get you to take your clothes off?”
Ian shrugged. “A kiss might work,” he said.
She grabbed his face and pressed her mouth to his, then drew back. “How’s that?”
“That’ll take care of my shoes.” He kicked off his Nikes and reached down to yank off a sock.
Marisol grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him toward the back of the gallery. When they reached the stairs to her apartment, she stood on the step above him and kissed him again, this time teasing his mouth open with her tongue. For good measure, she dropped a trail of kisses along his jaw to a spot just below his left ear.
Ian growled playfully. “That’s worth a sock and my shirt.” He pulled off the second sock and by the time he straightened, Marisol was already working on the buttons of his shirt. When she had the first three undone, he grabbed the hem and pulled it over his head, tossing it aside.
“That was easy,” she murmured, running her hands over his broad shoulders. “What’s it going to take for you to get rid of the pants?”
“Make me an offer,” he said.
She slowly pulled him along with her, up the stairs. When they reached the landing, Marisol pushed him against the wall and pressed her lips to his chest. With her tongue, she traced a path to his nipple, then sucked on it gently until it rose in a hard peak. She drew back and blew on it and Ian groaned.
“The pants?” she asked.
“The belt,” he countered.
“And the zipper,” she said.
Ian removed his belt, then slowly lowered his zipper. He was already aroused, the little game they played silly, yet sexually charged. “Now what?” he asked.
She stood staring at him, the beauty of his half-naked body capturing her complete attention. Suddenly, her desire to possess him dissolved, replaced by an equally burning need to paint him. Her gaze slid from his face to his chest and then to his belly and back up again. She grabbed him by the hand and started back down the stairs. “Hurry,” she murmured, desperate to get her vision down on paper.
Ian held back, pulling her to a stop. “Where are we going?”
“Just come with me,” she insisted. She hurried downstairs to the gallery and left him standing near one of the low benches that lined the walls. Flipping on a contractor’s light that hung from a cord on one of the pillars, Marisol aimed it at the wall. Then she grabbed her sketch pad and a piece of charcoal and perched on a nearby stool.
“Take the rest off,” she ordered, staring down at the blank page and focusing on what she needed to draw.
Ian chuckled. “You’re not going to draw me. Come on, Marisol, let’s go to bed. You’ve been working too hard.”
Marisol turned and stared at him intently, her gaze skimming over his body from top to toe. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she circled the charcoal above the paper. “I have to do this now,” she murmured. “I have to get it down before I lose it.” Tossing the pad and charcoal aside, she walked over to him and finished unzipping his pants, then drew them down to his ankles. His boxers followed.
Though Ian had been naked with her before, undressing him now seemed almost improper. Marisol had leave to take in every detail and what she saw was stunning, masculine beauty that took her breath away.
He reached for his pants, but she shook her head. “Please. It won’t take long, I promise. Then we’ll go to bed.”
Reluctantly, Ian stepped out of his clothes. She walked over to the wall and braced her hands above her head, leaning forward. “Like this,” she said. “I want to see the muscles in your back.”
Ian did as he was told and Marisol slowly walked around him, running her hands over his body, checking to see how the light and shadows played across his skin. “Relax. Like you’re standing in a shower with the water pouring down on you. Lean into the wall and put one foot forward a bit. And let your head drop slightly.”
Though she wasn’t trying to excite him, she could see what her touch was doing. His shaft was stiff and ready, brushing against his belly. For a moment, she thought about easing his need first and drawing him later. But she cast the notion aside and continued to observe him.
“How long will this-”
“Shh!” she said. “Don’t talk.”
Marisol grabbed her digital camera from the worktable and began to snap pictures of him, but he turned around and held his hand out.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s just to help me remember,” she said.
“If those pictures get out, the folks in this town are going to demand my resignation.”
She smiled, dropping her gaze to his rigid shaft. “I think they might be impressed rather than upset. Now turn around and let me do this.”
Over the next hour, Marisol completed sketch after sketch of Ian, putting him in different poses and adjusting the light until it cast his beautiful body in sharp contrasts. They didn’t speak, Ian growing more comfortable with the task at hand and anxious to please her.
Having him pose made the work so simple. They were lovers, so she didn’t have to worry about what she asked him to do, or how she touched his body. There had always been rules when she’d worked with nude models, but with Ian, there were no rules.
She glanced up from the sketch pad and took a good look at him. He was lying on one of the low, upholstered benches, one leg hanging off the side, the other bent. His head was tipped back, his arm carelessly covering his eyes.
“Can you make yourself hard again?” she asked.
His arm dropped away from his eyes and he turned and looked at her, as if he’d misunderstood. “What?”
“Touch yourself,” she said. “I want you to be…aroused.”
He smiled. “Why don’t you take care of that?”
“I can’t,” she said. Marisol knew the moment she touched him in that way, she’d forget about her work and
