I nodded, “Sounds fine by me.”
He whispered in my ear, his hand sliding over the curve of my breast while he spoke, “It’ll be better than fine. You’ll be so sated, so wonderfully satisfied that you’ll be sore for a week.”
“Then do it, painter boy. Show me what you want, what you like.” I tilted my head to the side, hair falling away from my face. “Jack, what are we waiting for? If I’m going to be sore anyway, why wait?” I was seriously asking. I didn’t know much about this. I’d always tried to tame my sexuality, and subdue the urges of the flesh. And right then, my urges wanted our flesh nak*d, sliding together.
Taking me by the face, Jack thrust his fingers into my hair, tugging gently as I spoke. His eyes grew darker as his breathing slowed, becoming deeper. “You undo me, Abby. I’m completely lost, and want to give you anything and everything you ask for, but there’s one thing I want.”
My lips were close to his, “What’s that?”
“I want to take you, be with you without worrying that I’m hurting you.” He ran his fingers through my hair, his hot hands sliding against my cheek.
“Didn’t you do that already? Last night?”
He nodded, “That’s part of the reason you were sore. It was too soon.” Disappointment must have been visible on my face. Kissing my lips softly, he said, “There are other ways to be together. Other things to do that are just as sexy. Abby, let me give you today my way. Let me show you other things, things you may like just as much as feeling me inside of you.” The heat that pumped into me as he spoke made me lose my ability to speak. I nodded, agreeing to his proposal.
He smiled, “Promise me one thing, though. No matter what we do today, no matter how hot you get, don’t ask me to f**k you because I won’t be able to tell you no.” Biting my lower lip, eyes locked on his—mesmerized—I nodded.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jack was on a ladder, unstrapping his camera from the ceiling. I was going to be the object of his adoration in a photo shoot. The idea made me nervous and excited at the same time. To distract myself from the butterflies swarming in my stomach, I asked, “What are you doing about your business leak?”
Not turning to look down, he continued to untwist the screws that clamped the camera in place. “Well, I’ve discovered that I’m completely in love with the main suspect, and that there’s no way in hell she did it. However, I can’t use the deductive reasoning I used with her on everyone else.”
I snorted, “I should hope not. Gus would file a sexual harassment claim in a heartbeat.” He laughed, shaking his head.
“Gus is a partner, he’d be filing the claim against himself if he did that.”
My lip curled, “Yuck. Let’s not talk about what Gus does to himself.” I was joking, and it was way more raunchy than the things I usually said. Where the hell did that come from?
Jack snorted, nearly dropping the camera, “What’s gotten into you? You go from being a nun to a...”
“To a what, Jack?” I grinned, coaxing him on.
“To a seductress, Abby. To a foul-mouthed seductress with a dirty mind.” He shook his head, smiling hard, “I’m so lucky.”
Getting back on track, I asked, “Well, what about it? How’d Belinda get your contact list?”
“I don’t know yet. There’s no paper trail. I went through emails, notes, and tons of stuff—there’s nothing. No outbound calls to her number either. I haven’t found anything, Abby, which is a problem. It means she either hacked in, or the person that’s helping her is so far beyond reproach that I’d never suspect them. In the meantime, it breaks apart the studio, and alienates my staff as I lose each and every one of you. Who’s going to stick around after being accused of something like that?”
Feeling impish, I offered, “I did.” He glanced down at me, stopping what he was doing.
“You’re different. You’re not like them; you’re not like anyone else I’ve ever met, Abby. You think with your heart, no matter the cost.” He stared at me for a moment, his eyes locking onto mine. I’d always thought of that as a flaw, one-hundred percent effective way to die as a martyr, but Jack looked at me like it was something valuable—something to be admired. He broke the gaze, smiling faintly before pulling the camera down in his hands. Slowly, he crept down the ladder, one rung at a time with a costly piece of equipment in one hand, the other making sure he didn’t drop twenty feet to the floor. Jumping off the bottom step like a little boy, he sauntered toward me, camera in one hand, and a sexy grin on his face. “I want to show you what I see when I look at you. It’s not the girl you see in the mirror, and I can tell that you don’t really know what I mean. Do you trust me Abby? Will you pose for me? Wear what I ask? Do what I ask?”
If he said, Would you do striptease for me, here’s a boa, I would have laughed and hit him in the chest. But this request was so sexually charged. It felt like he was devouring me with his eyes. That gaze crushed the air out of my lungs, rendering me unable to speak. Deep within my body, things clenched in that delicious way that made me feel like his seductress. I nodded, “I’ll try,” I whispered.
A stern look shadowed his face, “No, there’s not trying. You either will or you won’t.” His eyes gleamed, locking onto mine with an intense need. It made me nod without thinking. I didn’t know what he liked, and I sure as hell wanted to know what he saw when he looked at me. Was that something that he could capture with a lens? I didn’t know. “Say it,” he whispered, firmly telling me to speak.
“Yes. I’ll do it. I want to see what you see.” My eyes drifted from his perfect lips to his intense eyes. I breathed, “I trust you, Jack.” My heart was racing in my chest as his expression softened. The man that was looking at me a moment ago was part of the Jack that I didn’t know—the one who’d been burned. He didn’t mess around, he wanted direct, firm, decisions, and nothing less. When he turned away, he placed the camera on a table top and said he’d be right back.
Moving toward the large black square, I lifted the camera off the table. Fumbling with the buttons, I wondered if the photos from the shoot with my first painting were still on it. I found the right buttons, and clicked them hoping to see something from that night. The canvas was covered on the wall. Jack concealed it, telling me he wanted me to wait until he was done to see it. Looking at the camera was totally cheating. A small thrill coursed through me as I clicked the button, expecting to see the fluffy skirt and my nak*d chest covered in paint, but the screen was black. I frowned.
Jack whispered behind me, making me jump, “I took the card out—and you’re a horrible snoop. You aren’t supposed to get caught.” He gave me a look that made me smile sheepishly as he ripped the camera out of my hands. “It’ll be the best painting I’ve ever made. Give it time, Abby. Let me finish it.” He smiled, his expression warming. I didn’t understand why he was being secretive, why I was denied seeing the process, but I didn’t press him.
Jack had placed the camera on the table behind him. There were several thin boxes that he had brought back when he snuck up on me. I reached for the lid, but Jack swatted my fingers away. “Not yet,” he laughed. “Go change. I hung up the skirt you wore—the one I painted—it’s in the dressing room. Put that on and come out.”
“Just the skirt?” I asked, suddenly feeling shy. Jack’s eyes pierced me, raking across my body, landing on my face and finally meeting my gaze.
“Just the skirt.” Stubble lined his jaw, making his eyes appear brighter, bluer. Air rushed out of my lungs in a shallow gasp. For some reason, doing this in the middle of the day seemed more risqué than doing it in the middle of the night. But the look in his eye told me the skirt was only the beginning.
I came out of the dressing room, my arm covering my chest, as I held up the huge skirt with my other hand, walking toward him. Jack stood next to three open boxes of glittering jewels. When I was close enough to see what they were, my jaw dropped. “Jack, are those real?” Of course they were real. He was rich, but I never seemed to remember that. I saw my high school version of Jack, the boy clad in jeans and Chuck’s. The man worth millions was watching me, grinning at the arm covering my body.
His dark brow arched as he stepped toward me, “As real as you are, but your perfection makes them seem trite.” He reached for my hands, forcing me to reveal myself. The muscles in my arms were tense. There were no midnight hour, sleepy, half-conscious minds making decisions. This time was different. This time I was giving myself to him in way that I hadn’t done before. I knew he wanted me, but I didn’t know how, and the look in his eyes said it would be different. He held me at arm’s length, my hands in his as he parted them, holding my arms away from my body, admiring me. Jack’s hot gaze slipped over my neck, lingered on my br**sts, before dipping to my waist. He released one hand and raised the other. “Spin,” he commanded, passing me under his arm. I spun once slowly, on the ball of my foot feeling like a wanton ballerina, wishing that he’d touch me—but Jack only watched.
His eyes slid over me as I turned, caressing the curves of my body, seeing them in the full light from the window. My heart pounded in my chest. I glanced at the open window, worried. He saw my gaze pass his shoulder and land on the glass. “No one’s here, Abby. It’s private property. Trust me.” My eyes moved back to his face. I nodded once, and didn’t look at the window again.
Jack took a deep breath, smiling to himself. “You are so stunning, so captivatingly beautiful.” He breathed heavily, his eyes growing darker. He blinked once. Twice. Forcing away the emotions that were dominating him. “I’m going to reposition this,” he took a fist full of skirt, tugging it, “and then the jewelry.” I nodded, still feeling exposed, still shocked by how much I wanted him.
Barefoot, I padded behind him to a table filled with brushes, tiny tubes, palettes, and shears. Jack picked up a silver pair of scissors. He gripped my waist, and tugged at the skirt until the slit was in front—off center—over my leg. He pushed the fabric back, seeing my lack of panties, and smiled. Leaning closer, he kneeled in front of me, pressing his face to my bare skin and inhaled. My fingers found his hair and as I tried to hold him there, but Jack pulled away, his hair getting tugged as he retreated.
Every inch of me was tingling, aching to be touched. Without thinking, I whispered, “You’re making me crazy, Jack.” I breathed deeply, my chest expanding fully as he looked up at me.
“Remember, your promise, Abby.” With that he took the skirt in his hands, and layer by layer hacked into it. When he was done, it looked like a wild animal had eaten the front of the skirt. There wasn’t any fabric left to cover anything below the waist. The remnants of the skirt trailed down behind my waist, covering my butt. I swallowed hard, trying to remain still and silent.