CINDERELLA & THE PLAYBOY, page 10
"There's nothing peaceful about my mood," he said tightly.
Her pencil hovered over the paper as she fought for control of her unruly mind and body.
He cleared his throat. "So, why did you decide to become an artist?"
She found herself smiling at that. "Oh, Tanner. No one decides to become an artist. The desire, the drive, the feeling of the brush or pencil in your hand, it all conspires against you. Those elements and many more decide for you, until it becomes an obsession."
He nodded. "Understood. Then perhaps a better question is, why teach it?"
She looked up and sighed. "I love the expression on my students' faces when they've done a good job. The way they sit back and stare at their work and think, 'I did that?'"
"But if you just concentrated on your own painting, you could become wealthy and famous one day."
She brushed her thumb over the paper, working the shading of his calf muscles. "Wealth and fame don't interest me. I grew up in a poor family with hand-me-downs and spaghetti four times a week. I actually liked sharing a room."
"I'm not minding it much myself."
She glanced up at him then, her cheeks burning as hotly as the rest of her, and completely lost her train of thought. "What were we talking about?"
He chuckled, looking pleased with himself. "Your adolescence and how finances never played a role in your family."
"Oh, right." She shrugged. "It's true. I was a happy child, and I respected my parents for who they were, how much they loved us and how hard they worked." She smiled. "Still do."
He looked past her for a moment, out the window, and she wondered if he'd ever felt any of those things for anyone. She wondered if wealth and fame were what he respected, loved – what made him happy.
"You'd be content with hand-me-downs and spaghetti, Abby?" he said at last.
She nodded. "With the right man, yes."
His jaw twitched, and her heart dropped. She hadn't meant to go there. She hadn't wanted to talk about family and love and other men and futures without each other.
She tossed her sketchpad and pencil onto the bed and forced her voice to be light. "Your turn."
He looked down at the paper, then back up at her, his eyes slowly returning to playful. "I thought I already had my turn."
"No, silly." She stood up and slipped off her robe. "It's your turn to draw me."
Tanner grew hard instantly. She was standing less than ten feet away, looking to the side as she placed one hand across her chest, attempting to look demure. But she didn't. She looked hot and sexy and he wanted her. He gritted his teeth. She was wearing nothing but a smile and she expected him to draw her?
He tried to chuckle, but it came out as more of a choke. "Abby, I can't—"
"Try not to look at me in a sexual way," she suggested.
"Get serious."
She laughed. "I am serious. Start at my foot, but don't see it as a foot. See it, see me, as a series of lines and shapes. Then work your way up." She bent down and touched her heel, then she brushed her fingers up her ankle to her calf. "Curves in, then out, then in again at the back of the knee. But they're all different depths."
"You keep talking like that and I'm taking you right there on that rug," he warned her.
She smiled, her eyes twinkling. "I'll try to use less provocative words."
Tanner scoffed at that. Anything she said, any way she moved, it was all provocative. His gaze raked her as she stood directly in front of the couch. Her toned calves, one lightly muscled thigh draped across the other to hide the sweetness he'd tasted earlier and desperately wanted again. Then there was her flat stomach, extending upward to meet the creamy slopes of her breasts, the rosy nipples just barely hidden by her crossed arm.
He was no artist. He'd never do her justice.
"Just try," she said as if she could read his mind, only barely breaking the spell she cast over him. "Do an outline of my frame."
He shook his head. This was crazy. But hell, he'd been acting crazy since the moment he'd met her. And if he had to tell the truth, he was enjoying it immensely.
With his hand shaking like a damn juvenile delinquent stealing his first glance at a Playboy centerfold, he picked up the charcoal pencil and attempted to focus on the lines.
He made it to the outline of her thigh with moderate ease, but he was starting to lose it when he drew the curve of her hip. He almost jumped off the bed and laid her out on that couch when he came to the outline of her breast. But he fought the ache in his groin, the desperate want, and pressed onward, up over her shoulder to the valley of her neck, to her profile. As he drew the lines of her eyes and nose and lips, he wondered if this ache he felt for her would ever go away. When he returned to L.A. would he be able to let her go?
"How's it going?" she asked, tugging him from thoughts and questions he wasn't prepared to answer.
"Rough," he practically growled as his gaze rested on the sketched outline of her nipple. "Real rough."
"Can I see?"
"It'll cost you."
"How much?"
"How much you got?"
She walked over to him, her eyes glowing with passion. "This enough?"
He reached out and hauled her to him, inhaling that scent that he knew he'd never forget. "What perfume do you wear?"
"I don't. It's Ivory soap. Not very sophisticated, huh?"
"It's intoxicating." He turned her around and sat her in his lap. "What do you think of my art?"
He heard her sharp intake of breath as she felt him hard as granite beneath her. "Not bad," she breathed, twisting toward him, pressing him back on the bed. "Not bad at all."
"Not bad for a dying man," he said, tossing the sketchpad aside.
With a seductive smile, she stretched out on top of him. But she didn't stay put for long. Hell-bent on torturing him, she moved slowly down the length of his body, her nipples grazing his chest, his stomach, then over the solid heat of him. "You feel very healthy to me," she whispered as her head lowered and she took him into her mouth.
"Abby." His groan was fierce. Blood pounded in his brain, firing shots of desire so intense it was close to pain. How could she act so coy when he was about to explode? How could she make him see stars, make him want, make him need something he couldn't have?
It was sweet torture, but he wanted her, needed her closer. "Abby, please. I want to kiss you until you're crazy. I want to watch your eyes change color as I bury myself deep inside you."
Her breath caught. "I want that, too." Then she smiled slowly. "But first things first." Like a sweet cat, she moved up, supplying every electric inch of him with kisses. Delicate little kisses, tormenting him beyond reason.
Finally her lips met his. On a growl he took her kiss deep, thrusting his tongue into the heat of her mouth as his big hands cupped her buttocks tightly. Her breath caught and she followed him. And for just a moment he wondered what he'd done to deserve this heaven.
Their mouths warred as their bodies bucked, thrusting toward a paradise they were only just discovering in each other. He lifted her easily, shifting her forward so he could take one soft sloping breast into his mouth.
He felt her shudder, felt the sublime wetness that he'd prompted in her against his belly.
"Sweetheart," he whispered. It was a cry for release, but from what he wasn't exactly sure.
"Yes?" She sighed the word, and it almost did him in.
He had her on her back in a breath, was raised above her in seconds. "For the next several hours I'm giving the lessons."
Her gaze locked with his as she slowly opened her legs. "I'm gonna be a great student."
Longing filled him as he called out her name, as he pushed into the slick channel of her body.
As he pushed home.
That flicker of a thought vanished as she moved beneath him, her hips rising to greet every thrust he gave her.
He was a madman. His movements turned quick and fever-pitched as he pumped inside her. But he would wait to hear her cry out against his mouth.
And when she finally did, when her moans of pleasure turned hot and frantic, he let his mind and body go – go to her – and over the edge of what was real and sound.
To that sweet paradise once again.
* * *
Chapter 9
«^»
The morning sun spilled through the window, illuminating a small pot of violets on a table across the room. Abby moved her gaze from the sweet, purple flowers to the sexy man sleeping next to her. Of course, she couldn't see Tanner's face. Her cheek rested on his chest, her arm wrapped around his waist, her leg draped over his legs.
She closed her eyes for a moment and let his breathing, let the rise and fall of his chest soothe her. She would allow herself to enjoy this moment – this little slice of heaven – and she wouldn't give in to any feelings of regret for last night or penny wishes that it could continue when they returned to Los Angeles tomorrow.
He was a confirmed bachelor. She knew that without a doubt, she also understood why. He was protecting himself. Hell, if every person she'd loved had abandoned her, whether their leaving was deliberate or not, she wouldn't be giving her heart away, either. The word commitment was forever taboo in his life's dictionary, and was probably displayed in plain view right underneath the "L" word. From all that Jan had told her, he didn't trust people, and no matter how hard she tried to get close to him, he was sure to push her away.
Lord, she didn't want to back him into a corner he wasn't ready for – and perhaps never would be ready for. And she knew she wouldn't be able to stand hearing his words of rejection. Yes, she decided as she lay there, his heart beating softly beneath her cheek, it was better to pretend she didn't love him, pretend that she was more than comfortable being with him for the time that was left. She wouldn't even ask him if they could continue their relationship when they got back to Los Angeles. Instead she'd act as though that was the furthest thing from her mind – when all she really wanted to do was love him.
She stretched, her hand inadvertently traveling up his chest, her thigh sliding upward. She felt him stir, felt his body harden.
"Good morning, my little artist." His voice was raspy, sexy and she felt her heart melt like a Popsicle in August.
"Morning," she returned simply. "Tanner, maybe we should—"
"We should," he interrupted, nuzzling her neck. "We definitely should."
"That's not … ah … well—" Abby couldn't think or talk when he was doing that. Damn him. How was she going to resist him, much less pretend she didn't love him?
His hand grazed her inner thigh and she sighed. Later. She'd resist him later.
Tanner came up on one elbow and looked deep into Abby's eyes, the green orbs flecked with heat. She shocked the hell out of him. Well, his feelings for her did, anyway. Never in his life had a woman affected him like this. Awake, asleep, posing for him, lying beneath him, she made him think about things that he thought he'd never feel, things he thought he'd never want. In the road map of his life, he hadn't seen a picture of Abby. But here she was. A curve in the road, a detour, a stop sign. He hadn't seen her coming.
From age seven his future had made sense. It was comfortable, even if it wasn't ideal. With his father jet-setting from one exotic locale to the next, Tanner had been on his own after his grandmother died. He went straight into boarding school, came out at sixteen, went to college, made a million by twenty-three. He'd spent a lifetime proving he didn't need anyone or anything.
Last night had changed that. No. Abby had changed that.
He smiled as she, too, rose up on one elbow, her red hair falling about her shoulders, her creamy skin aching for his touch. "Sun's shining. It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day."
Damned beautiful. He pulled her close. She responded immediately, wrapping her arms around his neck. Tanner felt any last shreds of control slipping away as he captured her mouth hungrily. Why couldn't he have his cake and eat it, too? Marriage wasn't in his future, but continuing to see Abby when they returned to L.A. certainly could be.
She rolled on top of him, her eyes already dark with passion. She gasped, then smiled when she found him hard and ready for her. "I must warn you, I'm not getting out of this bed until I'm satisfied."
Tanner couldn't help but smile. "That's a serious threat. What happens if I won't deliver?"
"Won't or can't?" she teased, rubbing her breasts seductively against his chest.
Tanner sucked in his breath. "Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what you're in for."
She gave him a half smile. "I'm more than willing to find out."
"Then hold on."
She did. And in one quick movement he lifted her up and placed her down on top of him. She cried out, then began to move, drawing him in and out of her. His body bucked and his mind reeled and took flight from a truth he didn't recognize as his gaze caught the erotic sight of their shadows on the wall.
* * *
It was close to ten when they were finally up and fairly ready. Abby sat on the edge of the bed and took a bite of one of the pumpkin muffins that had mysteriously appeared, along with some fresh bacon and hot coffee, outside the guest-house door. A soft knock and departing footsteps were all the clues they'd had, but she was willing to bet her bottom dollar that Jan was behind the breakfast.
"You've inspired me," Tanner announced suddenly, pulling on his jeans.
"I know. You told me." Already dressed, Abby just sat back and admired him. "Several times last night and a couple of times this morning."
He arched a brow at her. "Oh, sweetheart, this is a different kind of inspiration altogether."
Did a more handsome man even exist? she wondered as she watched him pull a tan sweater over his head. The color turned his eyes dark chocolate and his skin bronze. With his hiking boots and baseball cap he looked rugged, still powerful, but outdoorsy. He was just irresistible and she knew when she returned to work tomorrow afternoon, she was going to have to put in her two-week notice. The thought ripped at her heart, but there was no way she could see him every day, work so close to him and yet be so far away. Hell, Greenland would be too close.
Tanner leaned against the wall, sporting a cocky grin. "I have the perfect concept for our signature sweet."
"Well, out with it, man," she demanded playfully. "Don't make me torture you."
"Damn, that sounds tempting." He walked over and grabbed her hand. "But we don't have much time. Come with me."
They were out the door, past the lake and running toward the orchard before Tanner slowed. Apple trees surrounded them when he finally stopped.
"This is the Tanner signature sweet?" Abby said, slightly out of breath. "An orchard?"
"Yes."
Abby looked around, the delicate fragrance of apple tickling her senses. This spot was like a dream come true for her. Picture perfect, and for just a moment she wished she could hold an art class here. Under the pale-blue sky, resting amongst orange and red and yellowed maple leaves that had blown here on the wind, then scattered about, were hundreds of apple trees. Apples hung daintily off branches, thick trunks were carved with age and experience. The trees looked ready to climb, ready for harvesting. And Abby wondered why she hadn't come here before, but felt happy that Tanner had discovered it.
She turned back to face him, and found him looking far too smug for his own good. He needed a woman to bring him down a peg or two. But it wouldn't be her, she knew, and that thought made a lump the size of a grapefruit form in her throat. She forced herself to swallow. "So, you're going to cover an apple tree in marshmallows?"
He grinned at her. "Not the tree, smart-aleck. And we're not going to use marshmallows. We're going to create the most scrumptious, amazing chocolate-nut apple ever."
"No more working separately, then?" She smiled a little shyly. "What I meant was—"
"I know what you meant." His voice turned low and husky and he came to stand before her. "Coming together sounds so much better, don't you think?"
Oh, did it ever. She nodded, trying to ignore the heat that emanated from him and landed deep in her belly. "Yes. I think so. Yes."
Amusement burned brightly behind his eyes. He knew his effect on her and he obviously reveled in it. "I'm going to name it the Abby Apple."
"A sweet named after me? That's a lot of pressure." She tried not to drown in this playful side of him, but she felt herself slipping beneath the surface. "People will expect me to be sweet all the time."
"That's not much of a stretch." He snaked an arm around her waist, pulled her close and planted a kiss on her open mouth. He groaned and whispered, "So sweet."
She longed for him to pick her up and carry her off to his lair – or the guest house – as he had last night, but she needed to at least make some attempt at playing it cool and calm. "I still don't understand the inspiration part."
He released her and gestured around. "The apple tree. You told me about it that first night at dinner. You said you wanted one."
"You remember that?"
He raised a brow. So proud, so self-assured, he'd probably memorized her life story. Lord, did she love that. She loved him. "When do we get started?"
"Now." Tanner picked a few apples off the tree and tossed them to her. "We have to present our sample at dinner tonight."
* * *
"Something's missing."
"Is that so?" Tanner grinned at Abby. Standing next to him at the stove, she nibbled on his invention – a damned good-looking chocolate-and-walnut-covered apple – and wore a thoughtful expression. She looked cute in her apron–chocolate and powdered sugar staining her cheek and jaw. "What would you suggest, Chef. Tell?"
"Don't get me wrong," she began. "This is delicious and … what was the other word you used? Scrumptious." She continued to stir the warm chocolate. "I just think it needs an extra touch."
He shot her a look of warning. "No marshmallows."
She laughed. "I think that was ruled out after my last candy-making attempt. How about caramel? Before we dip the apple in chocolate, let's dip it in caramel."
