This wasn’t just about sex anymore. When he saw her, he felt more than just a physical reaction. He was genuinely happy to hear her voice and to see her smile. He found himself wanting to sit with her and talk, to learn more about the woman he knew so well, yet barely knew at all.
But the prospect of feeling something deeper for Marisol frightened the hell out of him. He’d never had a real relationship and wasn’t even sure what was expected of him. Suddenly, this affair was moving far too fast and he felt it was about to careen out of control.
Ian heard the back screen door slam and he waited. Marisol probably wasn’t aware what it had cost him to walk out of the bathroom and walk away from her. But he’d never cared about the women he’d been with in the past, not beyond the momentary pleasures they might have offered.
He slowly turned and watched her approach. Her hair was wet, the ends making damp streaks on his flannel robe. He thought about the body beneath the faded fabric, the body he’d grown to crave, and realized he liked her dressed in his clothes, bathing in his bathtub, walking through his house. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
She nodded and watched him as he tended the fire. “If you-” Marisol paused and took a deep breath. “If you don’t want me anymore you can just tell me. I’ll understand.”
Ian turned to stare at her, stunned by her statement. Was that what she thought? God, how could she ever believe that, especially after what they’d shared together? Ian doubted that he would ever stop craving her body.
“It’s all right,” Marisol said. “We both knew what we were getting into when we started this. And it was fun. But I really don’t want any messy endings. So please, just be honest.”
“You want the truth?” Ian asked.
She sent him a sideways glance, then looked back down into the fire. Her head bobbed in a reluctant nod.
Ian tossed aside the spatula and took her face in his hands, kissing her thoroughly. A tiny cry of surprise slipped from her lips, but then she gave herself over to him, opening her mouth and tasting him fully. He undid the tie on the robe and brushed aside the soft fabric, running his hands over her naked skin.
When he drew back, her lips were damp and her eyes half-shuttered. “My problem is that I want you too much,” he murmured. “Every second of my day is spent wondering when I’m going to be with you again and how it’s going to be between us. Does that scare you, Marisol? Because it sure as hell scares me.”
She laughed softly, her fingertips coming up to his face to touch his smile. “I’m not afraid,” she said.
“Then maybe I shouldn’t be, either.” Ian smoothed her damp hair back from her face and looked deeply into her dark eyes. How the hell was he supposed to know where this was going? And did it make any difference? He’d always imagined that falling in love was a leap of faith. Everyone knew the odds were fifty-fifty at best.
Throwing himself into a full-fledged love affair with Marisol Arantes was just as hazardous. This wasn’t a series of one-night stands for him. He wanted more, something concrete, defined. But what? Until he knew for sure, perhaps it was best to keep his real fears to himself.
“Sometimes I wonder if I can get through the day without kissing you or touching you or…or having you inside of me,” she said. “But there’s nothing wrong with wanting each other. It’s perfectly natural.”
His hands skimmed over her body, smoothing over the soft curves of her hips and buttocks. “Obsession is natural?”
“Are you obsessed?” she asked.
“It feels that way,” Ian admitted, as he pulled her against his body. “Hell, I’ve arrested guys for stalking and wondered how they could be so stupid, so weak. These last few days, I’ve had to fight the temptation to drive by the gallery, to knock on your door and see if you’re there, just for a chance to seduce you all over again.”
“Then do it,” Marisol challenged. “Seduce me.”
“No,” Ian said.
“No?”
He ran his thumb over her lower lip. “Not until you tell me three things about yourself that I don’t know.”
Marisol frowned. “Why?”
“Humor me,” he said.
“All right. But if I confess three things, then you have to confess three things, as well.”
“You start,” Ian said.
She thought for a long moment, then smiled. “I hate being tickled. That’s one.” She paused. “My favorite spot on a man’s body is that little indentation at the base of his spine. And…I like it when you whisper in my ear when you’re moving inside of me.”
His brow arched. “I thought maybe you might tell me your favorite color or your birthday or where you grew up. But I guess that will have to do for now.”
“Now you,” Marisol said. “And I don’t care about your birthday or your favorite color. I want to know intimate things.”
“I don’t like eggs for breakfast,” Ian began. “And I like it when you don’t wear underwear and I’m the only one who knows. And I love the way your hair brushes against my chest when you’re on top of me.”
She smiled. “And I like it when I first touch you, when I wrap my fingers around you and you stop breathing for a second.” Marisol reached out and slowly unbuttoned his jeans, then touched him.
Ian growled softly. “I like that, too.”
“Are you happy? Do you know everything you need to know?”
“It’s a start,” he said.
“Now will you seduce me?” Marisol asked.
Ian glanced around, then took her hand and led her to a hammock in a secluded corner of the yard. The high fence shielded them from the view of nosy neighbors and an old apple tree provided shadows in which to disappear. He helped her into the hammock, waiting until she was stretched out before he lay down behind her, cradling her body against his.
Ian ran his hands over her, touching her through the thin flannel. Slowly, he drew the robe up along her thighs and hips until he could slip his hands between her legs. His fingers brushed the tiny triangle of hair before slipping into the warm, damp slit beyond. When he touched her, her body belonged to him. He was the only one who could make her shudder with ecstasy.
Marisol moaned softly as Ian began to stroke her, back and forth in a gentle rhythm that made her writhe in his arms. Almost immediately, he saw the signs she was close to the edge and he slowed his tempo, willing to wait as long as he could.
She reached around to touch him, but his jeans got in the way. Ian took care of that with his free hand, releasing himself as he shoved the jeans and boxers down.
Marisol rubbed back against him and when she felt the heat of his erection on her skin, she shifted until he was pressed between the soft curves of her backside. Gently, she took him in hand and guided him between her legs. And then, suddenly, he was inside her.
Ian sucked in a sharp breath, the instinct to move almost overwhelming him. He knew he ought to use a condom, but the feeling of her body surrounding him, hot and damp and tight, was too perfect to resist. He slowly pushed forward, then drew back, knowing he was tempting fate.
“Don’t move,” he said, knowing it wouldn’t take much for him to come.
“I have to move,” Marisol replied. “It’s all right.”
He pressed a kiss into the curve of her neck. “Is it?” She nodded, reaching back to run her hands through his hair. Usually, Ian would never take the chance, knowing what an unplanned pregnancy could do to a guy’s life. “No babies?”
“No,” she said, moving against him. “That’s covered. And so are the other things.”
He’d never had sex without a condom, yet had always wondered what it would feel like, to touch a woman in the most intimate way, to leave part of himself inside her body. He slowly began to move again, indescribable sensations coursing through him as he sheathed himself in her heat.