The Art Lover by Maggie Wells

Author:Maggie Wells
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, erotic, contemporary, artist, cop, paint, adult 18 and over

Mixing goldenrod with copper, she mapped the flow of muscles from his shoulder to his fingertips. Mitch groaned and his back arched when she moved to the other side. Smiling at his half-hearted rebellion, she ducked her head and kissed him slow, soft and deep. With each lazy brush of her tongue, she drank him in, reveling in his unraveling resistance and rejoicing in the deliciously hard ridges of muscle and bone moving beneath her.

Pulling back enough to break the kiss, she trailed her paint-streaked fingers along the taut line of his jaw. “I’d mix a finger of whiskey into raw sienna for your eyes, but I still don’t think I’d get them right.”

“Your skin is pink. Like a flower.”

His unexpected attempt at poetry seemed to catch him by surprise. A flood of petal-soft color rushed up his neck and stained his cheeks. Pleased by his willingness to share his vision, Kelsey rewarded him with another bone-melting kiss. Embarrassment faded as the clash of lips, teeth and tongues heated. Panting, she planted one hand at the center of his chest and pushed up. Dark lashes weighed heavy eyelids. Her lips were wet and parted, swollen and stained a pink so violent it flirted with red. Without a word, he plucked the brush from her fingers and turned it on her.

Sable bristles streaked down her throat, across her shoulder and teased her upper arm. He traced the slope of one breast with a bold, sensuous stroke. Amber eyes lit with devilish light as he raised his other hand to show the tube caught in his grasp. Carmine red acrylic oozed from the tip and spilled down the sides. Gathering the excess on one fingertip, he tossed the tube and brush aside and set to work.

He drew maddening swirls across her belly, the pattern something that might have made a kindergartener smirk, but when he dipped a fleeting finger into her navel she squashed her inner critic. Entranced by the sight of his paint-streaked hands on her skin, she leaned back to grant him better access. Red handprints marked her hips. A slippery blob dropped onto her leg and oozed down the inside of her thigh. The vibrant streaks sputtered out as his hands skimmed her ribcage, the drying paint grabbing at her skin as he continued on his quest undeterred.

Mitch cupped her breasts and she nearly climaxed on the spot. Riding the hard ridge of his erection, she watched as he molded and shaped them, plumping the flesh to his liking and squeezing hard. Kelsey circled her hips, giving herself up to the command of his magical hands and absolutely certain of one thing: the man had missed his calling.

He wasn’t meant to be a cop or a security guard. Messy style-less splotches of finger painting proved he would never be a painter. But the rapture shining bright in his eyes spoke of passion and talent. He was an artist, indeed. This man was born to sculpt her.

“I think we got distracted,” he said with a pointed stare.

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