Free Loving Grace by Eve Asbury Page B

human, his girlfriend wasn’t
here and she might be walking in on something private. Yeah, she
might be getting ready to embarrass the hell of out of them both.
Better that, some crazy part of her brain said, than to catch him
snorting coke or smoking weed, tripping on something, and
shattering the image she had of him. Unfortunately, it was a
reality she had to consider. Even William had gotten high, and he
was a conservative.
    Her heart pounded faster. The wool coat was
suddenly heavy, and the brown V-neck sweater stuck to her skin. She
had on a buff suede skirt with knee-high brown boots. Her hair
under the cap itched. Under the clothing, her skin tingled with
awareness. All of her senses were open and she focused on the feel
of her shallow quick breaths to tamp down her imagination. The
music, the mood, the ambiance affected her.
    After coming in out of the cold city
landscape, the dull gray of winter, and stark modern world, it was
like stepping into an oasis of sight and sound, comparable to an
Arabian night’s tale. It felt magical in some sensual fashion.
Moreover, it was an aphrodisiac, stimulating Grace’s long-buried
sexuality.
    She was near the end. The fold out table was
gone. The sofa and chairs, the plush white rug still remained. On a
low table, wine and fruit. A lamp cast deep ruby brilliance down on
the area. Under the usual scent of paint and linseed oil, Grace
detected a heady, thick aroma of fruit. Tropical. Strong enough to
water her mouth. There was a misting somewhere in the air, wafting
by the fans until it filled the room.
    The chain curtain was up several feet. She
paused by the sofa, the rush of blood through her body, increasing,
while she stared at Noel.
    Red sheets were over the bed, making puddles
of silk, and undulating at the end where the air moved them. Atop,
Noel lay nude, half on his side, and half on his stomach. One
strong arm was under the pillow, his inky hair shimmering against
the surface, and the other hand flat on the mattress. His tawny
skin, the cut and honed sculpted flesh and bone of him was more
stirring than his paintings and more beautiful to Grace than
anything she’d ever seen.
    Grace sighed shakily, parted her lips, and
then moistened them. She wondered what it would feel like to touch
the satin heat of his skin, to shape him with her hands. He was a
muscular man. His heart would beat strong and deep. She wondered
how it felt to be so blessed, to not only create feminine beauty,
but also to possess masculine gracefulness. To be so vivid, so
warm, so fine, a healthy male animal. The man had it all; allure,
magnetism, sensitivity, talent, and magnificence. No wonder she did
stupid and insane things like this.
    Grace peeked around, intending to quietly
leave, but when she glanced back at Noel, he was pushed up on his
elbow. Not at all sleepy eyed and clearly looking right at her. She
stood frozen to the spot. Her face flushed. Dashing to the door
would have been worse than immature, not to mention she’d likely
break her neck on the marble floor.
    He sat a tad sideways, his legs bent and
positioned in a way that hid his groin. His wrist casually rested
on his knee, the other hand flat on the bed. Grace had the feeling
those warm eyes were expectant, waiting for her to do
something.
    She should be apologizing. At the least she
could smile, shrug, and wave, walk out. That thought did filter
through her mind. But she took off her coat and laid it across the
back of the sofa. Pulling off her cap and gloves and tucking them
in the pocket, she ran her hands through her mussed hair, not able
to completely smooth it. She sat down on the sofa arm, facing him,
feeling the five-foot distance shrink.
    Her skirt was modest length, just above her
knee. She braced her hands beside her hips, had her legs out,
ankles crossed. She gazed at him, her nose, eyes and ears filled
with irresistible sensations. Her head was both light and heavy and
her senses too alive to feel time do anything