Fortune's Mergers. Bronwyn Jameson
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her face tipped up to his. His hands slid to her back, his palms urging her closer still, and she responded, lifting her arms and looping them around his neck.
Strong. Possessive. Demanding. His kiss mirrored exactly the character traits she’d attributed to him, yet she didn’t find his kiss in the least bit repulsive. In fact, she found it intoxicating, invigorating, exciting.
He framed her face between his hands and drew back with a satisfied sigh to press his lips against her forehead.
“I’ve been thinking about doing that all week.”
His voice sounded rusty, the admission dragged from a place deep inside him. She’d been thinking about kissing him, too, but couldn’t have uttered a word if her life had depended on it.
He tipped her face higher, his expression filled with reproach.
“Why haven’t you called?”
“I—I haven’t finished the drawings.”
He glanced toward her drawing table, where the task light cast a circle of light over her sketch pad. “You were working?”
She nodded.
“And I interrupted you,” he said with regret.
She shrugged. “No biggie. I wasn’t making much progress anyway.”
He shifted his gaze back to hers, a smile teasing one corner of his mouth. “Would thinking about me having anything to do with that?”
She stared, at first horrified that he somehow knew the cause of her creative block, then pursed her lips. “Your ego is showing.”
He slipped his hands beneath the hem of her sweatshirt and drew her hips to his. “I was thinking about you. Couldn’t get a thing done all week.”
She gulped, remembering Zoie quizzing her about the hard-on and trying not to think about that. “Y-you’re just saying that.”
He dipped his head and nuzzled his nose behind her ear. “Now, why would I lie to you?”
An hour ago—heck, five minutes ago!—she could’ve named a hundred reasons why he would. But at the moment she couldn’t think of anything beyond his mouth, his taste, and how much she wished he would kiss her again.
“Case—”
Even as she spoke his name, he slid his mouth to hers, his hands in a slow journey up her ribs. Heat flamed in her middle and fanned to every extremity, stealing her breath, as his thumbs nudged the undersides of her breasts.
She heard a moan and inwardly cringed when she realized the sound had come from her. She’d die before she’d let him know how inexperienced she was—or how needy. But he didn’t appear to have heard her. He was much too busy teasing her tongue with his and stroking her breasts.
This is it, she thought wildly, as electrical shocks ricocheted through her body. This is what desire feels like. She’d thought she’d experienced it before, but she’d been so wrong. This was raw, mind-consuming, nerve-burning lust, the kind that made a woman say to hell with discretion and propriety, rip off her clothes and throw herself at a man.
Realizing how close she was to losing control, she tried to get a grip on her emotions. She wouldn’t give herself to Case. Couldn’t. She knew how much pain men like him were capable of inflicting.
Knowing this, she pressed her hands against his chest. “Case. No.”
“Come on, baby,” he murmured, rubbing his groin seductively against hers. “You want this. We both do.”
She clamped her fingers around his forearms and dragged his hands from beneath her sweatshirt. “Whether I do or not isn’t the point. I’m saving myself for the man I marry.”
His face went slack. “You’re a virgin?”
Embarrassment burned her cheeks, but she nodded.
He dragged a hand over his hair. “Well, that certainly puts a different spin on things.”
She looked at him in puzzlement. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Look,” she said, her frustration returning. “If you’re only here for sex, you might as well leave. I’ve got work to do.”
He hesitated a moment, then shrugged off his jacket. “No. I’m staying.”
Stunned, she watched him cross to her desk and pluck the illustration she’d been working on from the wallboard where she’d tacked it.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Is this one of the drawings the art director asked you to change?”
She wrinkled her nose at the reminder. “One of four.”
He sank down on her stool, studying the drawing. “The guy must be blind. This is really good.”
Shaking her head, she moved to stand beside him. “No. He was right. The expression is all wrong.” She pointed at Timothy Toad’s face. “He’s supposed to be sad, and he looks … I don’t know. Bored.”
“What’s wrong with bored?”
“Nothing, except in the story, he’s just lost his best friend. He should be … sad.”
Case picked up a pencil, offered it to her. “Show me.”
She tucked her hand behind her back. Her art was a private thing, something she did alone, never in front of an audience. “I really don’t like for people to watch me work.”
He shifted her to stand between his knees. “I promise, I won’t look.”
Mindful of his stubbornness, she snatched the pencil from his hand. Hoping to get rid of him, she quickly drew a rough sketch of Timothy’s face, turning the corners of his mouth down. She paused a moment to study the drawing and her eyes sharpened, as she saw, not only the difference in the emotion from the original sketch, but the direction she needed to continue. She quickly drew in a fat tear drop leaking from his eye, then added a reflection of Timothy’s friend’s face shimmering in the moisture.
“That’s it!” she cried, turning to throw her arms around Case’s neck and hug him tight. “That’s exactly the emotion I’ve been searching for.”
Oblivious now to Case’s presence, the fact that she had an audience, or that she had wanted him to leave, she spun back around, flipped the page and began to sketch in earnest, the pencil all but flying over the page.
Gina opened her eyes to bright sunlight gleaming through the floor to ceiling windows of her bedroom and stretched lazily. Waking to sunshine was an oddity for her, as her bedroom faced west, not east.
But when a person slept the day away, she reminded herself, she couldn’t expect the sun to follow suit.
Fueled by a creative burst of energy, she’d worked through the night, completing all four of the illustrations requiring changes by her art director. She’d finished the last just before sunrise and had crawled fully dressed into bed. Case had left shortly thereafter. She wasn’t sure of the exact time of his departure, as she’d been too exhausted to look at the clock. But she remembered him pulling the covers over her and tucking her in. She also remembered feeling the light scrape of his beard, as he’d placed a kiss on her cheek and hearing the huskiness of his whispered “goodnight.”
She drew the covers to her nose to hide her smile. She couldn’t believe he’d stayed all night. He’d remained right with her throughout her creative frenzy, never once complaining or appearing as if he was bored or anxious to leave. She’d stood between his knees while working on the first two illustrations, with him watching over her shoulder. And when she’d grown weary of standing, he’d pulled her onto his lap and looped an arm around her waist, holding her there while she completed the last two.
What kind of man would do