Provocative by Lisa Renee Jones

Author:Lisa Renee Jones [Jones, Lisa Renee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lisa Renee Jones
Published: 2017-04-15T05:00:00+00:00

THE PAINTING OF ME LAYS between Faith and I, our eyes meeting, hers still alight with anger and betrayal. And I want to call her reaction over the top, but she clearly senses I came to her without pure motives. “Faith,” I begin, and for once in my life I’m not even sure how I’m going to finish the sentence. But I never get the chance.

“Leave,” she orders, her voice as strong as her evident will. “I want you to leave.”

I reject her demand not in words she won’t hear, but actions. I’m around that painting before she can blink twice, pulling her against me, all her damn soft, fuckable, perfect curves pressed to my body. “You want to know me? Look into my eyes, Faith. See what’s there, not what you choose to paint.”

Her hand settles on my chest, elbow stiff. “You are such an asshole, Tiger. You are—”

“I know what you think of me,” I say, cupping the back of her head. “But I don’t accept it anymore.” I lower my head and kiss her, licking into her mouth, the taste of anger and the betrayal I’d seen in her eyes on her lips, and it guts me. I am betraying her, and I have no way out of where I’ve gone, or why I can’t tell her the truth. “And my name is not Tiger,” I say, tearing my mouth from hers. “I’m Nick to you, Faith.”

“You had no right to come up here, Tiger. You had no right—”

“You’re right,” I say. “I was wrong, Faith, but I swear to you, I didn’t look at any of your paintings.”

“Liar.”

She’s right. I am. Just not about this. “I didn’t look.”

“The best liars are the best actors.”

That play on Beck’s words hits a nerve that I reject like her command for me to leave, cupping her face. “I didn’t look at your work, Faith,” I say again, and because I won’t lie where I don’t have to lie, I add, “But I wanted to. And I wanted to because I too want to know who you are. I want to know your secrets. I want to know what the hell you are doing to me that no other woman has done.”

“You barely know me.”

“But I want to. That’s the point.”

“You are—”

“Obsessed with you,” I say, and this time when my mouth closes down on hers, I let her taste those words on my tongue. I let her taste my hunger for her. I let her taste how much I want her and how much I don’t want to want her, and yet, how high I am on this addiction. Maybe it’s the forbidden. Maybe it’s her. I don’t know. And in this moment, I don’t care. And this time, she doesn’t either. She answers every unspoken word I deliver on my tongue with conflicted need.

I pull her shirt over her head, and I have her bra off in seconds, touching her breasts, teasing her nipples, my mouth devouring her mouth.

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