Ocean's Touch (5 page)

First of all,
she thought,
intelligent women don’t have sex with complete strangers just because they’re hot. Oh, and magical. Because, second of all, magic doesn’t exist. And finally, male models don’t roam the beaches of Maine, looking to make sweet love to lonely widows in turtlenecks.

A long-forgotten part of Meredith’s brain that had been roused by her fantasy of Dylan mused on when, exactly, she became someone who wore turtlenecks. Meanwhile, the rest of her thoughts—despite her logical protestations of impossibility—couldn’t stop focusing on that damned dream.

Everything he did to me,
Meredith thought, feeling a shiver run down her spine.
The way he touched me…the way he tasted me…

Her only regret was that the dream hadn’t involved letting her reciprocate.

She smiled into her pillows, thinking of her dream lover’s body. He’d been naked when he’d made love to her, even though she’d never seen him take off his clothes.

More proof it wasn’t real
, she thought, strangely saddened.

But she was still happy to distract herself by letting her mind remember every detail of his long, muscular form. He hadn’t been overly muscled, just lovely and thick. Indeed, everything about him had been thick, especially that gorgeous cock she’d only glimpsed. She wished her sleeping brain had given her more than just a peek.

All that soft skin over rigid muscle…the wet tip…
Meredith let her mind wander, a sexy stream-of-consciousness riff that indulged all the erotic longings her dream had brought out of her.

She imagined stroking her hand down that long, hard length, even as she ran her own hand over her belly and between her legs. She pictured herself fondling his balls, even as her own hand parted her wet labia.

Stroking him, hearing him moan, leaning down to taste that drop of moisture…

Meredith closed her eyes, her finger moving in lazy circles over her clit.

Sucking just that fat tip as he moaned for me, swirling my tongue around him…

Meredith’s finger worked a little faster, imagining his taste, his smell.

Taking him in deeper, moving my tongue against him, feeling his hands knot in my hair…

Meredith spread her knees wider, giving herself better access to her clit as she pleasured herself.

She could see herself, on her knees before Dylan, grasping his hips with both hands as she sucked his cock into her mouth, then drew back, sucking all the way along that hard length.

Her hips bucked, an orgasm already dancing at the gate after both her dream and now her waking fantasy.

She pictured herself pulling him out of her mouth, only to lave her tongue over his balls, sucking first one, then the other into her mouth.

His fingers in my hair, pulling tighter…tugging me up…my mouth back on his cock…

He’d fuck her mouth, then. Not rough, but not gentle either. She’d look up at him, their eyes locked, as he thrust in and out between her lips…

Meredith’s finger worked her clit as she felt her pleasure build from a dull ache in her pussy to a need that made her frig herself harder, wishing she had something with which to fill herself…

I’d feel him grow frantic, his hands in my hair, my mouth full of his cock…

And then she imagined his groans as his orgasm tore through him, his hot come filling her mouth…

At the thought of tasting Dylan—of him releasing for her, into her—Meredith’s own orgasm ripped through her. She cried out into her pillows, the pleasure bowing her spine. Then she collapsed, spent and panting.

Having indulged her body, her mind began to react.

Gah,
she thought.
I’ve wasted the whole morning on a fantasy.

Meredith wasn’t against masturbating; in fact, she did it quite often. But she always felt indulgent afterward, like she was giving into some antediluvian part of her brain that cared only for pleasure.

So she swung her legs out of bed and stood, stretching out her strangely aching body.

Walking to her
en-suite
bathroom, she realized just how sore she was. Like she’d run a marathon overnight.

Must have been tensing my muscles in my sleep,
she thought, pausing by the head of the bed.
Who knew erotic dreams could have that effect?

She continued to walk toward her bathroom, but was distracted by an anomaly in her normally pin-neat bedroom.

Why on earth did I leave my clothes lying there?
Meredith wondered at seeing a pile of brown and green clothing lying on the carpet near her bedroom door.

I must have really been out of it last night,
she thought, walking to pick up her dirty clothes.
Although that helps explain the dream. I was overtired, overstressed…

But all thoughts of dreams and stress flew from her mind as her hand made contact with her clothing.

The bundle was wet and heavy, as if it had been recently soaked.

Meredith froze, before lifting the sodden pile slowly to her face.

It smells of the sea
, she realized, her heart pounding in her chest.

Meredith had no idea what to think about the wet clothes. She knew that last night had to be a dream—there’s no way she would do that with a stranger, let alone swim in the Atlantic using magic. It was ridiculous!

What if I’m losing my mind?
she wondered, for about the fortieth time, as she parked her car rather sloppily in front of a little art gallery in downtown Seal Harbor.

You’re not losing your mind,
she told herself.
You were overtired last night. Wandered too close to the ocean and fell down. You got soaked, and chilled, and probably a touch of fever. Which explains the crazy dream.

She shivered despite the warm sunshine of the fall afternoon.
But it had been so real…

Shaking her head as if to clear it, Meredith stepped out of her car and walked up to the gallery. Pushing her way in through the front door, she smiled at the grey-haired proprietress—one of the local
graund dame
s—and then automatically scanned the room for any other patrons.

Oh no,
she thought.
That’s the last thing I need…

The “last thing” in question looked up to catch her eyes on him, and he smiled broadly in response. As if on cue, she felt her breath
whoosh
out of her body as her knees trembled like a schoolgirl’s.

Alexander Ladislaw was, possibly, the only person more inappropriate for her to lust after than mysterious dark strangers on beaches. He was a very rich man, having made a fortune in his twenties with a series of patented biotech inventions. The vast majority of America knew him from his
Time
cover as “The Man Who Built A Better Mousetrap,” but he had an entirely different reputation in Seal Harbor. Part of that reputation was based on the fact that Alex had
abandoned
his lucrative business career in the tech industry to pursue his real passion—painting. People couldn’t understand why anyone would give up making all that money, although Meredith now knew enough about finances to understand that, at this point, Alex’s money probably made itself on the stock market and through other investments.

Nevertheless, Meredith couldn’t be completely naïve to the other aspects of Alexander’s reputation. Around the area, rumors abounded of Ladislaw’s dissolute lifestyle—the stream of women, the parties, the kink. In fact, locally he was known as “the Marquis,” after the Marquis de Sade. Meredith thought the nickname more than a little ridiculous, not least because there was a big difference between a playboy and a sexual sadist.

And yet, even the term “playboy” struck Meredith as somehow wrong. There was something about Alexander that had always struck her as too serious for such frivolous dismissals. She knew he was no monk, but neither could she imagine him surrounded by gaggles of girls in bunny costumes.

He’s so intense,
she thought, feeling like a rabbit being pursued by a raptor as he crossed the small gallery space to greet her.
He’d be that intense with a lover…

Where did that thought come fro
m? she wondered, as she walked forward to greet the man in question, extending her hand to meet his for a shake.

Alexander’s grip on her hand was firm—he always shook a woman’s hand the same way he did a man’s. It wasn’t aggressive or painful, but firm and strong—an acknowledgment of equality that she appreciated. His skin was pale, and his eerily green eyes crinkled in a smile.

“Meredith,” he said, “it’s a pleasure to see you.”

To her annoyance, she felt herself blush, although she knew she shouldn’t be surprised at her reaction. Ladislaw had always had that effect on her. Even Teddy had once commented on how nervous he made her, to her horror.

“It’s a pleasure to see you too,” she said, and she meant it. There was something about him that she found almost absurdly attractive. Alex was a handsome man, with a long, patrician nose; a wide, sensual mouth; and slightly hooded eyes that could look either friendly or foreboding, depending on his mood. Today, a neatly trimmed goatee framed his lips. After a moment’s consideration, Meredith decided she liked his facial hair. It made him look even more mischievous, if that was possible. For that was the wonderful paradox of Alexander Ladislaw. On the one hand, he was one of the most brilliant and fiercely intellectual men she knew. On the other hand, he had an impish quality that she found irresistible. He was both Apollo and Dionysus, and if she was honest with herself, she’d always admired the way Alex never denied either of his two identities.

Even his style spoke of his two sides. A few years older than her, his very dark red hair had receded just enough to make him look even more serious and intellectual than he already did. But he wore it in a longish-style, just brushing his collar at the back, that told everyone he didn’t take himself
too
seriously. He always wore impeccably tailored clothing that was just the right combination of formal and relaxed. Everything about Alexander conspired to make him look like he belonged anywhere, from boardroom to bedroom. And that’s what she really found attractive about him. He radiated a calm confidence that was mesmerizing, while every movement he made somehow spoke of an innate sensuality.

Physically, he was tall and lean, with broad shoulders and almost sinfully narrow hips. For a split second, she imagined all that smooth white skin against her own…

“Are you looking for something to buy?” he asked, interrupting her reverie.

“Sorry?” she asked, knowing full well she was blushing again.

“I was just asking why you’d come along. If you were looking for something to buy.”

“Oh, yes. Of course. Well, you know I enjoy art,” she replied. Actually, he knew very well that art was one of Meredith’s great passions, one she wasn’t able to indulge in nearly as much as she’d like. They’d talked extensively, almost every time they’d met at a function or a party, about the art world. Alex had been surprised to discover that not only did she have a lot of knowledge, she also knew many of the contemporary artists that were his own inspirations. She’d even let slip at a function only a few months ago that, in her dreams, she flew around the world attending the gallery openings of the most cutting-edge, controversial artists. In reality, however, he knew damned well she stayed home to attend to her dead husband’s affairs, contenting herself with the folk art and tourist fare on show at their local galleries.

In other words, Alex was fully aware he was pushing Meredith’s buttons by asking her if she was out to buy something.

“Um…” She paused, undoubtedly gathering her diplomacy about her. He couldn’t help but focus on that lush little mouth of hers. “No, actually, I’m not buying. Today. But I like to see what’s out there…”

“Of course,” he murmured.

“Are you buying?” she asked, those perfect lips bowing in a small smile. He kept his own expression neutral. The fact was, he adored those tiny hints she gave that she enjoyed playing as much as he did. But they were so few and far between.

Teddy repressed her like a one-man feminine mystique,
Alex thought, irritated as ever at what that insufferable man had done to Meredith.
I know they loved each other,
he conceded.
But his was the type of love that suffocates…

“No. I’m not,” he said, dryly. “I was just in town mailing off some invitations, and decided to pop in.”

With those words, Alex’s eyes narrowed and his lips pursed in concentration as he gave Meredith a long, hard look. She cocked her head at his scrutiny, trying not to feel naked under his gaze.

“Yes?” she asked, uncomfortably.

“You know I’ve been painting for a while now…”

She nodded. “Yes. And you’ve been showing at some great galleries…”

Her words trailed off as she realized she’d just acknowledged following his art career. His pursed lips became a small smile as he made that connection for himself.

“So, why don’t you show around here?” she blurted out, hoping to move past her interest in him.
By expressing more interest in him
, she thought, chagrined.

He chuckled. “Yes, well, galleries around here don’t usually handle my sort of work. I don’t paint colorful shapes, or landscapes, or children with puppies,” he said, gesturing around to the walls covered in exactly what he’d just described. “I like my art a little more…confrontational.”