by Ayla Ruse
Kiera loves her new eroticism, but would her desire exist without his art?
Excerpt:
Max flexed the fingers of his left hand,
his drawing hand, the hand that could pour his burdensome gift of
influence into anything he drew. He wanted Kiera, all right, but he
wanted her to come to him willingly, on her own and not because he’d
forced her with his pictures.
As they continued to talk, his thoughts
kept trailing to her outfit and what she’d look like beneath the black,
fitted, long-sleeved shirt. He couldn’t help it. She was gorgeous. The
ends of the scarf at her neck teased over her full breasts, and a long,
straight skirt in a black-and-white pattern led his eye to her small,
heeled boots. Despite how amazing she looked, he knew she wasn’t a
vixen. Her dress, her speech and her attitude screamed conservative,
which normally turned him off. But Kiera made conservative look damn
sexy. Or it could be his thoughts of what she’d look like beneath the
clothes and of how she’d respond to being in his bed. All these thoughts
had led to the pictures he’d drawn of her that she’d found in her
classroom.
It’d also led to the picture he’d sketched
on a scratch sheet of paper when she’d excused herself to go to the
bathroom a few minutes ago. When she’d returned, he’d flipped it over
and set his glass of water over it. These pictures were for his eyes
only. Especially when they were so infused with his desires.
He shifted in his seat, his cock growing hard at his own fantasies. It was time to call it a night.
“I love that story, Kiera,” he said,
leaning over to snag their glasses from the table while trying to will
away his erection. “I have to tell you, I’m glad you accepted my date.”
“I’m glad you asked,” she responded,
smiling in a way that made his toes curl. It wasn’t seductive or
provocative, it was simply honest. He took a deep breath, hoped his cock
behaved, stood quickly and walked around the couch.
“Are you ready for me to take you home?”
Max carried their glasses to the kitchen, listening for her
confirmation. It might be rude of him, but having her this close to his
bed, this late at night, was beginning to wear on his control.
Her silence made him double back. “Kiera?” She jumped and turned as if he’d spooked her. “You okay?” he asked. “Ready to go?”
She stood slowly and never let her eyes fall from his. Max shifted, wondering why she wasn’t agreeing with him to take her home.
“I thought Raymond was staying with your parents tonight?” she asked.
He coughed lightly. “Um, yes. He is.” He stuck his hands in the pockets of his slacks and jiggled the car keys.
She smiled again, but this time the ends of her lips curled in a way that made her seem wicked all of a sudden. Damn. He fisted his hands to keep from dragging her close and kissing those teasing lips.
“You don’t have a curfew, do you?” she asked.
“Ah, no.” He puzzled at her abrupt change
in attitude. She was all of a sudden acting like she wanted him to make a
move on her. He’d been a fool to think coming to his place was a good
idea.
“But Max,” she said slowly, her voice having dropped, “I’m not ready to leave.”
Their eyes met, held, and the next thing he
knew, she flung herself toward him and kissed him clumsily, but with
everything she had.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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