The Unveiling (Work of Art #2) (5 page)

Jonathan looks particularly relaxed, and he holds my hand through much of the meal. I wonder if he considers me his girlfriend, but I shake off that idea. We haven’t even slept together, although that will certainly change before the day ends.

The mojito buzz loosens me up nicely, and for a moment, I allow myself to imagine what he’ll be like in bed. I want to see this cool, contained man completely undone.

“So, what else are you planning to show me after lunch?” I ask, as I wrap my lips low around my straw and slowly slide up, taking a long sip of my drink.

He watches me with dark eyes and clears his throat. “The hotel.”

I give him a sly, sideways glance. “Is there a gallery at the hotel?”

I feel his hand rest on my knee, his thumb gently skimming the bare skin of my inner thigh. He leans closer to me so only I will hear his husky voice. “The only art you’ll be looking at Ava, is the work hanging over our bed.”

I wrap my hand around my neck as I feel the flush move up my chest towards my face. “Is that so?” I squirm, as his fingers trail higher.

“Hmmm. Actually with what I have planned for you, the art in our bedroom is the last thing you’ll be thinking about.”

Jonathan gestures to the waiter as I try to compose myself. I sure hope the hotel is close by.

I’m impressed when we pull up to the Biltmore. Jonathan wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to take me somewhere special. Just before the valet reaches our car, he turns and gives me a seductive smile and gently skims his fingers up my arm. I shiver with anticipation.

As we walk toward registration, he rests his hand on my lower back to guide me. Every touch seems full of anticipation, but I try to focus on the surroundings to calm my speeding heart. The landmark hotel overlooks the beach and spreads across a sprawling property surrounded by rolling lawns edged with palm trees and indigenous wildflowers. Like almost everything else in Santa Barbara, it has classical Spanish architecture with whitewashed walls, terra-cotta adobe roofs, and arched windows and doorways. It’s stunning, a hotel of my dreams.

A bellman in his spotless uniform rolls us in a fancy golf cart to our deluxe cottage, perched on the edge of the grounds. We walk through the carved wooden door into a softly-lit room filled with antiques and upholstered couches circling the fireplace. There’s a large four-poster bed in the adjoining bedroom. I’m impressed.

I peek through another doorway that leads to a grand bathroom. Who would believe a bathroom could be this spectacular? It’s a symphony of marble and tile with a large picture window above the massive Jacuzzi tub, overlooking the lushly landscaped private patio.

“Can we live here?” I ask, once Jonathan has finished tipping the bellman.

“Anything for you.” He pulls me into an embrace. His lips are hot and searching. I feel the anticipation. There’s no question how much he wants me. He’s kisses along my neck and his teeth skim my earlobe. When his cell phone rings, we ignore it, but the ringing starts again after a minute.

He finally steps back and checks the screen. His scowls and shoves the phone back in his pocket. He strokes my cheek tenderly and steps away to open the bottle of champagne already chilling on the bar. As he deftly works to open it, he looks at me expectantly.

“Ava, I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to take this call, or they’re going to bug me all weekend. It’ll take fifteen minutes, twenty tops. Why don’t you sit down and relax with some champagne, and I’ll be done before you know it.”

I smile, determined to be patient. It’s a small price to pay for this weekend.

“Of course. I brought a book. I think I’ll sit out on the patio and read.” I take a long sip of my champagne, and he tops my glass before kissing my cheek. With my book in hand, I head outside and stretch out on the plush chaise facing the fountain.

I try to focus on the book as I sip my champagne, but it’s difficult. My eyes wander over the private patio dappled in light. The soothing trickle of the fountain and the breeze brushing over me just add to my sense of well-being. This is damn well close to paradise.

Just when I’m finally able to focus on my book, Jonathan strolls out to join me. I scoot my legs to the side as he lowers himself down on the edge of my chaise lounge.

“What are you reading?”

“
Bel Ami
. I tried to read it in college, but lost interest. I thought I would give it another go.”

“I read it years ago. Wasn’t it originally published in the late 1800s?”

I nod after opening up the book to confirm the publication dates.

“Remind me what it’s about.”

“Oh, this decadent fellow, George Duroy, is a journalist and works his way up the social ladder in French society by bedding various women. He’s a real philanderer.”

Jonathan’s expression is off; his eyebrows are knitted and his lips pressed shut. Maybe he’s still distracted from his phone call.

He takes the book out of my hands and puts it on the side table. “Well, I can think of better uses of your time now that I’m here.” He strokes my calves very slowly.

“It’s so beautiful here,” I say, as I look around the patio.

“Yes, so beautiful,” he murmurs as he pushes my skirt up a few inches and runs his warm hands over my knees and back down, all the while staring at me intently.

“Jonathan,” I say softly, while smiling seductively at him. I can’t believe we’re finally going to make love.

“Your skin’s so soft,” he murmurs. He takes a long sip of champagne, lifts my hand and softly kisses it. He slides closer, never letting go of my hand. My heart accelerates as he leans forward and gives me a long, slow kiss.

“I remember the first time I saw you, Ava.”

“At ArteHaus. I remember too.” I inch closer, and under the warm dappled light, I skim my lips along his jaw and up his cheek before pressing my lips to his.

He follows with a more intense kiss. With each movement, my skirt slides up higher and he sighs, running his hands up and down the outside of my thighs.

“You have the sexiest legs. I want them wrapped around me.”

He removes his glasses and carefully sets them on the side table. The desire shining in his vivid blue eyes burns into me. “Do you remember that knit dress you wore the night we met? It hugged every curve. God, I wanted you then. I knew I had to have you.”

When he kisses me again, he slides his hands along the insides of my thighs and over my hips. He pulls me toward him, which pushes my skirt up and exposes my delicate panties.

“That lavender color is perfect against your gorgeous pale skin. Open your blouse, Ava. I want to see the rest of you.”

I slowly undo the buttons and open my shirt. My nipples are hard and straining against the delicate netting of my lavender bra. When I sit up, he kisses me and cups my breasts, circling my nipples with his thumbs as he lets out a low moan. When we part, I fall back onto the chaise, deliciously aroused.

He runs his hands over my panties and smiles up adoringly. “You’re even more perfect than I imagined.” He slides his fingers down between my legs and presses against my center, and I moan, tilting my head back against the cushion.

He leaves a trail of kisses along the inside of my leg from my calf to my knee as I slide my trembling fingers through his hair.

“Aren’t you glad we waited to come here to make love?” he says, as he gently spreads my legs open. When he gets to the top of my thighs, he kisses me between my legs and gently bites the panties, tugging the delicate lace aside with his teeth.

My wetness surges with his hot breath on me as he pulls the fabric away. I love his focused attentive gestures and his sense of total control.

“Can I help you with that?” I shimmy the panties down my hips and he slowly pulls them down to my knees, so I can pull my legs out of them one at a time.

He spreads my legs so that I’m naked before him. His hooded eyes full of overwhelming desire.

“Jonathan,” I whisper. “Are you going to have your way with me or just tease me?”

“Both, beautiful, in due time. There’s no reason to rush this.”

He runs his fingers across me, and I’m so aroused and sensitive that I shiver from the contact. He slips his fingers inside me and takes a sharp breath. “You’re already so wet…so ready.”

“Yes,” I whisper, and notice his erection straining tightly against his pants.

He lifts his finger to his lips, slowly rolling it into his mouth. “So sweet, but I want more than just a taste.”

This time, he kisses along my other thigh until his face is between my legs and his mouth is on me. His tongue swirls against me with a perfect blend of hot pressure and feather light touches. All the tension surging through me forces my legs even further apart. I groan and weave my fingers into his hair and pull him closer.

“Jonathan,” I moan, and he slides one hand up my body, caresses my breast, and pulls gently on my nipple, his tongue never missing a stroke in its unrelenting rhythm.

“Oh my God.”

He lifts up for a moment and looks me in the eye. “Am I making you feel good, gorgeous? Tell me. I want to hear.”

“So good,” I gasp. He’s pushing me over the edge far faster than I thought possible. It’s been so long since I’ve been with a man. My hips rock as his tongue works me into a frenzy. His hot mouth, able hands, the pampering, the adoration, the atmosphere, and his technique become a mythical force that unravels me and pushes me over the cliff.

As the orgasm tears through me, I fall back against the chaise, moan, and call out his name so loudly that I imagine the gardeners working nearby and the birds in the trees bow their heads in reverence.

Jonathan’s clever, because the result of such an orgasm is complete surrender. I’m now loose as jelly and so blissful that he could ask me to do almost anything of a sexual nature, and I’d do it.

As I try to catch my breath and calm my pounding heart, Jonathan sits back onto his knees on the chaise and unfastens his slacks. He pushes his slacks down and rolls on a condom. I watch him surreptitiously, because I don’t want to give away how curious I am about how this will go.

When he finishes, he looks at the chaise and then looks towards the French doors that open to our room. “Why don’t we move inside?”

I nod.

He pushes himself back and steps off the chaise, but loses his balance. His pants pushed halfway down hinder his movements, and he twists and falls sideways.

As if in slow motion, our legs tangle and I reach for him, but he slips out of my grasp and crashes to the ground, landing on his side.

I twist toward him. “Oh no, Jonathan! Are you okay?” I sigh in relief that he didn’t fall far before hitting the ground. My next inclination is to laugh, because he looks so comical twisted in a ridiculous pose with his pants bunched around his knees and his raging hard-on angling toward me like a heat-seeking missile.

His expression and the fear in his eyes instantly sober me, and I quickly slide off the chaise to his side. He’s panting and moaning, but not in a good way.

“What is it, Jonathan? Are you okay?”

“My back, I think I’ve thrown my back out,” he growls between gritted teeth.

“Oh no,” I say with a groan. My dad had a bad back and he threw it out at least once a year, and when he did, he was completely incapacitated.

“Has this happened before?”

He nods, still gritting his teeth. His eyes are tightly shut. Not a good sign.

I run my fingers through his hair. “What can I do? Can I help you up?”

He tries to lift up on his elbow, but the strain is too much. Things are looking worse by the second.

“Look, I’m going to call for help, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.”

“No, wait!” he barks, as his gaze lowers to his crotch.

“Oh yeah, here let me help you.” I awkwardly shimmy his pants up, and with a lot of effort, I finally get them over his hips. I remove the condom, tuck in his now semi-flaccid cock and fasten his pants.

“Okay, I’m going to get help now, okay?”

He looks up and nods once. There’s so much anger and frustration in his face, and I feel horrible. What a nightmare to lose all mobility and be racked with pain when you were only moments away from supreme pleasure.

I call the front desk from inside and quickly explain that my “friend” has fallen on the patio outside our suite, and I need a doctor and a couple of men to help me lift him immediately. The front desk manager assures me that two bellmen will be there in a few minutes, and he’s phoning the doctor they have on call for the hotel guests as we speak.

I suspect their super efficiency may have something to do with a fear of litigation. The phrase
falling on their property
is fearsome to anyone in hotel management. Of course, far be it from me to explain the only reason he fell was because he was trying to screw his date on furniture clearly not designed for such shenanigans.

When the fresh-faced college boys in their pressed Biltmore uniforms show up, we decide to move Jonathan to the bed. We hurry to the patio, and when they attempt to lift him, I notice that the cute bellman is standing on my forgotten panties. As soon as he moves, I quickly reach down, scoop them up, and deposit them in my purse.

Not that I can blame him, but Jonathan’s cursing a lot and not being a very pleasant patient. I, at least, had an exquisite orgasm before he took a nosedive. He, on the other hand, got short-changed on this deal. The doctor soon arrives and gives Jonathan some muscle relaxants and painkillers to hold him over until he can see his regular doctor.

When everyone’s left, I sit down on the chair near the bedroom fireplace and face him. He’s still and stares straight at the ceiling.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No.”

“I’m so sorry about your back. I wish I could do something.”

Silence.

“I need to get home,” he finally says.

“Are you sure you can handle the car ride? I’m happy to take care of you here.”

“I don’t want that. This is humiliating enough without you having to take care of me.”

“Well, I don’t see it that way. It’s not your fault your back went out.”