“It’s just that . . .” He faded off, frowning. Again, she sensed the frustration of a perfectionist who felt he was performing beneath his standards. “Ever since I first met you years back, I’ve been trying to figure out the magic of you. If I could only capture a hint of it, I’d be a happy man.”
“With your pencil, you mean?” she asked, amazement flavoring her tone.
“Any way I can,” he replied gruffly. Their gazes held in the taut silence. She sensed he had meant with his powerful lovemaking, as well. “I’ll never let another soul see the sketches,” he said. “I promise.”
“I’m not worried about that.”
She stood and began to undress.
“Where do you want me?” she asked awkwardly a moment later, standing before him, naked.
He merely waved at the chair and ottoman where she’d been reclining. She lay back, feeling both exposed and excited by his tight stare on her. Seth stood and moved to the far corner of the couch to get a more straight-on view of her. At first she was tense and hyperaware because of the novelty of the situation. Slowly, the warmth of the fire on her naked skin and the hushed, soothing sound of Seth’s pencil made her muscles go soft and relaxed. She studied his face and saw his hallmark rapier focus. She’d been silly to imagine he was considering this situation sexual, just because she was naked. He was an artist, after all, and in those moments, she was his subject. Still, it was a singularly sensual experience for her, to feel herself the target of his gaze and attention. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she drifted off to the sound of his scratching pencil and the crackling fire.
She awoke to the sensation of his hands moving along the sides of her rib cage. Her nipples drew tight.
“Seth?” she mumbled sleepily.
“Your skin is like warm silk,” he murmured, his gruff voice washing over her and awakening her nerves. He cupped her breasts from below and shaped them gently to his hands. “Is it all right?” he asked her simply, meeting her stare.
“More than all right,” she murmured. He stood and leaned over her, one hand sliding beneath her hips, the other pushing her against his chest. He lifted her. She saw that determined, familiar look on his face as he carried her. He lay her down on her back on the soft couch and began to unfasten his jeans, his gaze on her face.
A moment later, he was coming down over her, his cock slowly sliding home. She panted for air, gritting her teeth. She’d been wrong to think that he’d merely been the cool, detached artist as he drew her. His cock was huge and throbbing and clearly very affected. The knowledge moved her.
At first, he remained still while fully sheathed in her pussy.
Then he braced himself on his hands and began to move. She saw so many things in his eyes. They remained silent as he masterfully built the friction between them though.
Words couldn’t contain what she felt in those moments.
Twenty-one
Later that afternoon, Gia heard Seth on the phone in the kitchen. Her ears pricked when she heard him say her name. She had a pretty good idea who he was talking to. A minute later, he walked into the living room where she sat.
“Was that Charles?” she asked him.
“Yes.”
Dread went though
her when his gaze skated off her. “What is it, Seth?”
“The trial is going to begin on Wednesday.”
“This Wednesday?” she asked, stunned. He nodded. “But . . . Madeline said a week from next Monday at the very earliest.”
“I know. But it’s like Madeline said from the start, trial proceedings can be erratic in a high-profile case like this. Judge Halloran suddenly got a bee in his robes, apparently, and moved things up. Madeline wants you there as quickly as possible, so you can go over your testimony. The jury is going to be sworn in on Tuesday, opening statements will begin on Wednesday. You’re expected to be there, although you probably won’t testify immediately.”
Gia couldn’t speak. It was like something vital had been ripped away from her without warning. She didn’t have much time with Seth, save these few remaining days and nights, and then their hours on the road home. And those were going to be stolen from her as well? She turned her head, not wanting him to see the tears welling in her eyes.
“What are we going to do?” she asked, straining to keep her voice even.
“Charles is arranging a flight back to Los Angeles for tomorrow afternoon. I’ve also put in a special request in regard to you, and Charles told me that request has been agreed to by United Studios.”
“What?” she asked, bewildered.
“I asked that during the trial, you be allowed to stay in one of the Bunker Hill condos the studio keeps for visitors. It’s situated in a luxury tower, and it’s known for keeping its high-profile residents very secure. It’ll be safer for your police escort to protect you there. Plus, you won’t have to worry about driving back and forth from Bel Air to the downtown courthouse every day. The press is going to be even more rabid than it was before the trial began. I don’t want another incident where you’re run off the interstate. I spoke to Joshua Cabot about the possibility of you staying there a few days ago, and he arranged it all.”
“Will I go back to Los Angeles as Jessie, or me?” she asked, even though what she really wanted to know was, Are you going with me? Are we never going to see each other again? It seemed impossible—soul-killing—to consider they might not. Everything they’d shared was about to evaporate into insubstantial memories?