Country Roads (18 page)

Paul let go of one of her legs to haul a condom out of his pocket and hand it to her. She tore the foil with her teeth and leaned back to roll it on him in record time. Lifting her, he eased her down onto his cock and slid his hands around to cup her buttocks. She could feel his fingertips brushing against the private, inner skin he was exposing, and she laced her hands together tightly behind his neck to keep from writhing out of his arms.

Gravity pushed him deep inside her, and his grip opened her to the exquisite friction of his body as he began to thrust. She started to pulse her hips in the same rhythm when he grunted, saying, “We need some resistance.” Striding to the wall between the closet and bathroom doors, he spun around to put her back
against the striped wallpaper and began moving again. She was pinned firmly between his hard chest and the wall as he thrust harder and withdrew more fully. Her breasts were crushed against him, his fingers dug into her buttocks, and his cock drove into her again and again until the building heat inside her exploded into a supernova of screaming sensation.

She felt him arching and pulsing at the same time. As his climax ebbed, he sagged against her, his dead weight the only thing keeping them from sliding down to the floor in a sated heap. His breath was whistling past her ear in gasps while her heart pounded so hard, she swore she could feel her veins expanding.

He held her there for a long moment before she felt him softening and slipping out of her.

After she unlocked her legs from his waist, he carefully lowered her until her bare feet hit the carpeting. He ran his hands up the sides of her body to cup her face while he leaned in and kissed her with a tenderness that contrasted with the hot, fast sex they’d just had.

“Two minutes, fifty seconds,” he said when he ended the kiss.

His smile was crooked, and she reached up to touch one twisted corner of his mouth. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Not one single thing,” he said, enveloping her in his arms so her face was snuggled against his chest and she could no longer see his expression. “You are absolutely perfect.”

He was trying to distract her with flattery, but she let the compliment soak in anyway. God knew, she’d been feeling like a failure for long enough. It was good to be appreciated for a change, even if it wasn’t for her artistic ability.

“Don’t you have an appointment?” she asked when he showed no sign of letting her go.

“They can wait on the porch.” But he released her and headed for the bathroom while she retrieved her sheet.

Running water sounded as she nestled into the chaise longue by the window, waiting for him to emerge.

“I’ll be done by two so I’ll meet you wherever you’ll be,” he said before a rueful smile crossed his face. “I guess I do get high and mighty at times. I’ll meet you, if you want me to.”

“I want you to, but I don’t know where I’ll be. Call me on my cell.”

He shrugged on his shirt, buttoning it with the same speed he played foosball. He sat on the end of her chaise and pulled on shoes and socks before he leaned in for a kiss.

“Are you sneaking down the back stairs?” she asked.

“Yes. We’ll give the good citizens of Sanctuary some time to get used to seeing us together.” He stood and shot his cuffs, even though he wore no jacket. “It’s going to be tough keeping my mind on contracts when I know you’re sitting here, wrapped in nothing but a sheet.”

“Wait till you see what I’m wrapped in tonight.” She hoped she could find something good in the local shops.

“Don’t torture me. It’s hard enough to leave already.”

“The sooner you leave, the sooner I can go shopping.”

He reached for her mop of hair and gave a strand one of the affectionate tugs she’d come to treasure. “You’re a one-woman boost for the local economy, sprite.”

Turning on his heel, he strode through the bedroom door. She heard the outer door open and close, and then she stretched luxuriously on the chaise, draping her arms over the padded back and curling her toes into the soft blue velour.

Her body hummed with sensations ranging from a tiny throb where he’d grazed her breast with his teeth last night to the deepest languor of satisfied need. She lay there with her eyes closed, letting memories of their night together spin through her mind.

She had been right to think he would be on a whole different level from her other two partners. Paul knew his way around a woman’s body. He was creative and funny and intense and
perceptive. He took what he wanted, but he made sure she got so much more.

“Ummmmm,” she sighed, stretching again.

She shoved herself upright as a realization flashed through her mind.
She hadn’t worried about having a seizure since the moment before the foosball match.

The only other situations where she completely forgot about her condition were when she was painting in the familiar surroundings of her studio and with Darkside.

She swung her legs off the chaise longue and twirled around the room, reveling in her escape from fear. Paul thought she was perfect. While she was with him, she could convince herself she was too.

She sauntered into the bathroom, plugged the rubber stopper in the bathtub’s drain, and turned the taps on full force.

Julia walked into the gallery carrying three shopping bags. She hoped Paul wouldn’t mind the local saleswomen being privy to the cut and color of the lace undies he’d be stripping off her.

Claire stood in front of a Len Boggs landscape, talking to a couple dressed in casual clothes that somehow reeked of money. Julia gave her quick smile and took a seat on the big leather couch. She had gotten engrossed in a magazine article on up-and-coming Dutch artists when the sofa bulged slightly under her as another person’s weight hit it.

“I found you the perfect place to work,” Claire said. “It’s right in town so you can walk there. Tim took your supplies over there this morning.”

“When can I see it?” Julia swiveled to face Claire, knocking one of the bags off the couch, so a tiny puddle of black silk and lace spilled onto the plank floor.

Claire’s eyebrows rose as Julia scooped up the teddy and stuffed it back into the bag. Julia dropped her gaze to fidget with the handles of the shopping bag. “It’s for a friend of mine’s birthday,” she said.

When she found the nerve to look up, Claire was smiling serenely. “I’m sure your, er, friend will enjoy it,” she said.

Julia cleared her throat. “I wanted to ask a favor. Well, two favors.”

Claire smoothed her hands over her rose linen skirt. “Name them.”

“May I invite my uncle to the Friday reception?”

“You can invite anyone you want.” Claire frowned. “But you’re already jittery about the reception. Won’t your uncle’s presence add to the pressure?”

“Probably. Definitely. But he’s been my agent for my whole career, and I owe it to him to be part of this.” Julia had thought about this as she walked between stores this morning. “I also want him to hear what other people say about the work, whether the comments are positive or negative. He needs a different perspective.”

“Well, I’ll certainly make sure he gets
my
perspective.”

Julia was warmed by Claire’s fierceness on her behalf. “Which brings me to my other favor. Can you give me some advice on what to wear to the reception and the gala? What is an artist supposed to dress like?”

Claire gave a trill of pure delight. “I need new outfits for the same events, so we’ll shop together.”

“Really?” She hadn’t been shopping with a girlfriend since art school. “Are we going to the mall?”

“Do you want to look like a highly successful artist?”

“Ye-e-es.” Julia wasn’t sure what she was getting at.

“Then we’re going to the Laurels.”

“The resort?”

“It’s the only place to buy designer clothes within a hundred miles.”

“Oh, you meant how much did I want to spend. I’ll just have to call the credit card company again. I’ve kind of overspent my limit on this trip.” Guilt cast a shadow over Claire’s expression of anticipation, so Julia hurried to say, “It’s okay. My bank keeps asking me to please use their card more, so I’m obliging them.”

“Get it raised by Monday afternoon. The gallery is closed, and we should get lots of attention at the resort shops since the weekend crowd will have left by then.” Claire smiled. “Maybe we can even broker a discount since we’re buying in bulk.”

Julia surveyed her new domain, the former Plants ’N Pages. Empty floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the front room’s walls while a couch and two overstuffed chairs stood forlornly in a corner. She walked around the end of the bead-board counter separating what had been the bookstore from the greenhouse. The glassed-in back room was empty except for a potting table at one end. It was heavy, but she managed to drag it to the center of the room. Rummaging around in the stack of new art supplies, she found a drop cloth and covered the table with it, arranging her brushes and paints the way she liked them. Finally, she set up the easel and lifted a small blank canvas onto it.

She repositioned the easel to take full advantage of the light and picked up a charcoal pencil to begin sketching in the outlines of her donation for the auction.

Instead of a black horse, Paul’s face formed in her mind’s eye, and a prickling sense of anticipation danced through her. He would be here in a few hours. She would see his silver-gray eyes darken as she pressed herself against him, feel his hands tangle in her hair, savor the pressure of his lips against her throat. Heat
jazzed through her and made it hard to breathe. She gave herself to the daydream, letting her eyelids drift downward.

The electronic notes of her cell phone startled her so much she knocked into the canvas, barely catching it before it toppled off the easel. By the time she had it safely back in place, the call had transferred to voice mail. She checked the caller ID, the pictures in her mind so vivid, she was sure she would see Paul’s name on the screen.

It was Carlos.

She felt like someone had upended a bucket of ice water over her head, dousing all the swirling warmth and sensation. She had hoped to put off talking to her uncle for another day, fearing the guilt he could evoke would overshadow her pleasure in Sanctuary.

Then she thought of Paul. Last night she had felt she was his equal. He had been considerate and generous, but he had let her feel the full force of his physical need. And she had found an answering power in herself.

She dialed her uncle back.

“Julia! When are you coming home?” Her uncle’s usually slight accent was pronounced, which meant he was upset.

“I’m staying for the week.” She decided to forestall any more pointless arguments by issuing her invitation. “I want you to come to a reception for me on Friday here at the Gallery at Sanctuary. Claire Arbuckle is organizing it. You remember her; she used to be Claire Parker. It would mean a lot to me if you were there.”

It was true, even if the thought also set her nerves fluttering like a flock of startled pigeons.

“A reception? For what purpose?”

“To show off my new paintings. The
Night Mares
.” She stifled the urge to add,
the ones you refused to show anyone
.

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Claire’s very excited about the new direction of my work.” It was amazing how difficult it was to contradict him. Her throat was so tight she had to work to force the words through it. “She finds it powerful.”

“Perhaps, but it’s not the sort of thing people wish to have in their homes, to live with. Even you call them nightmares.”

“Come to the reception. See what the patrons and critics say.”

“I wish to come up there tomorrow and speak with Mrs. Arbuckle.”

“No!” Her throat seemed to have reopened, partly because she didn’t want her uncle around to interfere with her fling with Paul. “I need some time.”

“Time for what?” Carlos sounded baffled and hurt.

Time to make love to a hot lawyer as often as she could before next Sunday, when she had to go back to her real life.
“To…to rest. You know I need that.” She winced as she played the card of her condition, but it was the only excuse she could think of that would keep her uncle away.