Catching the Butterfly by Cris Anson

Author:Cris Anson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Platinum Publishing

“That went well, didn’t it?” Lyssa said several hours later as she snuggled deeper into the warm haven of Savidge’s arms. “Everyone loved being in on the plot.”

“It certainly did. She doesn’t know what hit her.”

“It’s about time.”

14

Magnus picked up the back-bent gouge again and carefully smoothed its convex cutting edge around another inclusion, shaving away a millimeter of waste wood. Slowly, very slowly, he was coaxing the riotous curls of her hair from this prime piece of cherry burl, just as he had envisioned when he and Rolf had sawed through it. It was probably the most complex piece he’d attempted.

Although the temperature in the workroom hovered around sixty degrees, sweat soaked into the red bandanna around his forehead. The muscles in his arms ached from the need to hold the tool at the proper angle, to keep the pressure at a light touch. His stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten since an early breakfast, and the sun had long since dipped down below the horizon. He ignored his thirst, even though the wash-up sink was only a dozen steps away.

Nothing mattered but the act of creation. The fire in her hair had haunted him since she’d first stepped out of her car into the sunlight at his farm. Now he was close to capturing it. Or, rather, the wood was slowly revealing its ideal use under his guidance.

He set the gouge back in its proper place on the worktable, then picked up a fishtail gouge to undercut the edge of the curl. Blowing gently, he dislodged the shavings and eyed the piece critically. Gave a brief nod of satisfaction.

Vaguely he heard the phone ringing upstairs in his office. He refused to have an extension here. This room had only one purpose, and it wasn’t for talking.

His mind’s eye conjured up the vision of her eyes. Teak-shaded irises, long brown lashes, thick arching brows. Eyelashes were beyond the scope of woodcarving, but tomorrow, after he’d rested, he’d begin carving those big doe-eyes. He’d already roughed out the face, her long, thin nose, the full pouty mouth.

Damn. Just the thought of that mouth made too much blood rush to his cock. He tried to block out how deliciously that mouth had sucked him, milked him until his personal dam burst and he shot three years’ worth of cum all the way down her throat.

Magnus tossed down the tool. He knew better than to let his mind wander when he had a chisel or gouge in his hand. The slightest inattention could ruin an entire month’s work. He glanced out the window. Full dark. Hell, he might as well pack it in for the night. A cold shower and a cold beer sounded mighty good right now.

Twin beams of light flashed around the curve and into the driveway. Magnus swore. He didn’t need, didn’t want any company tonight. He reached for the tarp on a shelf, unfolded it and covered his work-in-progress, then looped a few strands of twine around it and the vise to hold it in place.

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