Distracted (10 page)

“Relax, babe.” At her frown he hastily added, “I
mean, Erin.”

They talked and laughed and drank too much beer. Erin
was giddy with excitement and she couldn’t stop blushing. Instead
of returning to the boat, Spence had checked them into the
adjoining hotel. Soon they were standing outside her room. Erin
leaned against the wall as he unlocked the door. He bent to kiss
her and she lifted her face in anticipation. He hungrily sought her
neck and throat. Encircling his waist with her arms, she whispered,
“Where’s your room?”

“Here,” he said as door open. He swept her into his
arms and, keeping his mouth fastened on hers, kicked it shut behind
them.

The mattress dipped as he laid her gently on the bed.
His hands glided over her belly, pushing her T-shirt aside.

“Spence,” she whispered.

“Erin,” he countered huskily.

“We shouldn’t be here.”

“Where would you rather be?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Spence rolled onto his back, pulling her on top. His
hands worked deftly sliding her shirt up and over her head. Rosy
nipples hung before his eyes, tantalizing and lush. He asked,
“You’re a logical woman, aren’t you, Erin?”

“Yes,” she moaned as his tongue sparred with her
breast, brushing lightly across the tense nipple.

“How do you explain the fact that you’re here, nearly
naked and in my bed?” He suckled while his fingers pushed her
shorts down the small of her back, over her hips and with long arms
down her legs.

He didn’t understand her distress. She felt guilty
because she was hired to help him. Instead she had skipped aboard
his boat, lounged around in a skimpy bathing suit, flirted
outrageously, and danced provocatively with him. Every day since
she had met him, she had made it clear she desired him. How could
she blame him for wanting her How could she refuse what he
offered?

Instead of pulling away, she settled closer to him, a
thin wisp of silk separating her from his low-slung khakis. She
rubbed gently against his zipper, moaning softly as the cold, sharp
steel bit into her sensitive skin. “You kidnapped me,” she
whispered as the last of her resistance melted away. “Just like the
pirates on Tortuga.”

He slid a hand between them, sliding down his zipper.
He pulled himself free and rubbed against her. “You want your
freedom?”

“No.” She gasped at the sensation, unable to stop
from squirming. His hand traced small slick circles that she found
irresistible.

He moaned softly as she angled herself, capturing his
teasing hand with hers and wrapping her fingers around him.

She couldn’t keep her hands off of him, couldn’t keep
her tongue in her mouth. She loved the taste of his skin, had
wondered about it for days.

“Why shouldn’t we be here?” He shifted his hips and
she groaned with pleasure, with torment.

She had no response other than to tug and pull at his
clothes until they, too, were in a pile on the floor. Erin wrapped
her arms around his neck and viciously kissed him as he slid
inside. The only thing that separated them was her panties and when
she touched the waistband to push them down, Spence captured her
fingers, loathing the thought of withdrawal.

“No; I like them on,” he said, rubbing against the
silk fabric as he slid in and out of her. He laughed and splayed
his hands across her bottom, first cupping her towards him then
lifting her up as his strokes lengthened.

Erin arched her back, seeking that electric
sensation. Her breathing grew fast and shallow, and she wanted him
to move quickly. Instead, Spence captured her hips, slowing her
frenzied movements. “Slow down, baby. Not yet,” he whispered, his
mouth once again fastening on her breast.

Her head sagged as she struggled to separate pleasure
and torture. She wanted desperately to move with him, but her body
insisted on its own rhythm. Beads of perspiration formed on her
upper lip as she concentrated on that sweet, deep tug. Her climax
took her by surprise, beginning as a slow, rippling wave. She
whimpered at the dizzying force then froze, wanting to hold onto
the sweet sensation. She could feel herself flexing and grasping
Spence who, with a guttural cry of pleasure, crushed her hips into
his. Convulsions wracked his body.

Exhausted, Erin sank, placing her fevered cheek
against his chest. She heard his heart thunder, felt his arms
tremble as they wrapped around her and she secretly gloated at her
power. She snuggled into him, her arm possessively draped across
his waist. She yawned and within moments lethargy won and she
slept.

Spence continued to caress her in the moonlight. Her
fair, blonde hair fell beneath her shoulders, curling over one
breast. Her dark eyebrows arched softly over heavy-lidded eyes that
he thought may be closer to emerald than ordinary green. Her nose
was straight and small; her lips were soft and curved. Their
lovemaking had removed her lipstick, but passion had reddened them
and his kisses had left them swollen. He continued his survey, down
her neck to the tiny gold chain with a small key charm. He smiled
as he recalled her reluctance when he bought it on a whim from a
Duval Street art gallery. He insisted she wear it knowing that
evening it would be the only thing touching her skin -- besides him
and the bed sheets.

Her dusky-tipped breasts rose with each breath and
his hands ached to touch them. He licked his lips, remembering
their fullness and her urgent demands that he suck harder.

She pulled on a sheet after their lovemaking, and it
rested lightly on her rounded hip. Her legs, invisible beneath the
blanket, were long and tapered. During the past week, she had
developed a golden glow, despite copious amounts of sunscreen.

She is so beautiful, he thought as he drifted to
sleep.

Chapter Ten

When Erin awoke, she studied Spence’s sleeping
profile and frowned. She once again felt embarrassed and shy and
tried to slip out of the bed. Without opening his eyes, he caught
her wrist and pulled her to him.

“Where are you going?”

She hesitated, unable to answer. When he turned his
head and opened his eyes she blushed and stammered.

“Shhh, baby. It’s okay.” He kissed her gently and
tucked her under his arm, pushing her head onto his chest. Again,
she could hear his heartbeat, steady and slow now. Timidly, she
touched him, her fingers making slow sweeps along his abdomen. He
caught her hand in his, placed the palm against his lips. A feeling
of warmth washed over her and she snuggled against him.

“What do you want to do today?”

Erin had no reply; her mind a blank except for the
sensation of his body against hers. She turned her back to him,
curling into a ball. He nuzzled the back of her neck and, feeling
her shiver, started gently biting it. Her legs straightened and she
found his hands, cupped them under her breasts. She rubbed her
bottom against him suggestively.

“Okay. We’ll stay in,” he said.

Later, they took a shower together and after a light
lunch, strolled through the streets holding hands. She bought a
straw hat to keep the sun from burning her nose. They stopped at a
boutique and she found a colorful, cotton sundress she liked. He
followed her into the changing room and helped her remove it, his
hands on her body, his kisses drugging her. He chuckled at her
dreamy expression.

“You like that?”

“Yes, I do.”

Erin didn’t realize it, caught up in her own
euphoria, but Spence was enchanted by her every move. He couldn’t
stop watching her, couldn’t keep his hands off of her. Every few
minutes he stopped her for a kiss.

She accepted all of his attention without question.
Being with Spence was the easiest and the most wonderful thing she
had ever done, once she quit resisting.

They spent a week in Key West, exploring, eating, and
making love. At every sunset, they stood shoulder-to-shoulder on
Mallory Pier and watched the sky melt into hot orange, then
brilliant pinks and purples.

They spent one night and late into the next morning
on the “Duval Crawl,” a favorite pastime of tourists and locals
alike. The crawl consisted of barhopping on Duval Street and
included famous places like Sloppy Joe's, as well as the
not-so-famous, yet still charming, dives. Tequila flows like water
in Key West, Erin thought.

They explored Old City, riding scooters and hopping
trolleys. He leased a powerboat and took her deep-sea fishing,
laughing with joy when she hooked -- then lost -- a marlin.

When it was time to leave, Erin shuffled several
shopping bags into the spare berth. Spence had given her a
necklace, a Key West bracelet, emerald earrings, several new
bathing suits, and some interesting lingerie from a specialty store
that also catered to the local drag queens.

Erin reluctantly accepted his gifts, embarrassed by
his generosity. She also felt lovingly spoiled, and found she
craved his smile, his approval. He silenced her protests with his
relentless lips and warm, strong hands.

“Not fair, not fair,” she murmured one morning as he
pulled one of the emerald earrings out of the velvet box and placed
it in her belly button.

“They’re the same color as your eyes,” he whispered,
his tongue tracing her inner thigh.

Back on the catamaran, they explored shallow waters
and cays where deep-drafted sailboats couldn’t venture, and she
perfected her tan, without lines. She discovered that she enjoyed
lying around nude, while Spence stood at the wheel, his sunglasses
on, the breeze whipping through his wavy hair. It was a luxurious
life and they agreed to spend another week cruising the Keys.

Finally, Spence turned the cat north. On the voyage
home, Erin worked steadily with him on the book, e-mailing McDowell
two more chapters. They hadn’t kept to her schedule, and Erin found
it increasingly difficult to keep track of time.

Once the boat was secure in its dock at the Ocracoke
marina, Erin tossed her canvas tote bag and her briefcase into the
backseat of the SUV. Shopping bags filled the trunk.

Spence lifted the floor mat, picked up the keys and
smiled. “Ready to go home?”

Erin thrilled at the words as if it were, indeed, her
home. She nodded shyly.

* * *

The first two days, Spence worked in his studio. Erin
didn’t intrude; she understood the artist’s method. She spent her
time sightseeing, visiting the lighthouses nearby and shopping in
the village. She bought groceries and planned meals, tuning into
cooking shows for recipes. Some worked, some didn’t. Spence gamely
ate all, even chili so hot that tears rolled down his cheeks.
“What? I love spicy food!” he protested.

It had been more than a year since she and Aidan had
played house. In truth, their relationship dissolved long before
their divorce, each more interested in their careers than in each
other.

Spence was different, Erin told herself. Not that
they had a relationship, but everything about him was larger than
life. He was exuberant, vital, virile and always smiling. Around
Spence, she felt feminine and desired. He entertained her. He
laughed at her jokes, swept her into bear hugs, and courageously
ate her cooking.

At night, they snuggled into the hammock and gazed at
the stars. He told her about his work, the artists he admired.
Supremely confident in all things, still he was amazed that people
paid small fortunes for his paintings.

One morning he asked her to pose for him.

All of a sudden Erin felt shy. As an editor, she had
worked hard to not intrude in other people’s art. She cleaned,
pared, molded but never left her own creative mark. To be a part of
Spence’s painting would leave a permanent mark, she thought.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said as she
pulled the champagne coverlet up to her chin.

“I do. Stay right here.”

A few minutes later he had returned with a large
canvas, his easel and tackle box of paints. She sat up, filled with
anxiety. He came to her and pushed her back on the bed. “I have to
hurry. This is the right light,” he added. He arranged her arms
behind her head and bent one knee. He shoved a pillow under her
back, thrusting her breasts in the air. A few minutes later he had
her hair the way he wanted and stepped back to survey. She felt
like a pin-up girl and said so.

“That’s it, exactly. Are you familiar with Alberto
Vargas?”

“No. Who’s he?”

“He’s an artist from the 1930s and ‘40s. He painted
the most beautiful women in the world. You must have seen his
‘Betty Grable Moon over Miami’ poster.”

“Is that all I am to you? A pin-up girl?”

“Well, you’ve got all these nice curves and such big,
soft …”

“Alright, I get it. I’m going on a diet
tomorrow.”

“Oh, no you don’t. This painting is going to take a
little longer than that.”

“You mean I have to lay here all day, naked while you
stare at me?”

“And that’s different from other days how?”

* * *

By the end of the week, the canvas was taking
shape.

Erin was flattered. “I wish I looked that good!”

Inspired, Spence made several pastel sketches of her
in various outfits. He asked her to wear only her stockings and
garters in one, just an apron in another. A third he sketched with
her in her red cocktail dress, lying on the sofa. He had tugged the
bodice low, with her nipples barely visible. One hand pulled her
skirt up her thigh; her other hand was arranged behind her head. He
had her keep one leg on the floor, the other bent and on the sofa.
She wore her silver shoes and a pair of red panties lay on the
floor.

“This is really hot,” she said.

“You’re telling me,” he replied.

“I mean, hot hot.”