Wicked Wonderland (9 page)

She entered the bedroom and sat on the bed, then reached for her purse. She dumped out the contents, hoping to find some makeup. Her cell phone thumped onto the comforter and seemed to scream, “Call your mother!”

“Oh, okay!” Claire picked it up but couldn’t muster up the courage to listen to her parents’ disappointment when they found out she wasn’t going to make it home for the holidays. Maybe she could just send a text message.

She looked at the time, and since she shouldn’t be arriving in Atlanta for several hours, she decided to leave that emotional task until later. “Yes!” she said when she spotted a sample tube of mascara, a pressed-powder compact, and sheer coral lip gloss. Perfume! Sweet! She dearly missed her eyeliner and foundation, but this stash at least gave her a bit of polish, so she opened the compact and applied what little she had. With a happy smile she picked up her small spray bottle of perfume. After untying her robe, she slipped it from her shoulders and sprayed some on and in the process caught a glimpse of herself in the oval mirror standing in the far corner of the room.With a pounding heart she walked over and gazed at her naked reflection.

Like a prizefighter dancing in a ring, every little imperfection seemed to reach out and take quick jabs at her confidence. Her breasts were too full, her hips were too rounded, and her thighs too thick. She reached up and touched the riot of unruly curls tumbling over her shoulders and eyed her freckled face with a frown.

“What in the world was I thinking?” she whispered, and reached for the robe and secured the sash tightly. After sitting down on the edge of the bed, she inhaled a deep breath.“I can’t do this.”

Claire sat there for a few minutes with her hands folded. She was wondering what to say to Jesse when she heard a soft rap on her door. “Come in.”

“Hey there.” He filled the doorway looking so handsome that she wanted to throw a pillow at him. Or maybe kiss him. “I brought you a glass of wine.”

“Jesse, it’s not even noon.”

He shrugged his lumberjack shoulders. “No clocks, no schedule. This is my vacation,” he replied with a grin that was way too sexy. He took two steps into the room and extended the glass to her.

“It’s called a staycation.”

“It’s not what I had in mind, but it’s working for me. All I know is that I woke up this morning wanting to relax and not worry about a damned thing.” He reached over and put a fingertip between her eyebrows. “Get rid of that frown.”

“Are you always this cheerful when you’re snowed in?”

Something like surprise passed over his face. “Funny, but I’ve never been what you would call cheerful.” But when Claire started to comment, he said, “Listen, I’m all set up downstairs, but if you don’t want to do this, it’s perfectly okay.”

“I want to.”

“Good.”

“I just . . . can’t.”

“Then I’ll sketch you with the robe on.”

She raised her eyebrows.“Really?” She should have been relieved but instead felt an unexpected shot of disappointment.

He nodded and then extended his arm toward her.“If that’s what you prefer. Come with me.”

Claire slipped her hand into his and immediately felt a little feminine flutter. She had been single for so long and seeing couples holding hands always hit her hard with longing.There was just something so sweet, so romantic about it, and his hand was so big, so masculine, that he once again made her feel delicate . . . girly.

“Make yourself comfortable on the rug in front of the fire.”

Claire nodded but felt heat in her cheeks when visions of what they did there last night filtered into her brain.

“I wanted you someplace warm,” he explained as if guessing her thoughts.

An easel was set up a few feet away and Claire noticed a coffee can full of various-sized pencils and erasers. Despite a sudden wave of nerves she was curious about Jesse Marshall the artist.After taking a sip of her wine, she asked,“So you do more than just the Santa carvings?”

He nodded. “My father taught me wood carving at an early age. I developed a deep appreciation of art from my parents. It’s something that’s in my blood,” he added, and Claire hoped he would elaborate, but he frowned for a second and then seemed to shake off whatever was bothering him. “The statues are my bread and butter, but I enjoy many forms of art, from watercolor to pottery, but charcoal has always been a favorite medium.” He grinned. “I might not look like it, but I have a master’s degree.”

“Now, why would you say that?”

“Be honest, Claire.” He angled his head at her. “When I walked into the train station, did I look as if I should be painting landscapes or chopping down trees?”

“Chopping down trees,” she answered, and took another sip of the red wine. “What did I look like?”

“High maintenance. Haughty.”

“Haughty?” She snorted. “I’m anything but . . .”

“I know that now.”With a roll of masking tape in his hand, he walked over to where she sat on the rug.

“What are you going to do with that?”

“Tape you down so you can’t run away.”

“Right . . .”

“After I position you, I’ll mark it off, so if you have to take a break, we know just where you were sitting.”

“Oh, makes sense,” Claire commented, and tried to ignore the tingle she felt when he took her ankle and put it where he wanted. His hands were warm . . . strong. She wanted to reach out and touch him . . . run her fingers through his hair.

“Charcoal is all about lighting and shading, so I want you to face the fireplace at an angle and sort of look over your shoulder.It’s overcast outside, so there will be some amazing shadows to work with.” He took her chin in his hand and, after turning her head at an angle, pushed her mass of curls over her shoulder. He seemed so serious that Claire allowed him to position her the way he wanted without any more questions. He walked over to the easel, looked at her for a moment, and then came back and marked her feet off with the masking tape. She was so very glad that she had just had a pedicure and that her toenails were a glossy red against the off-white rug.“Can you hold that pose for a while?”

“Yes,” she replied, but was careful to remain still.

“Good, but it’s more difficult than it seems, so just let me know if you need a break.”

“Okay,” she replied, and then watched him go to work. He seemed so intense and the heat in his eyes when he studied her made her suddenly wonder what it would have been like to be posing nude.

He sketched broad strokes with a fat pencil and then came over and slightly repositioned her chin, her shoulders, and then her ankle. “You holding up okay?” he asked, and then gave her a drink of her wine. “Warm enough?” When Claire nodded, the robe slipped from one shoulder, but when she reached up to put it back, he said, “Will you leave it? The slope of your shoulder is incredibly graceful.”

Claire nodded, and with a frown on his handsome face, Jesse drew, put his thumb forward with one eye open as if measuring, and then went back to big, sweeping strokes. Claire watched, mesmerized, not realizing that she was barely breathing. When she took a deep breath, the robe slid from her other shoulder, leaving her back and the curve of her left breast exposed. Her heart pounded, but when he continued to sketch, she didn’t want to disturb his concentration and left the robe pooled at her waist. A few moments later he came over to her, tilted her head a fraction, and then while holding her gaze reached down and loosened the belt on the robe. Neither of them spoke, but when his fingers barely grazed her body, she felt a jolt of sexual heat and didn’t protest when he parted the terry cloth and pushed it from her body.

As Jesse sketched, his sweeping strokes became more refined and he reached for different pencils. He angled his head, studied her with a quiet intensity that felt like a physical touch. At one point he picked up a rag and swiped it back and forth across the paper and then began sketching once more. His hands became blackened from the charcoal and he smudged a bit on his nose and cheek but didn’t seem to notice or care. The passion in Jesse’s eyes felt hot and caused Claire’s nipples to tighten and heat to pool between her thighs.

 

Jesse chewed on the inside of his lip and shoved his fingers through his hair. He had sketched plenty of nudes in college but never a woman whom he had made love to; this was an amazingly sensual experience. He was literally putting passion on the page. Every stroke of the pencil on the velvety surface felt as if he were caressing her curves, and he become more and more aroused. Claire’s over-the-shoulder pose was almost coy, and yet the heat in her eyes told a much different story. She was sweet, smoky heat, and he wanted to kiss her, touch her, lick her all over . . .
everywhere,
and then make love to her until she cried out his name again and again, and by the time he was finished with the drawing, he was crazy with wanting her.

Jesse looked at the drawing, angled his head at Claire, and had to steady his trembling fingers before adding a few details. He stepped back and smiled slowly. He had done it . . . captured her natural beauty, her sensuality, and yet her eyes held a sense of humor and her mouth a touch of vulnerability.

Through his eyes she was sheer perfection, and his Christmas gift to her was for her to
know
that she was a gorgeous, sexy woman.

“May I see it?” Her voice was husky, sexy, and her eyes were full of passion.

“Yes,” Jesse answered. “Come here.” When she reached for the robe, he shook his head. “Leave it.”

She licked her lips and hesitated but then stood up and walked over to the easel. She stood in front of Jesse, and his heart pounded while she gazed at the drawing. “Oh, my . . . ,” she said breathily, and put a hand to her chest. “Oh, Jesse, it’s stunning. Perfect!” She tilted her head and studied the sketch. “But . . . that’s not . . .
I’m not
. . .That can’t be . . .
me
.”

Jesse put his hands on her shoulders and looked at the sketch with her. “Oh, yes it is,” he whispered in her ear.“And this is what I see when I look at you.” He let her drink that in, then added, “You are beautiful. Alluring.” He slid his hands up and sank his fingers into her silky curls. “You’re sensual, but you somehow maintain an air of innocence . . . honesty. Claire, you’re gorgeous from the inside out.” He slid his hands down and squeezed her shoulders.“Don’t ever doubt yourself, okay?”

She stood there for a minute looking at the sketch, and when she reached up and swiped at her cheek, Jesse felt as if the hard ball of anger that he had been carrying inside since the death of his parents was finally starting to melt. After years of cutting himself off from soft emotion, she was making him feel again, laugh again....

Live again.

Claire turned and cupped his cheeks between her palms and then kissed him tenderly. “Thank you, Jesse.”

Emotion clogged Jesse’s throat and he had to pause before he said,“You’re welcome.” And then, without warning, he bent down and scooped Claire up into his arms.

After a little squeal she asked, “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to my bed.”

“Ah, I guess it’s time for an afternoon nap
.
. . .”

“Guess again.”

J
esse zigzagged and spun in circles, making Claire hang on for dear life but laugh with delight. She felt carefree and light as air in his strong arms, but when he entered his bedroom, she sucked in a breath. “Oh, Jesse, this room is magnificent.”

“Thank you.”

High beamed cathedral ceilings allowed room for the massive four-poster king-sized bed against the back wall.The rustic furniture appeared strong and sturdy but again managed to have a smooth artsy elegance that invited touch. Deep maroon covered the bed and accented the windows, and a lovely Oriental rug added a splash of additional color against the hardwood floor. Light spilled in from the A-framed exit leading to a back deck with a lovely view of the woods. A stone fireplace was tucked in the far corner with a leather chaise lounge that called for a good book and a mug of hot chocolate.

But instead of placing Claire on the bed, Jesse walked through double doors leading to a master bath.“I have charcoal all over my hands and I managed to get it all over you. Mind if we wash off?”

Claire shook her head. “Of course not,” she answered, and as he put her gently on her feet, she tried to avoid looking at her naked reflection. She thought about reaching for a white fluffy towel but didn’t want to get charcoal on it, so she stood there while he started soaping up his hands. But when she started to turn the faucet on her sink, he shook his head. “What?”

“Come closer,” he requested while he washed his hands. He chuckled when he removed the smudges from his face, but after tugging off his shirt, he turned to Claire. “Since I’m the one who did this to you, it’s only fair that I clean you up. Don’t you agree?” he asked, but without waiting for her reply, he started soaping her breasts.

“There wasn’t any charcoal there.”

“Really?” he asked innocently, and then turned her so that he stood behind her and she faced the mirror.“My bad . . .” He soaked a washcloth in warm water and took his sweet time wiping the soap from her nipples. There was heat in his eyes but something playful that wasn’t there before, and she loved seeing this side of him.When she felt that the time was right, she was going to find out what had happened that took away his Christmas joy.

“There’s some,” he said, and slowly washed a dark streak away from her ribs.The warm rough material felt amazing on her sensitive skin, and he continued dipping the cloth in the water and washing her long after the charcoal was gone. Her skin glowed, tingled. With a moan he suddenly dropped the cloth and caressed her with his bare hands.When he dipped his dark head and kissed her shoulder, she leaned back against his chest and watched. Claire sucked in a breath when he cupped her breasts, lifting, toying, while he rubbed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples.While he began a trail of warm kisses up her neck, his hands traveled lower, and when he slid a finger lightly over her mound, her breath hitched, caught. He parted her folds while kissing her neck and then touched her clit just as he nibbled on her earlobe.