The wine was a welcome distraction after the kiss that had left her short of breath and weak in the knees. Emma sipped at the liquid that Nick had sloshed into a cheap glass bearing the logo of some brand of beer, enjoying the way the alcohol caused warmth to pool low in her belly.
The light press of his fingers at the base of her spine made her warmer still. She knew what she wanted, and it was undoubtedly going to happen—their need permeated the air between them.
“This is…well.” Emma blinked at the corner of the studio that Nick had led her to. Stacked nearly as high as she was tall were piles of…well, of junk. Scraps and sheets of metal, logs, planks of wood, hunks of stone, coils of wire, jugs of some kind of plaster. Some of it looked new, but most was weathered and clearly worn. “What is all this?”
“This is where we store…well, stuff.” Stepping back, Nick ran a hand through his hair. Emma didn’t miss the way the muscles of his arm pressed against the thin cotton of his T-shirt as he did. “It looks a mess, I know. We’re both pack rats. Can’t walk by something that one of us might use one day.”
“Did you find most of this?” With a small sweep of her arm, Emma indicated the piles that, when she looked at them through Nick’s eyes, seemed more like treasure than junk. “I would have thought you purchased them.”
“We do that, too.” His face was alight as he talked about his craft. “But one of the reasons Mike and I make such good partners in our space here is because we think the same. We both think it adds to the finished project to have something that isn’t brand-new, something with a story to tell.”
We both think. She hadn’t anticipated it, but the words released a hit of sadness, thick and oily in her veins.
Nick knew these things about Mike, spoke of them in a matter-of-fact way. While she, who had come from his blood, knew nothing more than what he looked like in a photo.
How could she be sad over something she’d only just discovered she’d been missing?
“Hey.” With a gentle press of his fingers under her chin, Nick caught her attention. Something about his expression told her he knew where her mind had wandered. “How about we finish up that tour?”
“Yes, please.” He was trying to distract her. She would let him.
She followed silently as he guided her through the mess of the studio. Back at the table where she’d first seen him working, she watched as he lifted a medium-sized statue from the shelf, grunting under its weight, muscles straining.
“This is what I’ve been trying to finish up lately.” Placing the heavy piece on the table, he swiped his arm across his forehead before casting a sidelong glance at Emma. “I’m a little stuck on it. What do you think?”
She understood what the glance had been for when she rounded the table and took a good look at the sculpture.
Cast in fiery tones of bronze and brass, it seemed abstract at first glance—just a series of soft lines, curves, and bends. A second look brought it into focus, and she could see that it was quite clearly a woman. A very sensual woman, seated with her knees hugged into her chest, her head dropped forward to reveal an elegant stretch of bare back.
She couldn’t quite hold back the hiss of her breath.
“It’s lovely.” She tried, but couldn’t stop herself from saying the words that she knew she shouldn’t let go. “She must be a beautiful woman.”
The wicked grin that split his face was instantaneous and exasperating. He’d chosen this piece specifically, she knew that now—he’d wanted to see her reaction.
“Green’s a sexy color on you.” Tracing a finger lightly over her cheekbone, he gestured to the sculpture with a nod of his head. “But there’s no need to be jealous. She’s not any one specific woman. Just my interpretation of female beauty. Which is probably why something’s still missing—she’s generic.”
“I think she’s perfect.” The streak of relief was new to her. The thought of him sitting there sketching in a notepad while some gorgeous, voluptuous beauty reclined on a bed before him had made her feel nauseated. “Do you ever sculpt real people?”
“Sure.” There was that grin again, tossed at her quickly before his attention returned to the statue. “You offering to pose for me?”
“I—what?” The notion was so absurd that she stopped as she was, hand extended to touch the cool-looking metal. “You’re not serious.”
“I absolutely am.” When he looked at her again, the heat that had been on simmer since their last kiss had again grown to small, flickering flames. “Though with a body like yours? I’d have a hard time focusing on my work.”
“I—” How on earth was she supposed to reply to that? She knew what she looked like. She had the kind of frame that wore clothes well but lacked the curves that drew men like honeybees to a blossom. “I don’t look anything like her.”
Didn’t look anything like his idea of female beauty.
“You don’t,” he agreed, and her stomach knotted. The tension coiled tighter when he approached her again, forcing her to back up until the sharp edge of the table pressed into her behind. “Because there’s nothing generic about you.”
He circled her thin wrist with his strong fingers, and the scrape of the callused pads of his fingers against her arm left her breathless. Gently, he guided her arm back, coaxing her fingers to clutch the edge of the table. He repeated the process on her left side, guiding that arm across her breasts. He brushed against her torso softly as he did, making her heart pound wildly in her chest.
“This is how I’d pose you.” His voice was low, rasping into the otherwise silent air. His fingers danced along her spine, making her arch her back like a cat. “Full of contrasts. Hiding behind one arm, but the other leaving you open.”
He stepped back, and she felt the burn of his gaze on her body as he studied her from head to toe. Closing her eyes, she felt his fingers in her hair, then the tie being pulled free. Her hair, thick and heavy, fell straight down like sheets of rain. When he pulled it over one of her shoulders, urging her to turn slightly toward it, she shivered against his touch.
“Half of you trying to hide behind that glorious curtain of hair. The other side open, revealing to everyone who looks at you how strong you really are.”
“That…um.” Her mouth was so dry the words stuck in her throat. “That doesn’t sound very…sexy.”
“Are you serious?” Pressing a light kiss to her lips, he trailed his mouth along the line of her jaw, making her moan. “There’s nothing sexier than a strong woman. Just like you.”
Her eyes flew open when he kissed her again.
This was it. Last chance to pull away, which is what the Emma of the past would have done. The Emma she’d been up until just a few days ago didn’t climb into bed with strange men. Hell, she didn’t even meet strange men, because she didn’t go anywhere new. She certainly didn’t hop flights to new countries on a whim.
She didn’t want to be that Emma anymore.
Her lips parted against his, letting him in. Pulling him in, her fingers finding his biceps and digging in, tugging him right up against her. She gasped when he pressed against her, lifted her until she was seated on the table, her legs wrapped around his waist.
She could feel exactly how sexy he thought she was, and she loved every second of it.
When his hand slid along her thigh, she cried out, the sound echoing off the concrete walls. Immediately she flushed, worried that she was sounding silly.
“Emma.” Rather than being put off, Nick growled against her throat. Sliding the hands that created such beauty around her waist, he lifted her off the table. She clung to him, head thrown back, as he carried her to a small couch she hadn’t noticed before. Setting her down gently, he claimed her mouth again as she rose to her knees, kissing her as though he couldn’t get enough.
She’d worried that her level of enthusiasm might have turned him away, even if it was how she really felt. The notion of just being herself was still so foreign to her that it was frightening. It was also intoxicating, and as their clothes started to fall to the studio floor, she forgot all about how she should or shouldn’t act and lost herself.
Soft sighs. Panting breath. Heat sealed them together as he rolled her to her back on the couch, lowered his lean length to hers. She expected urgency—wanted it, even—but when he took the time to draw a finger up the outside of her bare thigh, his lips at the same time tracing an exquisitely tender line up her throat, she felt the muscle of her heart clench so tightly it hurt.
She wanted…she wanted everything.
Those hands of his guided her slowly but surely up over a sharp edge of pleasure. When she would have reached for him, he held her hands above her head, coaxing the embers of the first blaze back to full flame as he sank inside her, claiming her fully as his own.
The edge was softer, deeper the second time. When she felt him falling along with her, his skin sliding against her own, she tugged a hand free and traced it over the lean planes of his face. His forehead was beaded with sweat, the scent of it in the air as he played her body.
She looked into his eyes, found him staring right back at her—seeing her, as he marked her from the inside out. Knowing he was seeing nothing but her, she let him pull her against him tightly as they both fell.