Masterpiece (9 page)

“But … what kind of poses are you thinking of?” she asks coyly, and I suddenly get the feeling she’s
playing me as much as I’m playing her. Like she’s
teasing
me. Like her
protests are already melting away.

“You only need to lie back and relax.
I’ll do all that.
”

“What do you mean …
you’ll
do all that?”

“I’ll put you into the positions I want,” I tell her.
“I have a few in mind.
For the series.
”

She laughs again. “No. Seriously. There’s no way I
can agree to that.”

But this has become the hottest foreplay in history.
I take another swig from the bottle of Jack. I need to calm the fuc
k down. It’s been almost seven
months since I slept with a woman and my body is raging with fiery, desperate need. I need to taste her. Kiss her. Devour her.

Then she says, “I’ve never … been naked in front of a man before.
I’m sort of new at all that.
”

I almost choke on my whiskey.

“Except in my dreams.” She says this so quietly I almost wonder if I’ve imagined it.

Is she trying to tell she’s a
virgin
? That those to-die-for
curves and that sweet little mouth are
untouched
?

I feel almost crazed with lust.
More pre-cum pulses out of my goddamn cock, which is agonizingly engorged. She’s mine. Mine. That sweet little cherry is
mine.

“I’ll be so careful with you.” My voice sounds deep and husked.

“I haven’t agreed to anything,” she says.
“Y
et.”

I stand up. I don’t give a fuck if my hard-on is practically bursting out of my pants or
not.
“Follow me,” I tell her.

She does.

Chapter Ten

My dream is about to come true.

Max Cash is arrogant as hell so I plan on to
rturing him just a little, right before I surrender to him.
I can’t let him think he has all the power.

It’s true, what I told him. I am a virgin.
Twenty-three years old and hardly even been kissed. Yeah, I’ve been called uptight before, but only by boys and men who didn’t interest me. I’ve been holding out for my dream man. I never realized that until now.

Now, I feel the opposite of uptight. Something in me has changed. Some wild urge in me has been awakened.

He leads me through his cabin, which is large and low-lit by a number of modern
lamps.
The front wall is made almost entirely of glass and looks out to the fields and hills and the purple sky.
It’s
a bachelor pad but has a decidedly rustic charm. There’s a saddle on the table and the place smells of leather, wood, paint and something else. Something manly and comforting.

My phone rings in my pocket and I pull it out.

Powers.

Shit.

I’d forgotten to call him.

Already, something in me has changed. Before I’ve even seen Max Cash’s art. I don’t want to settle anymore. Whatever happens, I’ll figure it out.

I answer the call. “Hey, Powers. I was just about to call you.”

“How’d it go? Did you get Fleur?”

“Not exactly. She’s … she’s decided to go with someone else.”

“
Goddamn it
, Elle!
I was
counting
on you. I would’ve
fucking gone myself if I’d –”

“Thanks for calling, Powers. I’ll save you the trouble and resign now.”

“
Now?
When are you coming back to New York?”

I look over at Max, who’s waiting for me. He’s so beautiful I’m literally breathless
.
But somehow I keep breathing.
“Not for a while.
Oh, and please
tell Astrid it’s a go.
Tell her I’ll be in touch.”

“A
go
? What does that mean? What –”

“See you, Powers. Good luck with the Rain Ransom show. I’m sure it’ll be amazing.” I end the call. I turn off my phone before putting it back in my pocket.

“Everything okay?” Max asks.

“Fine. Never better.”

Max leads me up the curved staircase which has been carved entirely out of wood.

Once we reach the top of the stairs, he turns on another lamp.

I gasp.

No words can describe what I see. It’s like stumbling across a buried treasure and at the same time laying your eyes on the most profound expression of creativity you’ve ever seen. He’s a genius, that’s all there is to it. Amazed, I wander further into his studio, which is huge and open, taking up the entire floor of the house.
Painting after painting. On walls, on easels, stacked against tables.
As he said: hundreds. And each one of them is a masterpiece.

“
Max
,” I hear myself breathe
.

I turn to see him sitting on a stool, watching me. He looks rugged, as always, and huge in the interior space. He’s taken his hat off. Despite his size and his broad shoulders and dark, brooding looks, there’s a vulnerability to him, like he’s not used to showing people this side of himself.

The thick strands of his black hair curl around his ears and against his tanned neck. The light paints him gold.

His body is so hard and lean and beautifully built, he’s like some crazy sculpture come to life.

His face is even more perfect than the dream,
because he’s real
.

Max Cash is outshining his art.

I walk closer to him and stand in f
ront of him.

“What do you think?” he says, his voice low.

I don’t answer him right away.
“I think I want to be your model,” I tell him.
I already understand that I’m agreeing to much more than a business deal
.
This pull is far too strong to deny.

Max’s eyes are an unusual shade of deep blue, framed by
thick black lashes. He watches me for a few seconds, then he reaches out to
slowly unclasp the clip from my hair. My long hair falls loose
, cascading in feather-soft waves over my shoulders and down my back.
He slides my glasses off. My vision isn’t actually too bad without them. Someone told me about a year or so ago that I looked too young to be a curator. So I got the glasses because I thought they might make me look older and
more sophisticated. “Hell
,” he rasps. “You are so damn pretty.”

The way he says that makes me … believe him. Like he’s not ju
st saying that to get me naked.
Like he actually means it. This makes me bolder.

“Do you … want to paint me now?”

He contemplates me coolly, that arrogant sneer turning me on even more.

The corner of his mouth quirks and he stands to his full height.
Damn,
he’s big. He probably weighs twice what I weigh and is at least six inches taller than me. The thought of being naked and vulnerable in front of this massive wall of gorgeous man-flesh is making me feel …
hot
. Primal urges rage
inside me. I want him to
use
all that manly power on me. To mark me and
to claim me.

It must be all those erotic books I’ve been reading.

Max
unbuckles his leather chaps and lets them fall to the floor. His jeans hug his body like you wouldn’t believe. His plaid cotton shirt strains over his muscular shoulders as he
grabs
an easel and a blank canvas. He
walks over and sets them next to his huge bed, which sits under a
window. The bed’s covered in a mountain of plush pillows and duvets.
It looks
comfortable. The room is softly lit and th
e sky outside is dark now
.
“I want you naked on the bed,” he says. “Then I’ll put you in the position I want.”

Oh god.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. He’s going to see how wet I am. He’s going to
touch
me.

Which is exactly what I want him to do. I
need
him, with a fever I’ve never felt before.

So I walk over to the side of the bed, close to where he’s standing
. He’s
squeezing some paint onto a palette as he watches me.

I’ve never done a
strip-tease before. I’ve had plenty of guys ask me out and I’ve gone on a few dinner dates with men who have tried to woo me and kiss me and one even asked me to marry him. I declined. None of them were what I was looking for.

This
is what I’ve been looking for. Right here.
All six
feet, three inches of brooding genius cowboy hero.

And I plan on getting it.

So, even though I’ve never done this before, I feel ready. Like a lusty nymph who’s just discovered voracious new appetites
.
Like I was born for this moment.

I start to untie my black silk mini-dress.
I let my fingers glide across my skin as I ease the fabric open. I’m
wearing a cream lace push-up bra and
panties. Even though no one ever sees them except me,
I always wear sexy lingerie under my work clothes. I deal with a lot of wealthy, self-important, egotistical assholes on a daily basis so I like to dress for success. Knowing I’m dressed like a sex kitten under my power suit makes me feel like I’ve got an ace up my sleeve.
It gives me confidence, and in New York – especially in the New York art scene – confidence
is essential if you want to survive.

I drop my dress onto a chair.

Max exhales a low oath.

I have full breasts and curvy hips. My slim waist sort of accentuates how full my breasts are.
And this bra happens to accentuate this detail even more. Plus my panties
are see-through. I hadn’t actually planned to wear such sexy underwear today but now I’m glad I did.

Max is staring at me with a hungry, wolfish look on his face.

So I unhook my bra, freeing my
breasts with a delicate bounce.

Now all I’m wearing is my tiny, saturated panties, thigh-high stockings and my killer high-heeled shoes.

Oh god.

So I do it. I peel my soaked
panties down my legs, stepping out of them.
I start to take off my shoes but Max says, “Leave those on.”
The roughness of his
rasped voice makes me quiver inside and a fresh wave of honey coats the soft, warm lips of my pussy.

“Holy fucking hell,” he says, running a hand through his thick, mussed-up hair.

I lightly play the tips of my nipples, for no reason except to entice him. I feel almost feral with lust, but there’s
no hurry. I feather my nipples some more, until they’re pink and tightly beaded.

Max steps closer, his dark eyes heavy-lidded with his own need.

He
kisses me. Gently
,
at first.
His tongue dips inside my mouth and I open for him, sucking gently on his tongue as he licks deeper into me.
I’ve never k
issed anyone like this before. With a hunger that ignites my whole body.
But I pull back from the kiss. I want to tease him into a frenzy. I want to inspire him and make him come so hard he’ll never recover. Not that I’ve ever done that to a man be
fore, but I feel like I’ll be able
to do it to Max Cash.
He’s the one. My dream man. Mine.

He kisses me again, hard and greedy, finding deeper, more intimate angles. I touch his jaw with my hand, pulling back, easing his kisses into
tiny, nibbling licks.
I want this to last
, I realize. Not just this anticipation and this foreplay, but the dream itself.

“Baby, you are so fucking gorgeous,” he growls, his large hand sliding to my ass, which he grasps in a punishing grip, pulling me against the rock-hard planes of his body.
I moan when his rough fingers slide across the slippery lips of my pussy.

“I can’t take this,” he groans.

“You can take it,” I say, easing the top of his unbuttoned shirt open
.
Damn it all to hell, he’s built.
His chest his unbelievable
. As perfectly sculpted as a master’s work of art. I touch my nipples to his
hair-dusted skin, shivering at the gentle abrasion against my sensitive flesh. I arch up to him, licking his plump bottom lip.

And then I step away from him.

I crawl onto the bed, slowly, letting him see every inch of me. My slick pussy’s so wet a drip of moisture glides across
the top of my thigh. I lay back onto the p
illows.

“Paint me,” I say.

He stands by the side of the bed. Then he places his hands on either side of me and leans over me, until his hard, fully-clothed body is inches over my nakedness
.
He’s so big. So strong. He could do anything he wanted to me.

“First I’m going to taste you.”