"It was only the water. No landmarks, not the hole in the rocks."
"The water there has a certain quality, don't you think? It must have, otherwise you wouldn't have painted it."
"Maybe." It was her turn to be noncommittal. His refusal to share that something of himself she sensed, hurt.
As she studied him she was hit with a knowledge herself. She could want this man. No. Not could. Did. Certainly, she wanted more of him than he was willing to give. She knew his touch, his kiss, and wanted it again. It was dangerous territory to let her thoughts wander to. "The turnout is fantastic."
"Mmm."
"Right in line with our most optimistic predictions." Come on, Nick, help me out. Give me something to stop me thinking about the shadow of beard on your jaw.
"Mmm."
Stop me thinking about lacing my fingers between yours. "If gate sales keep up at the rate they have been we may have to restrict numbers."
"Callie."
"Yes."
"I brought you here to have a break."
She lapsed into silence, but unable to stop looking, she continued to study Nick, stretched out on his back, hands clasped behind his head, biceps curving against the sleeves of his polo shirt. A smudge of grease streaked above his elbow. His eyes were closed and his dark lashes rested lightly on tanned cheeks. It would be too easy to just lie there drinking in details of his appearance.
"Close your eyes."
How did he know? Quickly, she shut her eyes and tried to relax; but lying so close to him made her too conscious of his nearness. Awareness vibrated through her. If she didn't talk business she'd think about him, maybe do something stupid like reach out and touch him. "Almost half the artwork has sold already."
He expelled a sigh of exasperation.
Callie pushed on, warming to the topic. "And I think there's someone interested in the copper dragon. That's our most expensive piece."
He gave a sudden low growl and she heard the rustle of movement. The light that had dappled her face gave way to shadow. She opened her eyes. Nick loomed over her. For a second their gazes locked. Then with another softer, shorter growl, he lowered his head and his lips claimed hers.
Callie's mouth parted beneath his. He tasted of sunshine-heat and light. Sensation bloomed and overwhelmed her. Her hands went to his shoulders, the muscles hard and contoured beneath her touch. Kissing him was like stepping into a fantasy. Her senses swam. Reality threatened to slip away beneath the magic of his touch. His fingers slid up her jawline, threading into her hair, cupping her head, drawing her closer yet for the demands of his mouth.
Her hands found their way to the dark warmth of his hair, the strong column of his neck, the silken steel of his shoulders. He held her to him, his body pressed along the length of hers. Against her will, forgetting all the reasons she shouldn't be doing this, she arched into him, pressed her hips to his, driven by a compulsion to get closer still. A hint of beard gently abraded the sensitized skin of her jaw. His hand cupped her breast through the fabric of her blouse. Just that, an exquisite, almost unbearable touch, and a small moan of pleasure escaped her.
"Callie."
She loved the sound of her name on his lips. "Yes."
"A bed."
"Yes." The single syllable was all she was capable of. It threatened to turn into a mantra and a plea.
In the privacy of the guest cottage, the strong hands she loved to look at, loved the feel of, slid up her arms, over the curve of her shoulders till they cupped her face. Long fingers slid into her hair as he lowered his head.
He kissed her for the longest time. Holding her close against the masculine warmth and solidity of his body, savoring her. And greedily she drank in the taste and feel of him, clung to the power and vitality of him.
Standing here, kissing this man, Callie felt more at one with him than she'd ever felt with another human. She carried his child. She knew him. He knew and understood her. She'd never had that before.
The ceiling fan spun lazily above them as his mouth moved over hers, and they made their way slowly across the room till the bed pressed against the backs of her legs. And still they kissed. His lips explored and pleasured. He savored her like he savored a fine wine. Sipping gently, searching for every nuance with tongue and lips and seeking hands.
Those hands shifted, found the hem of her blouse, slid underneath till warm palms skimmed over the sensitized skin, trailing fire in their wake. His fingers traced the contours of her body as his tongue learned her mouth with slow, sweet seduction. Palms cupped the weight of her breasts, his thumbs grazed over lace-covered nipples, spearing need through her.
She had wanted to give, but that wanting threatened to be overpowered by the consuming need to take. Nick lifted his head and studied her. She saw the need and desire in his darkened eyes. He reached again for her. Slowly, he slipped each of her buttons undone till he could brush apart the sides of her blouse. Lowering his head, he closed his mouth over the thin lace, dampening the fabric and the tight aching nipple beneath it. Compulsion arched her against him, into him, her hands slid through the dark, sun-warmed silk of his hair, pulling his head closer yet.
His fingers slipped under the thin lace strap on her shoulder, grazed it across and down her arm. He lifted his mouth only long enough to ease the fabric aside and expose already dampened flesh to the air before his mouth again closed over her, hot and seeking. The faint stubble of his jaw grazed her flushed skin. His tongue flicked and her body jerked in reflex as a desperate gasp escaped her.
Reaching for his shirt, she sought access to the warmth of his smooth skin and the muscles beneath. Layer by layer, seeking hands knocking and tangling, they peeled away each other's clothes-her blouse, his shirt, her skirt, his pants-until there were no barriers between them.
The stillness of awe and wonder settled over her at the sheer male beauty of him. Stark planes and contours. Like a creature of a fantasy world. Her fantasy world.
And in return, the heat of his gaze, the hunger and raw need in his eyes swept through her, inflamed her. "Calypso." Her name was husky, strangled, on his lips. And that one simple word, spoken that way by him, threatened to buckle her knees.
Then he was moving, touching her again, guiding her till they lay down together on the softness of his bed. They touched. Fingertips to skin, lips to lips. The touch grew fevered as desire burned brighter. She hadn't known wanting the like of it before. This fierce desperation. She wanted to take and she wanted to give. But she needed this moment too. The exploration, the appreciation, the slowness, gentleness and oneness.
Her palm grazed over a small, hardened nipple, settled over the strong beat of his heart. And in her mind she claimed his heart with that gesture. Claimed it for herself. For always.
He groaned, and she reveled in the contradictions of that sound, powerlessness and fierceness in one. An echo of her own paradox. How was it possible to feel the strength of a warrior and utter languidness at the same time? To be flying and falling? Demanding and surrendering?
She was his if he only knew it. This man who cared so deeply, loved so thoroughly.
She'd known his body before and yet everything was different, everything had changed between them. Sensation dizzied her, carried her like Dorothy's tornado out of a world she knew and into a realm more vivid than she could have imagined.
Her skin was alive to his touch. In the warm glow of sunlight her eyes saw only him, the half-lowered eyelids, the line of his jaw, the curve of his throat and shoulder. Her hands felt only him, curving muscle, heated silken skin.
Desire grew fiercer, exquisitely unbearable till it became a clawing, clamoring need, overpowering everything.
He raised himself over her and she opened to him, guided him into her. She met him, clung to him. Her hands slid from shoulders, to hips, to taut muscle, needing him closer yet.