CHAPTER ONE
“Why does this sculpture make me think of hot, amazing, fantastic sex?”
Sage Ballantyne looked at the woman she hoped would become her sister-in-law, but didn’t reply to her outrageous statement. Tyce Latimore’s work, whether it was an oil painting or a wood-and-steel sculpture, always elicited a strong reaction. He was one of the best artists of his generation. Of many generations.
Thank God he was also the only artist of his generation who refused to attend his opening nights. If there had been even the slightest chance he might appear, then Sage would’ve stayed away.
Sage flicked her eyes over the abstract six-foot-high sculpture. It was unusual and very unlike Tyce’s normally fluid lines.
“There isn’t a curve in sight but it screams passion and lust,” Piper said.
Sage’s eyebrows lifted. “I’m not seeing what you are.”
Piper pulled Sage to stand next to her.
“Try this perspective,” Piper suggested, her cheeks tinged with pink.
Sage laughed at Piper’s embarrassment and turned back to look at the sculpture. Actually, from this angle it did look like two people bent over a desk, and Piper was right; when you made that connection you saw the passion in the piece. This sculpture would be a talking point in his reviews. The art critics would wax eloquent about Tyce’s take on human sexuality.
Sage knew how he felt about sex; he liked it. Often and any way he could get it.
“But why the frog?” Piper asked before moving on to another display.
Every muscle in Sage’s body stiffened. Oh, no, he hadn’t. No way, no how. Not even Tyce Latimore would have the balls to…
She looked at the sculpture again and yep, there on the “desk” was a tiny, beautifully made steel frog, its surface treated so that it took on a greenish hue. In an instant Sage flashed back to three years before.
They’d arrived separately to a party, not wanting to tip off the world about their relationship—the heiress and the hot artist, professionally and personally, would be big news—and they’d spent the evening pretending not to know each other. The tension had been hot and sexy and, by the time Tyce dropped a quick suggestion in her ear that they meet in the library, she was a vibrating, hot, sticky mess of take-me-now. Within twenty seconds of slipping into the room, the door was locked, Tyce had her dress up her hips and had stripped her of her soaking thong. He’d unzipped, leaned her over the desk and he’d taken her, hard and fast, from behind.
The jade frog on her host’s desk had watched them, thoroughly unamused.
Sage hauled in a breath as her heart tried to claw its way out of her chest. How dare he? What they’d done together was not for public dissemination.
Just another reason she’d been right to walk away from him three years ago.
“That sculpture was difficult.” Tyce’s unmistakable deep and velvety voice came from behind her. “I was constantly distracted by the memories of that night. And others.”
His words were low enough for only her to hear. She didn’t turn, but she felt the heat pouring off his body and she inhaled his soapy, sexy all-man smell. Lust skittered over her. As usual, Sage felt like she’d been plugged into the nearest electrical outlet. Her skin buzzed, her heart stumbled and her mind felt off-kilter.
Three years and he still had the ability to rocket her from composed to crazy. Three years and her first instinct was to beg him to take her to bed. Three years and instead of being angry with him for depicting their encounter in the library in an, admittedly, very abstract way, she wanted to kiss him.
Or slap him…
Then, like now, he pulled her in and tempted her into edging closer. Generally, Sage found it easy to step away from men she found too attractive or too interesting. They weren’t worth the hurt that was the inevitable outcome of becoming entangled in someone’s life.
Determined to protect herself, Sage seldom allowed relationships, especially those with men, to deepen past a week or two. With Tyce, it had taken her six weeks to convince herself to leave. He was supremely dangerous.
Tempting, addictive… All that and more.
So, obviously, kissing him was out of the question.
Sage spun around on her ice pick heels and her hand connected with his cheek. Instantly mortified and regretful, she watched that too-handsome face harden, his obsidian eyes turn, if that was at all possible, darker. He opened his mouth to say something but instead of speaking his hands gripped her hips and he yanked her into his hard, muscled chest. His temper-tinged mouth covered hers, his hot tongue slipping between her lips, and Sage was lost, swept away to a place only Tyce could take her. Sage dug her nails into his arms, feeling his bulging muscles through the thin fabric of his black dress shirt and, wanting more, her hands skated over his broad chest, danced across those washboard abs she’d loved to tickle and taste.