Kate Hoffmann - Ian

He nodded, the unread file still clutched in his hand. He didn’t bother to glance back, knowing that he’d only question his choice to leave. Ian didn’t need to be reminded of how beautiful Marisol was, or how her smile had the capacity to make him feel as if he owned the world. Or how being with her had become his primary reason for getting up in the morning.

Ian opened the door and stepped out into the bright afternoon light. A little more than a week ago, he’d been content with his life, happy with his work and hopeful that his social life might improve. And then he’d spent the most incredible week caught up in an affair with a sexy stranger. In the end, what had he really lost?

As he strolled down the sidewalk, Ian decided the best course of action would be to shred the file the moment he got back to the station. It didn’t matter what Declan had found. Until Marisol Arantes did something illegal on his watch, in his jurisdiction, she was just another citizen of Bonnett Harbor.

And what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

MARISOL PACED back and forth across the length of the gallery, counting each step in an attempt to distract her mind. It was nearly midnight and she hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the past two days. She’d been operating on caffeine and confusion, her mind filled with thoughts of Ian Quinn.

Over and over again, she’d tried to explain to herself how things had gone from so good to so bad in the blink of an eye. The moment he’d walked into the gallery Tuesday afternoon, she’d known something was wrong. He couldn’t seem to look at her for more than a few seconds, and the moment she’d kissed him, she’d felt him pull away.

The end hadn’t come as a surprise. But the way it had ended still didn’t make sense. She was missing a piece of the puzzle, some clue to his behavior that could help make it all become clear. At first, she suspected that he might have found out about her father. But why wouldn’t he have simply confronted her and asked her about Hector Arantes? He certainly couldn’t know about the painting. She’d kept it well hidden and David had left town the night Ian had almost arrested him.

Had he grown bored? She stopped her pacing and closed her eyes, trying to remember that night in the gallery, when she had sketched him. Their passion had been mutual, there was no question about that. So how had it cooled so quickly?

Marisol wasn’t one to sit around and guess at the answers to her questions. Grabbing her keys, she headed to the door. A phone call first would only give him an excuse to brush her off. She’d go to Ian’s house, and if he wasn’t home, she’d wait for him.

The street outside the gallery was quiet, the heat of the day still radiating from the sidewalks. The sound of music drifted on the warm night air, entertainment from one of the nearby bars. Most of the citizens of Bonnett Harbor had turned in, but a few tourists still strolled the streets, looking for something to do on a Friday night.

Confronting Ian would be difficult, but they’d always been honest with each other. They could be that way now. Once she reached the street, Marisol stopped, a tiny sliver of doubt ruining her resolve. This shouldn’t make a difference! He’d been nothing more than a brief infatuation. Or had he?

Marisol cursed to herself, then continued down the sidewalk to her car. She hadn’t really paid attention to where Ian lived in Bonnett Harbor, but the town wasn’t that big. And maybe driving around for a while would calm her nerves and wash away the frustration she felt.

In the end, she found Ian’s house on the very first try, the Mustang parked in the driveway a clue that he was indeed home. She parked her car down the block, then walked beneath the huge maples that lined both sides of the street, the night breeze rustling the leaves overhead.

When she reached his house, she stood at the front door for a long time, unable to make herself ring the bell. What was she doing? Was she that desperate to have him that she couldn’t stay away?

She reached for the bell and, at the last moment, tried the door. To her surprise, it was unlocked. She pushed it open and stepped inside. The interior of the house was dark, illuminated only by the light that filtered through the windows from the street. Marisol waited for her eyes to adjust, then slowly wandered through the living room to the kitchen.

The surroundings were familiar, even in the dark, and she walked to the stairs and slowly climbed to the second floor. His bedroom was at the end of the hall and the door was open. The floor creaked and Marisol stopped, holding her breath and listening to the silence around her. A few seconds later, she continued until she reached his bed. She glanced around the room, not really sure what to do now that she was here.

Kneeling down beside the bed, she rested her arms on the mattress and studied his face. His hair fell in boyish waves across his forehead and he looked so much younger when he was asleep. Her fingers twitched and she fought the impulse to touch him, not sure if she planned to stay.

She reached out and skimmed her fingertip above his lip, his breath warm against her hand. And then, leaning over him, she kissed his mouth, so softly that he wouldn’t awaken. But to her surprise, he opened his eyes.

They stared at each other for a long moment, then he jerked, pushing himself up on his elbows. Marisol sat back on her heels, her gaze still fixed on his face. She waited for him to speak, unwilling to make explanations for her presence.

When he didn’t, she stood and reached for the buttons of her loose cotton dress. One by one, Marisol undid them until the dress gaped open. Then, she shrugged her shoulders and it fell to the floor around her feet, leaving her naked.

She didn’t wait for an invitation, but as she stepped forward, he moved across the bed, lifting the sheet as he did. He was naked beneath and Marisol slipped in beside him. A heartbeat later, she was in his arms again. His lips came down on hers and he kissed her hungrily, roughly, the taste of his tongue warm and sweet in her mouth, the stubble of his beard sharp on her chin.

All her fears and doubts instantly dissipated as he ran his palms over her body. Ian touched every inch of her, as if he were reassuring himself that she was real and not just some vivid dream. And when he was satisfied, he began a lazy exploration, this time taking more care with each caress.

She sighed softly as his hands cupped her buttocks and pulled her hips against his. He was already hard and his erection pressed against her belly, branding her skin. He continued to kiss her, communicating his need without words, as if speaking might somehow break the spell that enveloped them both.

Marisol wasn’t thinking about everything that had gone wrong. Her thoughts were focused on everything that was right between them, a desire so deep that neither one them knew its limits.

His lips trailed along her jaw and then dropped to her shoulder, kisses mixed with a soft bite here and there. There was pleasure in the tiny bits of pain and it only seemed to make her need more urgent.

When he found her breast, she arched against him and he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked gently until it grew hard and sensitive. With every touch, every kiss, she surrendered a bit more of herself to him, and by the time he reached the spot between her legs, Marisol no longer had ownership of her responses.

When his tongue flicked at her clitoris, Marisol’s breath caught in her throat. Every nerve in her body jolted, as if an electric shock had just shot through her. Every shred of her being focused on that one spot, on the delicious caress of his tongue and on the wild sensations that coursed through her.

She shifted until she could give him the same pleasure, taking his shaft into her mouth and then drawing back. Suddenly, every action was met by an equal reaction, and she wasn’t sure whether she was initiating or receiving. It didn’t really matter. They were caught in an endless circle of pleasure that came closer and closer to spinning out of control.

Marisol danced at the edge and she knew if she just let go, the pleasure would wash over her in waves. But she wanted more than what his tongue could give her. Reaching down, she tangled her fingers in his hair and drew him away.

As if he sensed what she needed, he pulled her up to her knees and then wrapped his arms around her body from behind. His palms cupped her breasts and she reached back and grabbed his hips, pulling him tightly against her.

They tumbled forward, Marisol falling to her hands and knees. Ian grabbed her waist and slowly pushed inside her, burying himself deep. A low moan slipped from her throat, enough to tell him that she wanted more.

From that moment on, Marisol lost all sense of what was real. Every thought focused on the feel of his shaft, moving in and out of her. Each stroke brought her closer and closer to completion. And when he felt the shift in her desire, Ian increased his pace, driving harder and harder.

She couldn’t touch him, couldn’t see his face, but that didn’t matter. The connection between them was relentlessly carnal, driving them both forward.

When her orgasm hit, she was unprepared for the power of it. No longer able to control herself, she fell forward and he went with her, shuddering as he found his release, as well.

They lay perfectly still except for the short gulps of breath they both required. Ian nuzzled his face into her hair and she listened as his breathing returned to normal. He slowly slipped out of her and when he was completely apart, he gathered her in his embrace and tucked her body against his.

They didn’t speak. In truth, Marisol was afraid to-afraid they’d go back to the strange, stilted conversation of the last time they were together. Maybe they weren’t good at relationships. But they were fabulous at the sex.