Down & Dirty (Lightning 1)

Chapter 20

We make it back to my place by ten-thirty, which has to be a record of some sort. And while Hunter tried to be subtle as he eased me toward the door at the gala, it didn’t work—at least not judging from the knowing looks on his friends’ and teammates’ faces.

I should probably be embarrassed, and maybe some other time I would be. But right now, all I can think about is getting Hunter upstairs to my apartment and having my wicked, wicked way with him.

But that’s not quite how it goes down, as he takes my keys from me and opens my door.

“Show me your favorite painting,” he whispers to me as I flick on a light.

“What? Now?” I look a

t him like he’s crazy.

“Now,” he says.

Normally I’d be flattered he wants to see my art, but right now all I can think about is how much I’d rather have his hands on my body than my canvas.

“So, just to be clear,” I say as I cross to the far wall, where so many of my finished pieces are. “You don’t want to get laid?”

“Oh, I’m going to get laid,” he tells me with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Probably more than once. But your art is as beautiful as you are. I want to see it.”

“You’re weird, I’ve told you that, right?”

“You have. And you’re impatient.” His hand slips under the back of my skirt to snag the thin lace band of my thong. He pulls it taut, then lets it go and I gasp at the sharp crack of pain as it snaps against my skin. “Now go get it for me.”

“You don’t really think I’m going to just do what you tell me to, do you?”

He snaps the band again—a little lower than before—and this time my breath breaks as heat snakes through me. “I think you’re going to do exactly that,” he says with a smirk. “That is, if you want me to finish what I started.”

I want to tell him to go to hell, that I’ll finish myself off. But that’s not what I want—not when Hunter is all hot and hard and beautiful right here in my apartment.

So, grudgingly I do what he asks—what he orders—and pick up a watercolor I did about six months ago when I was visiting my mom in San Francisco. She and husband number five live in a high-rise in the city—one with a great view as my latest stepfather made his fortune investing in several tech start-ups that have gone huge—and when I looked out their family room window one night, I was transfixed by the lights down below. White, red, pink, lavender, yellow, blue, green—the lights coming up from the city were as unique and colorful as the city itself.

I stayed up all that night—and the next and the next—trying to capture what I saw. Sketch after sketch, discarded canvas after discarded canvas, in the end, this painting was as close as I could get.

I hold it up for Hunter to see and his eyes widen as he stares at it. “How do you get it to glow like that?” he asks, moving closer to get a better look.

“It wasn’t easy.”

“I bet. It’s absolutely ethereal.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” But still, pleasure works through me at the compliment.

“I would.” He reaches for the painting, then stops himself at the last second. “Can I—”

“Of course.” I hand it over, then simply stand there, feeling uncomfortable and thrilled and exposed all at the same time.

“I know this view,” he says after a few moments. “This is downtown San Francisco at night.”

“It is.” I’m a little shocked that he recognizes it as, for me, the painting has always been more about the lights in the darkness than it is about any specific location.

“It’s beautiful.” He smiles as he lowers the painting to the ground. “Show me another one.”

“Seriously?” I’m beginning to get annoyed. I’m all for a guy expressing interest in my work, but come on. I can see how hard he is through his tuxedo pants and I’m certainly more turned on than I’ve ever been. I want to fuck, not listen to him wax poetic about my work.

He just smiles, though. “Seriously.”

“Fine.” I paw through the stacks of paintings along the back wall of my apartment until I find the one I’m looking for. Done at the beach during one of my ridiculous and spectacularly unsuccessful “get over my fear of water” phases, it’s a picture of a sailboat out on the open water.