Drawing Closer Page 4

  “Like I’m starving.” He turned back the pages. “Nude?”

  “I imagined it.”

  His hands clenched, crumpling the sketchbook. Instantly, he loosened his hold. “Sorry. All that time I thought you saw me as an older brother.”

  “Hardly. There’s more.” She walked away from him to sort through her old canvases. If the sketches brought that heated, dumbfounded look to his eyes…She pulled out her painting of him. “I painted you, too.”

  He stared from it to her face. “Naked again.”

  “Yes.”

  He put the sketchbook down on the desk and started unbuttoning his shirt.

  Heat flared in her face. She set the painting aside.

  “I hope you won’t be disappointed.” He shrugged off his shirt, kicked off his boots and socks.

  “No, I’m not disappointed.” But her breath caught as he turned and walked away. His jeans pulled taut over his butt and muscled thighs.

  He stopped in the doorway, faced her and put his hands on the frame. It was the pose from her painting.

  “Nick.” Her tongue touched her lips.

  “Touch me.”

  Order. Invitation. Challenge.

  Plea.

  She approached slowly, watching the hunger flare in his eyes.

  His mouth was a stern line of passion.

  She touched his stomach, flattening her palm over its tautness. “I’ve watched you working the clay with your shirt off.”

  “I took it off for you.”

  “Did you?” She smiled and let her hand wander higher, tracing over his ribs, rubbing over the nub of a flat male nipple.

  He shuddered.

  “I appreciate your sacrifice. It gets cold in the studio. Let me warm you up.” She stood on tiptoe, he bowed his head and their mouths met. It was sensual torment and excitement to feel the mastery of his mouth, but be the only one free to touch. He kept his hands locked to the doorframe, only his muscles tensed and his body swayed as she teased him and rubbed her body along his.

  “More.” He nipped her bottom lip.

  The contrast between his warm, slick skin and the rough denim of his jeans seemed to heighten her awareness of his masculinity. She dug her fingers into his butt, massaging.

  His hips bucked as he groaned his pleasure.

  “How long can you stand in the doorway?”

  “Without touching you? About ten more seconds.”

  “Good.” She bent and licked his nipple.

  “Honey.” His hands left the doorframe. “I’m going to pull the damn doorframe off.”

  “We’ll fix it later.”

  “I have a better idea.” He pulled her sweater up and she wriggled free. “Oh yes. My turn.” He stripped off her bra and cupped her breasts. His hands were calloused, gentle, more exciting than she’d dreamed. “You are beautiful.”

  She felt it as he watched her face and stroked her breasts and the heat of him melted her into a puddle.

  “Come here.” He sat on the arm of the sofa and pulled her between his legs. The position put her breasts level with his mouth and he took full advantage.

  She whimpered at the warm lick of his tongue, lost all thought as he sucked. She didn’t know when he unzipped her jeans and pushed them down enough to touch her there, too. She heard his hot, explicit praise, the encouragement. Her hips followed his rhythm. She needed everything he was promising, craved his pleasure.

  He held her as she climaxed, made her feel adored and sexy, and then stretched her out on the sofa as he stripped off her jeans and his.

  She watched him through heavy-lidded eyes. “My imagination failed.”

  He grinned, a fast, sexy smile. “So did mine.” He lowered himself over her.

  His weight was heaven. She hooked a knee up, fitting herself to him.

  “I dreamed of you and me on this sofa.”

  “Did you?” She smiled. “Doing what?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  Much later she lay on top of him, tracing patterns on his shoulder while his hand lay warm and possessive on her butt.

  “We’ll go to my house in Walpole,” he said. “I had plans for seducing you there.”

  “Really?”

  “If you showed an interest.”

  “Oh, I’m very interested.”

  “I noticed.” He sounded impossibly smug.

  Since he’d given her three climaxes, she figured he deserved to. She kissed the hollow of his throat.

  “Hmm.” He hummed a satisfied purr.

  “Nick?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have a hammock at your house in Walpole?”

  “A hammock?” His hand paused in its trail along her spine. “No, I don’t have a hammock.”

  “I’ll buy you one.”

  “Any particular reason?” His hand resumed moving, but with more purpose.

  She sighed blissfully. “I’d like to sketch you naked in one.”

  “As long as you’re also naked, that can be arranged.”

  “Oh yes, I definitely plan on being naked.”

  “Then I’m happy to be your muse. Any time.” And he demonstrated just how inspirational he could be.

  About the Author

  Jenny Schwartz is a West Australian author. Her high school yearbook predicted she’d be a writer – something about always having her nose in a book. When not living up to others’ expectations, she enjoys lazy days in the suburbs and is working on a collection of life-saving recipes, “Simple Meals for Forgetful Cooks”. Her website is www.authorjennyschwartz.com

  ISBN: 978-0-85799-007-5

  Title: Drawing Closer

  Copyright © 2012 by Jenny Schwartz

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises (Australia) Limited, Locked Bag 7002, Chatswood D.C. NSW, Australia, 2067.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of Harlequin Enterprises Limited and are used under license to the Publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in Australia, New Zealand, the United States Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.

  www.escapepublishing.com.au

  Excerpt from Summer Fling by Serenity Woods

  ‘I should be on top,’ the willowy blonde protested.

  She sat on the bench in front of Garth with her back against his chest and her butt nestled between his thighs. He stifled a groan. What red-blooded male wouldn’t misconstrue that statement?

  His brain had been in sex mode since she’d pulled on her jumpsuit. She’d leaned forward and the neck of her T-shirt had gaped to reveal generous breasts only just covered by the cups of her lacy white bra. He’d fought hard to concentrate on her training, too rusty at flirting to make a comment, but now the image of her sitting naked on top of him returned in full force.

  He attached the last clip of his safety harness to the one on her right shoulder and chuckled in her ear. ‘That’s kind of forward, Chloe, considering we’ve only known each other for thirty minutes. But I’m not going to argue with you.’

  The aeroplane’s engines roared, but she’d obviously heard him because she glared reproachfully over her shoulder and her cheeks turned a delightful rosy pink. Her dancing eyes told him she wasn’t really insulted though. ‘I meant when we freefall. That way, if the chute doesn’t open I have something soft to land on.’
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  ‘This way’s best, believe me. For now, at least.’ He shouldn’t be teasing her, but pleasure surged through him when her lips curved at his suggestive comment.

  Their gazes met, locked. Her eyes mirrored the bright blue of the New Zealand summer sky outside the Cessna’s windows. Something passed between them, invisible, chemical, and his heartbeat raced. A tingle began between his shoulder blades and descended all the way down his spine.

  Then she lowered her long lashes, breaking the spell, and Garth frowned. What was he doing? True, a soft female bottom tucked against the groin would make most guys harden faster than quick-set concrete, let alone a man who hadn’t taken a woman to bed for an ice age. But even though he did tandem parachute jumps for a living, and strapped himself to the fairer sex anything up to a dozen times a week, he rarely gave the intimate position a thought.

  He was happy to admit he missed the regular sex a relationship brought. But the emotional baggage he carried after Jess’s death meant he hadn’t even looked at another woman in ages. Why had this one affected him so much?

  He watched her examine her shaking hands. She’d braided her long hair back, although a few wisps softened her hairline. Before they’d got on the plane, her skin had held a healthy tan like most young Kiwi women, a stark contrast to the pale skin of the girls he’d grown up with in Seattle, although now the colour had drained from her face.

  He tipped his head to the side, studying her high cheekbones and straight nose, and smiled as she chewed her bottom lip. That was another reason why he’d reacted to her words. In spite of her attempt at humour, her anxiety was palpable. The urge to alleviate it had risen inside him instinctively.

  He admired the way she was trying to cover her fear. He’d jumped with hundreds of people over the past year and had witnessed every gamut of emotion from exhilaration to fake bravado to downright terror. Chloe didn’t quite register at the bottom of the scale, but she wasn’t far from it. Her face now matched the whiteness of the clouds scudding outside, and she shook in her thick yellow jumpsuit.

  He forced his mind away from the press of her between his thighs and the softness of her throat inches from his lips, and tried to concentrate. Now wasn’t the time to get distracted. He had to remember, ‘safety before sex’.

  Smiling at the catchphrase, he checked all the clips connecting his harness to hers. Then he went over them again. Bottom left, bottom right, top left, top right. And again. ‘You’re all clipped in, Chloe. Check with me, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ She lifted her right hand, and he moved it to either side of her waist and then to each shoulder. She tugged the clips with long, elegant fingers. An image popped into his head of that hand stroking his body and closing around him.

  Jeez. He had to stop thinking about sex for five seconds.

  He cleared his throat. ‘All secure. Are you happy?’

  ‘Right now I’m too terrified to be happy.’ Her forehead glistened with sweat and panic filled her eyes.

  He sighed. Damn it. Another mule. Sometimes customers got all the way to the door before they dug their heels in and refused to jump. It didn’t occur as often as he’d expected when he first set up the business. In fact, it had only happened to him twice, and both times he’d managed to talk the person into jumping. They’d thanked him afterward, but he’d much rather have the sort of passenger who didn’t balk.

  He understood why most people suffered from nerves before throwing themselves out of a flying metal box with a tiny piece of fabric to hold them up. But being nervous and being petrified weren’t the same thing, and Chloe obviously fit into the second category. He frowned as her chest rose and fell noticeably with her rapid breathing. Why leap out of a plane if the very thought of it terrified her?

  His first ever jump remained clear in his mind, but he had no memory of terror or panic, only elation at the thought of freefalling into the clear blue. He still got that buzz every time he leaped out the door, which was the main reason he kept doing it. Because the second his feet left the safety of the plane was the only moment he actually felt anything nowadays.

  Or it had been, until he met Chloe. His skin prickled as he recalled the heated look they’d exchanged. But he blinked and forced his mind away from the thought of taking it further. He shouldn’t be thinking about sex. Chloe shook visibly, and he had to reassure her and make this as pleasurable an experience as possible.

  He rested his hands on her upper arms and rubbed them through the long sleeves of the jumpsuit. In late January – the height of the New Zealand summer – the temperature read in the mid-twenties on the ground, but at this altitude the air had a distinct bite to it.

  ‘Are you cold?’ he asked.

  ‘N-no.’ She shivered in spite of her denial.

  He continued to rub her arms, lending her the warmth of his body, and glanced at Andy sitting opposite them, who’d be skydiving with them to video her jump. Andy raised an eyebrow, presumably to query whether she’d go through with it. Garth shrugged in return.

  ‘You okay there, little lady?’ His tone was gentle, comforting. ‘Won’t be long now, and then it’ll be time to go. No more waiting.’ The anticipation was the worst part for most people.

  She nodded and swallowed, but didn’t reply.

  He tipped his head to look at her profile again and tried to think of something to say to reassure her. ‘I’ve done this hundreds of times. Don’t worry – everything will go like clockwork.’

  She closed her eyes. The pulse beat frantically in her throat. She gnawed on her bottom lip again and continued to shake in his arms.

  He had to distract her or she’d be unable to move off the bench. ‘Why do you smell of chocolate?’ He’d been wondering since she first sat in front of him.

  She opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder at him again, eyebrows raised. Then she released her plump bottom lip from between her teeth and smiled. ‘I’m a chocolatier.’ She sniffed the back of her hand. ‘I guess the smell must have seeped into my skin. Like when a person works in a fish and chip shop.’

  The mention of chocolate made him think of Nick Stewart, owner of Cocoa Heaven, the confectionary shop in the nearby town of Paihia. Garth’s stomach twisted as he thought of the man who’d taken his wife. Bile rose in his throat, and he closed his eyes. He wouldn’t reflect on that now. Making a jump demanded absolute concentration. Unlike Stewart, he would not be responsible for another person’s death.

  He opened his eyes. Chloe was looking at him. Concentrating on her might help take his mind off the man.

  He lost himself for a moment in her eyes. They really were a beautiful deep blue, his favourite colour. He liked anything that reminded him of the sky…of freedom.

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. His gaze slid to her mouth, and she inhaled. The air between them crackled with sexual electricity, and his heart raced again. Bad idea, Rowland. Jumping with a hard-on would probably affect wind resistance. Plus it seemed impolite to strap himself to a customer and then press his erection into her butt.

  He opted for a light-hearted attempt at conversation. ‘Chocolate’s a much nicer smell than fish and chip grease.’ The warm aroma of cocoa with a bite of ginger filled his nostrils. ‘You’re making me hungry.’

  ‘And you’re trying to distract me.’ An impish smile lit her face.

  He grinned. ‘Maybe just a little.’

  Andy signalled him, and Garth squeezed her arms. ‘Okay, Chloe. We’re at nearly fourteen thousand feet. Are you ready?’

  She nodded. ‘I can do this.’ She said the words aloud, but the unfocused look in her eyes told him she was talking to herself. ‘I am brave, whatever he says. Screw you Ethan, you bastard. I can totally do this.’

  So she was proving herself to a guy. Fair enough. His admiration for her grew. ‘Come on, honey.’ He pushed her to her feet and wrapped his left arm around her waist. ‘We’ll show him how much courage you have.’

  Excerpt from Short Soup by Coleen Kwan />
  “You’re listening to Port Stephens FM, coming to you from Piper Bay, where it’s a balmy twenty-seven degrees and looking great for the weekend…”

  Toni Lau eased her foot off the accelerator as she reached the crest of the last hill before the long descent into her home town. The radio announcer was right about it looking great. The air was warm, the waters of the bay shimmering. A large white vessel edged out of the marina, laden with tourists on a dolphin-watching cruise. On this early summer day the blue water paradise looked picture perfect, but the sigh escaping her lips was heavy rather than carefree.

  This wasn’t the trip home she’d envisaged during her years abroad. Half a world away in foggy London, wrapped up in scarves and spreadsheets, she’d dreamed of the warm sea, the clear Australian light, the small town quiet. One day, she’d hoped, she and Nick would take a break from their busy careers and fly back for a visit. Well, she was back all right, but without Nick, her wedding ring, or her job.

  “Coming up on the drive show,” the radio announcer warbled, “we ask – is it ever okay to spy on your partner? Can it be justified, or is it a breach of trust?”

  Huh. Well, she knew the answer to that. If you got to the point of spying on your partner, then the relationship was already doomed even before you discovered the smutty text messages and photos on your husband’s mobile phone.

  A spasm twisted her belly. Damn. Even though she’d been looking forward to seeing her parents again, right now she wasn’t ready to face their well-meaning inquisitiveness. Especially from her mum. She wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d picked over every bone of Toni’s failed marriage.

  Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. At the next intersection, instead of turning left towards her parents’ home, she hooked right and drove away from the town centre, past the marina and the main beaches, heading east until she pulled up at Fly Point, a small promontory near the lighthouse. She got out and took the steep wooden stairs leading down the cliff face to the beach. Fly Point was rocky, inaccessible, and often deserted, which was why she and Dion had spent so much time here in their teens.