Bedded for His Pleasure: Bedded by a Bad Boy / In the Gardener's Bed / The Return of the Rebel. Heidi Rice

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      She chewed her lip. ‘You’re not annoyed with me—for not saying something sooner, I mean?’

      He lifted his hand, held her chin and kissed her. His lips were light and tender on hers. ‘I should have asked and I didn’t. I guess we’re both guilty of getting carried away.’ He lifted her off his lap. He leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead and then a long, slow kiss on the lips.

      He was so gentle she felt herself getting aroused again. She could see from his boxers that he was aroused, too. She pulled him towards her.

      ‘Don’t tempt me, Red.’

      ‘Oh, Monroe.’ She put her palm on his cheek.

      He put his hand over hers, drew it down. ‘We can wait till tomorrow for the next round. Anyhow, I need to get some condoms, remember?’

      Although Monroe was desperate for her, no way was he going to take her to bed again so soon. He’d seen the heart-melting look in her eyes after they’d made love. Didn’t doubt that she probably thought she was falling in love with him. She was young and naïve and unbearably sweet. A romantic to the core. He was older, much more cynical and had never had a romantic moment in his life. Thank heaven.

      He knew that great sex, no, fantastic sex, was all he could give her. So they’d keep things light and simple and they’d both have a good time. He felt okay with it, knowing that he could give her something she’d never had before. That first orgasm was just the start, for both of them. He wouldn’t think about the future because they didn’t have one.

      ‘I better get dressed.’ Jessie stood up, struggling with the throw. Why did she suddenly feel as if there was a distance between them that hadn’t been there before? ‘I should go.’

      ‘No, you don’t.’ He swung her up into his arms.

      She grabbed for his shoulders and the throw fell away, exposing her to the waist.

      ‘What are you doing?’ She tried to cling on and pull the throw back up.

      ‘Forget about that.’ He tightened his arms. ‘I want you naked in my bed tonight.’ He sniffed at her hair. ‘God, you smell fantastic. No way you’re going anywhere tonight.’

      She was clinging onto his neck now, his chest hair brushing unbearably against the swollen, sensitive peaks of her breasts. ‘But I thought we weren’t going to do it again.’

      He laughed, the sound rough and rueful. ‘Red, you’ve got so much to learn.’ He wiggled his brows, lasciviously. ‘Wouldn’t you know it? I guess I’m gonna have to teach you.’

      He didn’t sound remotely put out about it.

      Kicking the throw rug away, he sauntered through into the bedroom with her. Bumping the door closed, he whirled her round into the room.

      Jessie saw the bed first, a large mattress on the floor, the bed sheets strewn across it, but as he knelt down to dump her on it her head fell back and she caught a glimpse of the blaze of colours over his shoulder.

      ‘Oh, my goodness, Monroe.’ She scrambled out of his arms and rushed over to the canvases stacked against the wall.

      They were strong, bold, striking images. People’s faces, some tender, some touching, others unbearably sad and strong. Stunning landscapes of vibrancy and life. Ugly urban places that had a haunting beauty. Each one of his subjects leapt off the canvas in its own distinct way. His use of colour, of light, of contrast was vivid and demanding, as if he had drawn the emotion out with the paint. She turned back to him, tears forming in her eyes. He stood next to the mattress, watching her, his eyes carefully blank.

      ‘That bad, huh?’

      ‘Monroe.’ Walking to him, she placed her palms on his cheeks, searched his face. ‘They’re incredible. You have an amazing talent.’

      ‘You like them?’

      ‘Are you joking? I don’t like them. I love them. They’re phenomenal.’ She turned, ran back, picked up a small square canvas of a woman and a girl, standing by a gas pump. The girl, who looked little more than a child, was heavily pregnant. Her eyes shone with bitterness and defiance. The paint strokes were rough, the fierce strength elemental on the girl’s face.

      As she studied it Jessie felt her own emotions well up inside her. ‘You’ve captured her so perfectly. Who was she?’

      ‘Hey.’Walking up behind her, he scooped the tear off Jessie’s cheek, laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t cry, Jess. The guy responsible stuck by her and so did her mom. She did okay.’

      Jessie put the canvas back against the wall, turned to him. ‘I’m not crying because of her. She looks tough enough to wrestle an ox. I’m crying because of your art, Monroe. It’s so exquisite.’

      He looked taken aback. ‘You like them that much?’

      Monroe pulled her into his arms, the surge of pride inside him so huge it was choking him. No one had ever said something to him that could have meant more. This was better than when she’d had her first orgasm in his arms and that had been pretty damned overwhelming.

      ‘It’s only a hobby,’ he said, inhaling the fresh, flowery scent of her hair.

      She drew back. ‘Don’t lie.’ She took another long look at his paintings. When she turned back, her eyes were full of wonder. His knees felt shaky.

      ‘That’s not a hobby,’ she said softly. ‘That’s a passion.’

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      ‘JESSIE, dear, your young man’s outside.’

      Jessie’s stomach did a little flip as Mrs Bennett walked into the gallery’s tiny office. The leap of joy was something she’d got used to in the last few days.

      ‘He’s only a few minutes early,’ her boss continued as she put the sales invoices down on Jessie’s desk. ‘You can go now if you like.’

      ‘Thank you, Mrs Bennett.’ Jessie tapped the shutdown button on the desktop computer, grabbed her bag from under the desk and ran out.

      Monroe stood outside the gallery’s main doors. He looked tall and slightly tense through the glass. Her young man. Wasn’t that the most wonderful phrase in the whole wide world?

      They’d been together now for four whole days and she felt as if her heart were going to burst in her chest at the sight of him. Had she ever been happier in her life?

      The sex, of course, was fabulous. The man made love like a god. She’d never experienced anything like it before. Toby had always treated foreplay like a chore. Maybe that was why she’d never been able to relax, enjoy it. Monroe seemed to know instinctively what to do to make her forget everything except the touch, the feel of him.

      But it wasn’t Monroe’s lovemaking skills that had dazzled her, had lifted her onto a cloud of such intense pleasure and contentment. It was the companionship. They made love every morning and then they would have breakfast in his apartment before he took her to work on the Harley. He’d be waiting outside to pick her up when she СКАЧАТЬ