Hydromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 4)

The condo was spacious and open. The inside smelled of lavender. She moved to the lounge first. A white L-shaped, avant-garde style couch dominated the room. The only other furniture were a low glass table, a hi-tech sound system next to a modern reclining chair, a wall-mounted flat screen television, and a Bauhaus desk in the corner. There was no sign of a phone or laptop.

She continued to the kitchen, but stopped in the frame. The room was large with stainless steel shelves, the kind that had no backing. Tim stood in front of a counter, mixing a cocktail. Next to him stood a tall, slim, woman—Frida Adolfsson. The Swedish beauty wore a fitted, blue dress with matching stilettos. She had a waterfall of straight blond hair that cascaded to her waist. With her pink lips, pale skin, and flushed cheeks, she was the epitome of a peaches-and-cream complexion. Her blue eyes were wide, almost too big for her small face, giving them an eternal-innocent quality. Her lips were slightly parted and her head tilted, as if she was posed for a kiss. Some women were like that, innocence and sensuality all mixed up. Desirable, but unobtainable. These were the women men chased the hardest.

She was about to slip back down the hall, but Frida turned her head and spotted her. The other woman’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Under Frida’s scrutinizing stare, Maya became aware of the crassness of her own appearance in comparison. Men couldn’t keep their eyes or hands off of Maya, but hers was a sexual kind of allure. She was curvy and toned and tanned, nothing like the feminine goddess who measured her with a cold, steel light in her eyes. Frida had frozen in mid-sentence, and at her silence, Tim followed her gaze.

His lips curved into a sexy smile. “Maya, come here.”

He looked hot with his hair falling messily around his face and the linen shirt he’d left unbuttoned. She sauntered over to the counter and leaned against it, her hip brushing against his.

“I’d like you to meet Frida, my secretary.”

Frida’s stance was observant and cool. “Miss Martin. Tim was just telling me about you.”

“Call me Maya.”

Tim pressed the button on the blender, and in the noise that followed, making further conversation impossible, the women held each other’s gaze.

After the blending was done, Tim took martini glasses from the fridge and poured two cocktails. He glanced at Frida. “Would you like one?”

She crossed her arms with a fluent movement, her long fingers and manicured nails resting elegantly on her upper arms. “Not while on duty.” She smiled. “But thank you. You’re always considerate, Tim.”

Tim handed Maya a glass and took her arm to guide her back outside. When they’d taken their seats on the couch, he studied her.

“What?” she asked, sipping her drink.

He toyed with one of the beads in her hair. “Like it?”

“Like what?”

“The drink.”

“You know I do.”

“Fine.” He raised a hand in a gesture of surrender. “Caught. I saw you drinking it at Tesoro del Mar. It’s the only place in Costa Rica where they mix a decent fishbowl.”

“It’s usually served in a fat belly glass with a cherry and umbrella.”

He chuckled. “So unrefined.”

“Each to his own. I guess unrefined is my style.”

“Nothing about you is unrefined, Maya.”

She left her drink on the table and turned to him. Slipping her hands under the edges of his shirt, she stroked her palms up his chest. His skin was soft and his abs hard in contrast. Under her touch, his muscles rippled. His reaction affected her. Like a pebble in water, it circled out, making her own skin contract with a pleasurable shiver. She watched him closely as she smoothed her hands over his shoulders. The muscles bunched under her caress. His complexion was flawless, smooth like powder, the kind that looked like it would never age. Only the fine creases at the corners of his eyes proved he wasn’t a wax statue.

A deep longing to taste his mouth overtook her. She got onto her knees on the couch and bent her head to close the distance between them. For a second, they remained like that, Tim holding his breath while hers quickened, and when he didn’t move as she cupped his face, she pressed her lips to his.

Desire took her by storm. It rushed through her like a tornado, twisting her insides together and hurling her far away from the known, far away from anything she’d ever felt. Tim’s lips sealed around hers—gently but firmly. When he finally moved, it was to push her down and lift himself over her. He groaned into the kiss, evoking a moan from her in return. At the sound of it, his resolve seemed to blow to pieces. All the gentleness and tender touches from before were gone, and in their place she got a glimpse of the hard lover he could be. His caress turned passionate, frantic. He held her in place with his hands on her hips while he moved a knee between her legs and pushed them apart.