Warrior Page 10

  That got a reaction. Her brows snapped down. “But why? What did his death accomplish?”

  “Had he survived, the value of his original art would have declined because he could still produce new work. So a collector hired the killer to take him out.”

  “What about the art that will never be produced?” Jessica sat up and folded her long legs under her, glowering. “What about the things he could have said, the way his talent could have grown if he’d been given a chance? Didn’t that matter?”

  “Not to a man who’d just spent sixty million galactors on a painting that was suddenly worth about half that.”

  “Money,” Jessica snarled. “It was never about the art. It’s all about money. All that stuff about my talent in those books—it was all bullshit. My paintings aren’t really art—they’re collectibles. Like fucking baseball cards.”

  And here was the heart of her sudden depression. “That might explain your initial popularity, but I assure you, it wouldn’t have mattered after the first twenty years or so.” He caught her eyes with his, willing her belief. “Critics have acclaimed your work because it’s good. You’re good.”

  Her mouth twisted bitterly. “Am I?”

  “Yes, you are. Come on.” He rolled off the bed, reached down, and drew her to her feet. “I think it’s time I remind you just how good.”

  Jessica followed Galar out of the room and down a corridor to another elevator. After a quick, smooth descent, they emerged into a hallway. Depressed as she was, she couldn’t help but notice the enticing width of the shoulders that contrasted perfectly to his narrow waist and tight, muscular ass. The view was enough to lift her spirits all by itself.

  She was still admiring him when Galar stopped and opened a door. He stepped back, gesturing her through. Curious, Jessica stepped inside.

  Into the studio of her dreams.

  The ceiling was high, airy, while the floor underfoot was made of some kind of gleaming wood as smooth and polished as glass. One entire wall was a window with another breathtaking view of the mountains.

  It faced north, revealing a beautiful starlit sky and moonlight-kissed mountains. For centuries, artists had favored studios with north-facing windows as a source of perfect, even light. The view from this one would provide a stunning backdrop for her work. A long, low couch upholstered in dark green sat in front of the expanse of glass, draped with a deep red cloth.

  An easel sat before it, massive oak and sturdy, of the type Jess had always dreamed of, but had never been able to afford. A huge canvas sat on it, stretched over a wooden frame, already primed with gesso.

  Beside the easel sat a heavy wooden taboret, arranged with a dazzling selection of oil paints and a set of new brushes of every size and design. Two cans—turpentine and linseed oil—stood among the colorful tubes, unopened. A pile of clean rags waited beside them.

  Jessica scanned the taboret with the joyous delight of a child on Christmas morning. “There are hundreds of dollars’ worth of art supplies here!” Reverently, she examined the precious tubes. She’d always dreamed of owning oils of such quality, but she’d never had the money.

  Wonderingly, she turned to look at Galar. A smile of pleasure curved his handsome mouth—the delight of a man whose gift has been well received. “You did this for me,” she said slowly.

  Not exactly the act of the cold-blooded bastard Riane had described.

  “You’re going to be here for a while, and you need a place to paint. Is everything the way you need it? The computer said this is how art studios should be arranged, but if it’s not right . . .”

  Warmth spread through her chest, feeling remarkably like sunshine. “It’s perfect.”

  “Are you sure? Because I can—”

  “It’s perfect,” Jessica interrupted. On sheer impulse, she stepped over to him and rose on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. He was so tall, she had to brace a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. His cheek felt warm against her lips, angular and firm. “Thank you.”

  She dropped back to her heels and looked up into his face. Heat flooded those golden eyes with fierce male desire. Jessica caught her breath. Staring into that burning gaze, she swallowed.

  No, there was nothing at all cold about Galar Arvid.

  Her heart began to pound, and she found herself looking away. Her mouth felt dry as she managed to say, “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  For something to do with her hands, Jess moved to the art taboret and began to arrange the paints in the order she always used them—flesh tones at the top, then warm earth shades, then the deep blues and greens, then jewel tones. Finally the huge tube of titanium white.

  “What would you like to paint first?” Galar asked in that deep, seductive rumble of his.

  Jessica turned to look at him, at the angular contours of his handsome face, at the enticing shades of his blond hair. The word was sheer impulse. “You.”

  He inclined his head in a courtly kind of nod. “It would be an honor. Nude?”

  Jessica blinked. There was absolutely no insinuation in his tone at all, but she felt heat spill into her cheeks.

  Galar smiled slightly. “My people don’t consider nudity an automatic invitation to sex. And I’ve noticed your studio pieces are usually nudes.”

  “Yes.” Jess mentally cursed the blush. How unprofessional could you get? She’d painted male nudes before, after all. Though none of them had looked like Galar. “And yes, I would like to paint you.” Especially with the starlit night providing a perfect backdrop for his blond masculinity. “How about now?” She realized she probably sounded way too eager, but she was itching to paint.

  She needed this. Craved it, in fact. Desperately. To lose herself in the paint, in the smell of linseed oil and canvas, in the sweet, heady rush of creation. She wanted to forget what she’d lost, forget the frightening, alien world she’d have to somehow make a place for herself.

  How had Galar known? They barely knew each other, yet somehow he’d sensed the perfect thing to pull her out of her funk.

  There was more to this man than knife-edged cheekbones and great shoulders, no matter what Riane thought.

  Like Jess, Galar still wore the civies he’d worn outside. Now he grabbed the hem of the cable-knit sweater and tugged it over his head, then folded it and put it beside the couch. Jessica caught her breath at the beauty of his sculpted torso, then breathed out in a sigh as he slid out of his jeans. His legs were long and brawny, with big, well-shaped feet. Sometimes muscular men could look a little short-legged, but Galar’s big, lean body was in perfect proportion.

  Jess tried very hard not to stare between those powerful thighs. Even soft, his sex was impressive—a long, veined shaft with a plum-sized head, the heavy balls covered in wiry blond curls.

  “How do you want me?”

  Any way I can get you. Somehow she managed to keep the words from coming out of her mouth.

  A professional model would have known how to arrange his body. Galar, however, was not a professional model, and Jessica found herself guiding him into the pose she wanted.

  His square chin felt slightly rough with beard stubble as she angled his head up. She showed him how to bend one knee until his thigh hid that luscious shaft—she knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate with it on display. Jess positioned one powerful arm over the knee, then escaped back to her easel with a sense of relief.

  Scooping up a stick of charcoal for the initial sketch, she went happily to work.

  Galar had to tell his computer to suppress his erection.

  Again.

  He’d been telling the truth when he’d said his people didn’t consider nudity an invitation to sex. Privacy was at a premium in the barracks conditions aboard ships, space stations, and paramilitary installations like the Outpost. It was only good manners to ignore whatever bare skin you saw.

  But he hadn’t realized how it would affect him to have a woman look at him the way Jessica did. That gaze of hers set his Warlord
hunger burning like a torch.

  The sizzling intensity that had first drawn him to her was back, blazing in her eyes, coiling through her slim body. She painted in long, furious strokes for more than half an hour, only to abruptly stop.

  Galar’s mouth went dry as Jessica strode toward him on those long legs. She crouched to stare up into his face, then studied the line of his body. It took every erg of his self-control to keep from dragging her into his lap and devouring that soft mouth.

  Just as he was about to reach for her, Jess rose, turned with a roll of her lovely ass, and walked back to the easel. He managed not to snarl in frustration.

  Galar inhaled, fighting for self-control. The breath carried the scent of her, richly feminine despite the overlay of paint. He wanted to bury his hands in her hair, feel the long, dark, silken strands against his palms, his fingers. He wanted to jerk up her red sweatshirt and cup those round, pretty breasts, taste her nipples. Were they pink? he wondered. A deep rose? A soft, dusty brown?

  He wanted to reach between her legs and find her softest flesh, make her slick and ready.

  Her lips parted, and the pink tip of her tongue peeked between her teeth.

  Sweet Mother.

  Jess had never seen anything quite like Galar’s eyes. First they were a glowing gold, like honey in the sun, shaded with depths of amber and ocher. But as she painted him they began to burn, first with a single spot of red, then with flecks of crimson that had grown until now his pupils were a scarlet blaze.

  And the look on his face—intent, almost predatory. Staring at her like a starving wolf looking at a lamb just out of reach. His sensual lips were slightly parted, an erotic flush riding those bladed cheekbones.

  If any other man had looked at her like that, she would have gotten the hell out of the room. But this was Galar.

  And she could feel herself getting wet.

  With every breath she took, the lace cups of her bra gently abraded her stiff nipples. It was amazing she could still paint. Amazing she wanted to, when part of her ached to throw the brush aside and join him on that couch.

  But the fact was, she loved what she was doing to them both too much to stop. The luscious heat she felt sizzled onto the canvas like an electric charge, energizing every brush-stroke.

  His painted eyes stared out of the portrait at her with a stark masculine hunger that reflected a breathtaking reality. Though his big body lay in a pose of mock relaxation, the need that coiled through him was every bit as naked as he was.

  Jessica suspected this painting would make her blush when she was eighty. She was also quite sure that it would never appear on anybody’s wall but her own.

  So she went on painting despite the ache in her nipples, the heaviness between her thighs, the wet heat that built with every stroke.

  Despite the burning red blaze in his eyes.

  She found herself longing to test the boundaries of his control again. Laying the brush aside, Jess moved toward him as her heart pounded in a jungle drum thump. He watched her coming like a leopard staring at an approaching gazelle.

  Waiting for the moment to spring.

  She stopped just beyond his reach and sank slowly, gracefully, to her knees, moving like a geisha in a dance. She pretended to study the long, powerful line of him sweeping from chest to waist to hip. Avoiding his eyes. Somehow she sensed that if she met that red-coal gaze of his, his control would snap and the game would be over. And she wasn’t ready for it to end. Not just yet.

  She stood and walked back to her easel, feeling his gaze burning on the sway of her ass.

  When she picked up the brush again, her hand shook.

  Jessica studied the tiny vibration regretfully. Much as she loved playing with them both, she didn’t want to ruin the work she’d done. It was time to stop.

  She looked up. Directly into his eyes. He didn’t smile, didn’t speak. Just rolled to his feet in one powerful, athletic sweep. He stood there beside the couch, big feet braced apart.

  His cock rose to full, breathtaking erection, flushing dark, its shaft lengthening, wrist-thick and breathtaking, his balls drawing tight. As if somehow he’d released some superhuman control he’d had over his body.

  “Come here.” It was a growled command, brooking no disobedience. Expecting none.

  Jessica would have told any other man to go straight to hell.

  She went to Galar.

  Her mouth was dry, her nipples hard. As she stood looking up at him towering over her, she felt as if her sex were full of heated honey, thick and sweet. His nostrils flared, scenting her. His smile was slow, hungry. Confident. His cock jerked upward, a brush of heat against her belly.

  “I want to touch you. I want to see you.” Galar reached for the hem of her sweatshirt, pulling it off over her head and tossing it aside. His eyes glittered as he studied her breasts, cupped in lace and silk. He swallowed and went for the front clasp of her bra. Spilled her curves free into his warm hands. “Sweet Mother, you are beautiful.” He sounded almost reverent.

  “So are you.” Jessica let her head fall back with a helpless groan as his big fingers rolled the aching tips.

  “Undress for me,” he said in a rumble.

  “Oh, yeah.” Swallowing, she reached for the snap of her jeans with eager, shaking hands. The zipper sounded like a surrendering sigh. Jess pushed her jeans down over her thighs, stepped free of them, kicked them carelessly aside.

  Galar took a single step back to sweep a burning glance over her. She shivered under his eyes, feeling small and vulnerable. And delicious.

  Her gaze fell on the hard swell of his pectoral, the jut of a tiny brown nipple. Aching to touch him, she reached out. His skin felt hot, hard, smooth. Her hands left a smear of crimson across it like war paint.

  “I’d better wash my hands.” Her knees shook as she turned back toward the taboret and found a tube of cleanser. She squeezed the thick green gel into her palm.

  Big hands reached around her naked waist and closed over hers, stroking the cleanser over her flesh. Whatever the stuff was made of, it stripped away the paint better than anything she’d ever seen, then disappeared like water.

  Galar cleaned her hands thoroughly, slowly, until they tingled, clean of paint and aching with the need to touch him back. His fingers felt strong and warm. Her nipples perked. It was hard to breathe.

  “You have beautiful hands,” he murmured in her ear. The hunger in his voice made her shiver. “So slender. So delicate and small. Feminine.”

  She swallowed, looking down at his big male hands, with their stark, strong tendons and veins. There was nothing at all delicate about him. Nothing at all feminine.

  Galar turned her in his arms, those powerful palms so gentle on her shoulders. Jessica stared up into his starkly handsome features. Up close, the red blaze of his eyes didn’t look quite human.

  “Why do your eyes glow?” Her voice sounded dreamy to her own ears.

  “They do that when I’m in riaat.” His lids lowered, veiling the glow with thick blond lashes. “Or aroused.”

  She had no idea what riaat was, and at the moment, she couldn’t have cared less. All her attention was focused on his mouth, on the movement of his lips, the full, seductive curve of his lower lip, the thinner line of the upper with its little cupid’s bow dip at the top.

  Galar smiled and lowered his head. Reading her mind.

  The kiss was slow and thorough and dizzying. She leaned into him with a helpless groan. His tongue touched the seam of her lips in a delicate request for entry, and she opened for him with a sigh. He slid inside in a delicious mating thrust. She twirled her own tongue around his, and he moaned, a rough, throaty sound. His arms tightened around her, dragging her close.

  Big. Hot. Hard. His cock lay against her belly like a lead pipe. She quivered.

  By the time he drew back, they both shook with need. He bent, scooped one arm behind her knees and the other around her shoulders, and swept her into his arms. Pivoted with easy strength to put he
r down on the couch.

  Jessica’s heart pounded in a sweet, crazed beat as he straightened, sweeping a glowing glance over her before sliding a knee onto the cushion beside her hip. She watched him bend toward the aching tip of her right breast. His hand cupped her, warm and skillful, as his tongue swirled around her nipple. She closed her eyes at the hot storm of sensation that trailed each wet flick and caress. Teeth closed, gently raking, dragging an aroused gasp from her lips. “Galar!”

  He rumbled something, deep and feral. Jessica slid her hands up the powerful width of his shoulders to find the cool blond silk of his hair. Her fingers threaded through the short cropped curls, loving the feel of them, the heat of him against her.

  Slowly, gently, Galar began to nibble his way down the line of her torso, stopping at her belly button to lick the little indentation until she squirmed and giggled. She felt him smile against her belly, then continue on his way with those sweetly arousing little nips.

  He rose onto hands and knees, moving over her, head down as he tasted his way along. His cock pointed toward her body like a divining rod. Unable to resist, she closed her hand around the thick length.

  It was his turn to gasp.

  The shaft felt like heated silk, veined and hard. She stroked dreamily. Deep inside her, something tightened and clenched.

  At last his mouth reached her soft, damp curls. He parted the petals of her sex with his fingers and gave her a long lick. She shuddered at the mind-blowing sensation, the flood of honeyed heat.

  A drop of pre-come gathered at the tip of his cock. Jessica eyed it hungrily, then started pushing her way beneath him.

  He straddled her helpfully, letting her angle the thick shaft down toward her mouth.

  And then he began to feast.

  8

  Galar inhaled, breathing in the heady musk of her damp flesh. He parted the bright, rosy petals, studying the luscious glisten before he leaned down and slipped his tongue between them. He closed his eyes in pleasure at the taste. A little astringent, a bit salty, but Sweet Mother, there was nothing as intoxicating as the taste of a woman’s pleasure.