How Sweet It Is (10 page)

She should have felt better about winning the argument, but she didn’t. She scraped the food off the plate, put it in the washer, and said goodnight.

In her room, she tried to read
The Night Circus
, but she couldn’t sit still. She got up and went to her desk.

The fact sheet Hunter had given her was on the top of her things. She picked it up. One word caught her:
agitated
.

Like how she was right now.

She took out her laptop and opened a blank document. Not thinking, she began to write a story about an agitated element that was attracted to another element. Before she knew it, she had the shell of a story.

She read over it, smiling a couple times. It needed editing and some of Hunter’s details filled in, but it wasn’t bad. He was going to like it.

Saving it, she took her laptop to bed and put on one of her favorite movies,
Simply Irresistible
. Dog curled up next to her, and they watched the magical crab until they both fell asleep.

Chapter Ten

Should she go and try to convince him to commission his paintings to her, or did she go home with her tail between her legs?

Viola stopped pacing at the foot of the hotel bed. A tail wasn’t what she wanted between her legs.

She put a hand to her forehead. Finn couldn’t have really meant what he said, could he? Although, she had a feeling Finn wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it.

Groaning, she turned and walked into the edge of the bed, hitting her shin. “Bloody hell,” she yelled, hopping around to shake off the pain. She plopped on the mattress, rubbing her leg, disgusted with herself. She was here to secure the art she needed and instead she was mooning over a boy. She was worse than a teenager. Chloe would know better.

She needed to regain her focus, so she did what she always did: She called her older sister.

Bea answered on the first ring. “How’s it progressing?”

“Oh, it’s coming along.” She dropped her head in her hand.

“Why do I feel suspicious? You aren’t being honest with me.”

“Well …” She remembered the way he looked at her before she’d left last time and squeezed her thighs together. “I’m trying to decide whether or not to go back to his studio.”

“Isn’t the art as good in person as you thought?”

She shook her head. “He could be the next Chagall.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“He doesn’t want me to sell his art.”

“Do you want me to call him?” Bea asked in her brisk, business voice. “Or I’ll buy whatever you want and give it to you to sell.”

“He won’t sell his art, period.”

“Why?”

Vi threw her hand in the air. “I’m not precisely sure. It has to do with his uncle.”

“Then find out and address that.”

“Good plan.” She shook her head. “The only hiccup is that he told me not to go back unless I planned to shag him.”

Bea was silent for several seconds. “Do you want me to send someone to cut off his bits?” she asked finally.

“I think I might like his bits.”

“Interesting,” her sister drawled.

She nodded. “Isn’t it?”

“You know where I stand on this, don’t you?”

Vi heard Bea tell her she needed to have sex all over again. “I think I know your opinion.”

“Then what’s the debate?”

She worried the button on her shirt. “I’ve only had sex with one man, you know.”

“I do know, which is precisely why I’ve been encouraging you to select someone to shag. However, if you’re considering doing business with this man, perhaps he’s not the one to pick.”

“I’m not worried about the business part. I really don’t think he’ll sell his paintings.”

“So you’re going to find a different artist?”

“No, I want his work. I’ll convince him.” Because she could hear her sister thinking it, she said, “Not with sex.”

“It’d work,” Bea said, “but that’s not you.”

“I’ll convince him it’s in his best interest. He’s logical. I think I can find something to appeal to him.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

She cleared her throat. “I’m not sure I know how to do it properly.”

“Do
it
?”

“Sex.”

“So you
are
thinking of having sex with him, too?”

“Bea, it’s all I’ve been thinking about for the last twenty-four hours,” she admitted to her best friend.

“You know how to have sex. I’m not sure why you’re so worried.”

“I’m not sure I do know how,” she confessed.

“You had Chloe, which is evidence to the contrary.”

“I had Chloe sixteen years ago, and I’m not certain I knew how it all happened.”

“Because Charles is a wanker.” Bea paused and then said, “If you’re determined to do business with this artist, he probably isn’t the person to get over your drought with.”

She frowned. “Haven’t you ever had sex with someone you did business with?”

“Yes, which is why I know it’s not a good idea.” Her sister sighed over the line. “I just want you to be happy. If you want him, go to him. He obviously wants you. Isn’t it time you started living, Vi?”

“Living is scary.”

“That’s why so many people choose not to,” Bea said. “Do you know what I think you should do?”

That was exactly why she’d called. “Tell me.”

“Go to him. What do you have to lose? You’re no virgin.”

“I may not be a virgin technically, but I might qualify based on time celibate.”

Bea laughed. “I’m here if you need encouragement, or a shove.”

A shove was the last thing she needed, she thought as she hung up. The problem was she wasn’t sure how to be herself and be in a relationship. She’d failed at it with Charles. She didn’t want to lose the ground she’d made. If she had sex with Finn, would she lose herself again?

She didn’t know how her sisters maintained that balance, keeping their own personalities and interests even though they were half of a couple. Fortunately, even Chloe knew how to set boundaries for herself.

Sometimes, her daughter was so much wiser than she was—and that was a blessing. Missing her, Vi dialed her next.

Just when Vi thought it was going to voicemail, her daughter picked up. “When are you coming home, Mum?”

“Do you miss me?”

“That, too.”

Vi smiled, feeling settled for the first time all day. “That was convincing.”

“Mostly it’s Dog. He likes Charles’s shoes
a lot
.”

“Oh no.” Vi winced. “Is your father angry?”

“I’m more concerned about Dog and the shoe fetish he’s developing.” Chloe sighed. “When are you coming home?”

The plaintive tone in her daughter’s voice pulled at her heart. “As soon as I sign the artist I want.”

“Is he that good?”

She flushed, grateful that her daughter wasn’t there to see the guilt on her face. “His paintings are amazing.”

“Well, you’d know.”

“I would?” she asked, surprised by the certainty in Chloe’s voice.

“Yes. You have a good eye.” Her daughter paused. “Are you okay, Mum?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” She thought about the loan she took on the house and the fact that they could be destitute in a matter of weeks, and that instead of procuring art she was thinking about sex. “Everything is fine, darling.”

“I don’t really believe that.”

Because her baby was smart—hopefully smarter than she was. “Chloe, stay away from boys. They distract you from your purpose.”

“You never talk about boys.” Chloe’s interest in the conversation escalated. “Why are you bringing it up now? Is there a boy?”

“
No
.” Was that too strong an objection? She tried again. “No. Just an idle, er …”

“Warning?” Chloe suggested with teen sarcasm. “Did you talk to Rowdy?”

“What does Rowdy know?” Vi sat up, alert. “Are you saying that there
is
a boy?”

“I’m not saying anything unless you do, too.” Her daughter hung up.

Vi stared at her mobile. Concerned, she called Rowdy. “Do you know if Chloe is seeing a boy?”

“She isn’t, but I think she’s interested in one,” Rowdy said. “Don’t worry. I’ve already told her he’s toast if he messes with her.”

“Thank you.” She relaxed. “It’s rather strange that I’m having this conversation with you rather than her father, isn’t it?”

“Nah. It takes a village, babe, and I’ve got your back. How’s it going in Paris?”

She shrugged. “I’m considering having sex with a man I’ve only talked to for ten minutes.”

“Awesome. Use rubbers.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Was she
that
bad off? She’d have expected someone to be as alarmed by this as she was. “Shouldn’t you tell me I’m daft?”

Rowdy chuckled. “You aren’t
daft
, or any other of those strange words you Brits use. You’re a smart, vital woman, and you have needs, and if there’s a man who fits them, you should bang him.”

She pursed her lips, thinking about Finn’s hands. “I
should
bang him.”

“So do it.”

“Really?”

“Trust yourself, babe. You’ve got all it takes.”

Yes, she did. She hung up, feeling more certain if not entirely confident.

She decided to walk from her hotel to Finn’s workshop, to give herself time to come to her senses. She stopped to buy macarons, because they made her feel closer to her sisters.

An hour later, she stood in front of his door. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled and knocked with certainty and authority.

Finn opened it, his gaze smoldering.

She nodded. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I hope so.” He tugged her inside, kissing her even before he closed the door.

The moment his lips touched hers, she went up in flames. He stole her breath with the urgency of it—the
desire
. Charles had never kissed her like he wanted to eat her up.

No more thinking of Charles, she scolded herself. She wound her arms around Finn’s neck and fell into him.

He lifted her in his arms and carried her deeper into his workshop. He set her down on a settee in the back, covering her with himself.

“This couch belonged to Louis XIV,” Finn murmured against her mouth.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” she asked. “Because at the moment your hands under my clothing are more noteworthy than a long-dead king.”

Finn sat up and undid her pants. “He shagged a lot of women on this piece of furniture.”

Vi tried to catch her breath as he bared her belly and began to pull her pants down her legs. “And you?”

“No.” He smiled roguishly. “But I’m feeling kingly now.”

She covered his obvious hardness with her palm, gratified when his smile faded into need. “Your jewels seem royal.”

“Seem?” He yanked her pants off and quickly dispersed with his own. “I’m going to put Louis to shame.”

But he stopped suddenly. “Bugger it all.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, taken aback.

“No condoms.”

She frowned, never having dealt with the reality of modern diseases. Charles was her first and only. “I take birth control pills, and I’ve been tested, if that makes a difference.”

“I’m clean, too.” He studied her. “Are you sure?”

She shrugged. She wasn’t sure about anything. This was all a first for her. Thank goodness she’d known well enough to have a battery of tests done after she’d kicked Charles out, to make sure she was disease-free.

“Normally I would stop without protection,” he said.

“Don’t stop,” she implored, pulling him down by his collar. She kissed him, in case he had doubts about her sincerity. “Please.”

“Do you have unprotected sex often?”

She laughed, and then the startled look on his face made her laugh harder. “I haven’t had sex in so long that you may not be able to get in.”

His eyes focused with the challenge. “I’ll get in,” he said, his voice husky with promise. “You’ll open for me and let me in.”

To her surprise, instead of becoming forceful like she’d have expected, he became conscientious and sweet, paying special attention to her and making sure she was with him every step of the way.

It wasn’t a hardship—she wanted to be there. She closed her mind to the doubts that this might be a mistake. No thoughts, at all. She wanted him to take her.

He slid into her, and she cried out with the delicious pinch of the sensation.

“Viola,” he muttered before he took her mouth in a passionate kiss.

She arched into him as he pushed into her, and she gasped. His hand snaked behind her waist, angling her closer.

Suddenly everything changed. What was delicious was vital. “I’m going to die,” she panted.

“Die for me,” he urged her.

And then his hands and lips were everywhere.

She tried to ground herself, but she couldn’t breathe, so she just held on and hoped her sisters would take care of Chloe if she did die.

Was it possible to die of pleasure?

In his hands, yes.

She clutched him. “
Finn.
”

“Yes,” she heard him say as she broke apart. She felt him stiffen and follow her into bliss before his weight collapsed on her.

Chapter Eleven

Finn woke up with a kink in his neck from falling asleep on the settee. It was pitch black, and he was alone.

He looked all over for a trace of Viola—something that’d prove that she’d actually been there and not a figment of his imagination. He found nothing.

That bothered him more than he liked.

Reaching for his pants, he remembered the way she looked under him—over him and next to him, too. They hadn’t stopped at just one time.

She’d been fairly fabulous.

He pictured the spark in her eyes, her slight curves, her luminous skin, and his fingers itched for his paintbrush. Following his muse, he pulled the rest of his clothes on and went to the back of his workshop.

He set the canvas he’d been working on aside and lifted a fresh, large one. He took a piece of charcoal and sketched a few outlines as guides before loading his palette with paint—all deep jewel tones, with French blue for her eyes.

Sometimes, a painting took a while to form in his mind. This one came to him with wonderful clarity. He lifted his brush and began.