She wrapped her arms around his neck and Ian buried his face between her breasts, the two of them now caught in the vortex of their desire. As her need began to build and her release grew closer, Marisol allowed both her body and her mind to surrender to him.
Her orgasm came upon her slowly this time, a single shudder and then another. He buried himself even deeper inside her and then moaned and it was only then that she felt the explosion of sensation. Who was this man who made her feel so powerful, yet so completely defenseless?
She nuzzled his soft hair, weaving her fingers through it and arching against him one last time. She couldn’t let herself love him, but Marisol was left to wonder if she already did.
DECLAN DROPPED the file folder in the center of Ian’s desk, then took a seat in one of the office chairs. “It’s all there,” he said. “Marisol Arantes and David Barnett.”
“When I called, I thought I told you I didn’t want you to do a check on her. Just on him.”
Declan shrugged. “Well, I did it anyway.” He pointed to the folder. “Go ahead. Read it. I think you’ll be interested in what we found.”
Ian pushed the folder back across the desk to his brother. “Nah. I don’t need to know anything about her.”
“You’re a cop, aren’t you?” Declan replied, watching him shrewdly.
Ian glanced up at his brother. “Why? Is she in trouble?”
“Not in trouble,” Dec said. “More like, she is trouble.” He paused. “What is this woman to you?”
“I don’t know,” Ian said. “I’m just curious. She’s been causing some problems in town. And I caught Barnett breaking into her gallery a few nights ago. She said they used to be engaged, but I think something’s going on there.”
“I’d say more than something,” Dec replied.
“What?”
His brother stood and nodded at the folder. “Just read it. I think you’ll find that Marisol Arantes is connected to some pretty shady characters, the kind of characters that the police chief of Bonnett Harbor might take a particular interest in.”
With that, Dec turned and walked out of Ian’s office, leaving the folder sitting on the desk. Ian reached out and ran his hand over it, tracing the logo of Dec’s company with his fingertip. Did he really want to know what was inside? Or was it better to just let it go?
This was his fault. He could have insisted that they learn more about each other, that they at least spend a day or two discussing their pasts. But it seemed that the moment he saw Marisol, all he could think about was sex. If he spent as much time getting to know her as he did trying to seduce her, he could probably write her biography.
But did he really care about the silly details of her past? What counted was the time they spent together in the present. And in the present, she was the perfect woman for him-no matter what Declan thought.
Ian grabbed the folder and shoved it into the top drawer of his desk, then strode out of the office. But halfway down the hall, he turned around and went back to retrieve it. If he was going to allow himself to need this woman, then he deserved to know everything about her-the good and bad. And if the bad was very bad, then he’d be better off knowing.
With the folder tucked under his arm, Ian walked to the front desk and grabbed a radio, then told Sally to call him if he was needed. He decided to walk the seven blocks to Gallerie Luna, hoping the exercise would help him decide what to do.
But by the time he reached Bay Street, the answer was no clearer. Though his curiosity was killing him, he was afraid to learn something that might ruin his relationship with Marisol.
The front door to the gallery was propped open and Ian peeked inside. He saw Marisol standing over a huge canvas that she’d laid flat on the floor. Her hands were hitched on her waist and her hair tumbled around her face as she stared down at the painting in progress. She wore a baggy T-shirt and a pair of pants that ended just below the knee, showing off the pretty curve of her calf.
He watched her for a long time as she dabbed paint onto the canvas, then stepped back to look at her work. He was tempted to turn around and walk away, and to dump the file in the nearest trash bin. But instead, he stepped inside.
She heard his approach and turned. A smile broke across her face and she dropped her brush in a nearby coffee can and ran across the room. Throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed him. Ian held her body against his and thought about how easy it was to take her into his arms. There was no longer any clumsiness or hesitation. It was as if they’d been together for ages and just knew how they fit, her hips against his, his hands spanning her tiny waist, her fingers furrowed through the hair at his nape.
“I was hoping you’d stop by,” she said. Marisol grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind her. “You have to see. I’ve been working on this all day and it’s just happening. I don’t even have to think, I just paint.”
The painting was of a nude in a familiar pose. “That’s me?”
She nodded. “It’s not finished. But I can already tell it’s going to be perfect. See across the shoulders, how there’s a sense of movement. As if I’ve caught you shifting beneath the light. It’s powerful and alive.”
Ian could see what she meant and he was surprised at how her simple charcoal sketches had been transformed into a painting.
“You have to pose for me again tonight. There’s something else I want to try.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “This could be a series. I don’t usually paint on a canvas this large, but I think it works. It just has to be big, don’t you agree?” She took a deep breath, then sighed. “I could use something to eat. Why don’t we go out and celebrate?”
Ian scrambled for an excuse. He and Marisol had kept their affair quiet for this long for no particular reason. He was ready to pay up on the bet with his brothers any time they might ask. But Bonnett Harbor was a small town and rumors usually began small and escalated. The police chief involved with the town’s newest resident would provide plenty of titillating gossip, especially if there was sex involved. And Marisol’s art made her the subject of plenty of speculation.
But now there was something else to add to the mix. If Marisol was involved in something shady, then he couldn’t afford to make his relationship with her public. The last thing he needed was a scandal to drag him down. “I’d love to,” Ian said, “but I’m still on the clock.”
“You don’t even have time for dinner?”
“It’s two in the afternoon,” he said. “It’s lunchtime, not dinnertime.”
Marisol giggled. “All right, lunch then.”
Ian shook his head. “Sorry.”
“Dinner later?”
“I have to work this evening,” he lied. “Why don’t I call you?”
She gave him a confused look, then shrugged. “All right. But can you at least stay for a snack? I’ve got some ice-cream sandwiches in the fridge.”
He nodded and Marisol hurried off to the small kitchen in the back of the gallery. When she returned, she pulled him over to the sofa and sat down on one end. “So, if things continue to go well, I think I should open the gallery in three weeks. That means I have to get invitations printed up and hire a caterer and figure out what to do about parking.” She took a bite of the ice-cream sandwich, then handed it to him. “You’re going to be famous, you know.”
“Why?”
“And you have to be at the opening. Everyone will want to see my muse.” She reached out and ran a finger down his forearm, sending him a tantalizing smile. “Unless you want to be my secret muse?”
“Maybe that would be best,” Ian said. “I’d prefer that my ass stay incognito in this town.”
“You’re my secret lover, too,” Marisol said. “Does that make it more exciting for you?”
“Maybe,” he replied. “Have you told anyone about us?”
“I’m not sure what I’d say,” she replied. “I’m not sure what’s going on with us. I know we’re lovers and…”
Ian nodded. “And?”
She pushed up on her knees and crawled over to him, then wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a lingering kiss. When she drew back, her gaze met his and for a long moment, Marisol searched his face.
She kissed him again and he tried to react normally, but it was as if she were testing him, evaluating his response. The conversation had suddenly turned serious. When she looked at him again, it was there in her eyes-a tiny hint of sadness and resignation, bewilderment and then acceptance.
Marisol forced a smile. “You know, I should really get back to work,” she said, her tone cool and indifferent. “And I’m sure you have speeding tickets to write and criminals to arrest.”
She jumped off the couch and wandered back over to her painting, turning her attention to the canvas. Ian stood, not quite sure how he ought to leave things. He’d almost forgotten their time together would probably end, and sooner rather than later. He’d been so caught up in the excitement, in biding the hours until the next moment he’d be able to touch her or kiss her, that he hadn’t planned for this or even run it over in his head. But this was reality, not the fantasy life that they’d been living.
Was this it? Was this the beginning of the end for them? In the past, there had always been accusations and anger, a long list of his faults and explanations of how it should have been. With Marisol, it wouldn’t be so dramatic. She’d simply let go of his hand and walk away, no regrets and no doubts.
Perhaps their relationship was just a sexual flash fire, burning hot and bright for a short time before quickly smothering itself. He didn’t want to walk away and it took every ounce of his willpower to move to the door. “I’ll call you,” he said.
“Or I’ll call you,” she replied, not even looking at him.
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