“Sounds good to me.”
She laughed and the sound loosened something inside his gut, unwinding snakes of need that wrapped around his cock in a viselike grip. Had he ever met another woman so natural, so completely without artifice?
Had he ever been so fucking hard?
“I think this is my first booty call,” she said thoughtfully.
He tripped in the dark and choked out a laugh. “My sister was singing about bootys today. That’s a word I don’t use.”
“What would you call it?”
“I’m coming over to look at your etchings. Then, if you feel so inclined, you can show me your bedroom. Or your recliner. Even the living room floor. I’m not all that choosy.”
“Guys usually aren’t.” She hesitated again then murmured, “Sixteen Slate Avenue. I’ll leave the door unlocked. I’m upstairs in my studio…first room on the left on the second floor.”
“All right. You good with wine?”
“Sure, if you have some.”
He didn’t, but he’d lie. And hope to God there was a liquor store still open at this hour. “What connoisseur of fine food and drink doesn’t keep a few bottles of wine on hand?”
“You don’t have any, do you?”
“No.” He hopped into his jeans. “But I’ll find some, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried. I’d rather you just bring you.”
He eased a hip on the bed, his discarded T-shirt hanging limply in his hand. Funny how she could make the most simple thing sound so sweet. “I’ll find wine,” he said, depressing the end button.
Depending how this night went, he owed Lonny James a debt. He owed him for being goddamned stupid enough to throw away a woman like Karyn.
* * * * *
Karyn didn’t change her clothes. Above all, she didn’t want to be obvious. Although remaining in what she wore to paint sent a pretty distinct message too.
Her usual painting attire consisted of leggings and a smock. Just leggings and a smock. No shirt, no underwear or bra. She liked to feel unencumbered and this way her arms remained free. She also got a secret thrill from the rough material of the smock rubbing against her nipples. So secret she’d never admitted it to herself before this very moment.
Nerves threatened to overwhelm her as she waited for Jeff to arrive, so she made herself focus on her painting. She’d run out of both blue and green paint but she still had a lot of orange and yellow. The colors mixed and swirled, exploding upward from a thin green reed. She’d intended to paint flowers, something to chase away the early winter gloom. But she’d created a single flower instead, its narrow stem barely strong enough to hold the enormous bulb blossoming across the canvas.
“Metaphor? No.” She drew the word out, smiling.
She certainly felt ready to blossom tonight. If she got undressed, she knew she’d find her nipples already full and dark and hard. She could feel them straining against the nubby cloth. They anticipated Jeff’s arrival as much as the rest of her.
Would she sleep with him, on her anniversary of all days? Although technically it was nearly 12:30 and therefore not her anniversary anymore. Good thing it was Sunday. She wouldn’t have to get up early for work. They could laze around in bed for a while, maybe make breakfast together. If he stayed that long. She wasn’t up on current booty call protocol.
She supposed she’d be learning soon enough. Strangely, she couldn’t wait.
When actual painting rather than daydreaming became a futile aspiration, she started putting away her brushes and cloths. Her phone went off again in her pocket and she pried it out, smiling at Jeff’s text.
Naked yet?
Her smile widened.
Eager much?
Vry. I’m harder than the frame of ur cottage. U left the prch lite on for me.
She turned it on every night, but he didn’t know that. He was hard for her and he liked her leaving on a porch light. Those two things alone made Jeff Maddox more interesting than any man she’d known in a long time.