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He must feel the change in me, the way I let go. Sebastian groans, letting his lips coast down to my breast. He laves it with his tongue. I’m in heaven. This is ecstasy. I’ve completely lost control.
“You can try to bleed me dry,” he growls against my skin, tasting me again, “if that’s what you want. But I’m warning you, baby, I ain’t got much left.”
As I arch back against the bench, he clamps one hand on my waist and uses the other to plump my breast for him to feast on. The rasp of his tongue over my nipple short-circuits my brain.
Slowly, his words sink in. A frown tugs at my brows, but my brain is slow to engage. “What does that mean?” I ask, voice far away. His hair is heavy silk between my fingers, his body hard and male and beautiful.
With a rough kiss against my lips, Sebastian silences me. He kisses me until I feel weak, until I’ve almost forgotten what he said. Then he pulls away, touches his forehead to mine, and finally speaks. “It means you can do what women always do—what you did to your ex-husband. Take me for all I’m worth, Georgia. I don’t mind.” A mean smile stretches his lips as his hips press into me, his erection lewd against my stomach. “I’m just telling you that you won’t get much for your effort.”
His words send ice jetting through my veins, extinguishing the immolating need that had been so overwhelming a moment ago.
He thinks I’m going to use him? An instant ago he had my breast in his mouth, and he’scomparing me to his ex-wife?
I shove at his chest. To my surprise, he rocks back a step—and has the audacity to look affronted by my glare.
“Oh, don’t play high and mighty with me, Georgia,” he says, rolling those icy-blue eyes. “I know how you got that nice house on the coast. It’s the same way my ex-wife got her fancy new four-bed in Dallas with a Mercedes coupe in the garage.”
Words stutter against my lips before I can speak them. I feel oily, dirty. Shoving my dress back up to cover myself, I sidestep around him. My panties are soaked. They feel revolting against my skin. “You’re a pig, Sebastian.” I’ve never felt so disgusting as I do now.
“Yeah, and?”
I grab my purse from the tabletop and whirl around. “And you can stay in town as long as you like. I don’t give a damn. Just know that you won’t be spending any of that time with me.”
A cruel huff of laughter follows me out the door, and I almost,almostkeep walking. But it must be my pride, my ego, or the stupid voice in my head that makes me pause and spin around for the last word.
“For your information, Sebastian,” I say, “Ipaid my ex-husband in the divorce settlement. The house ismine, bought with the proceeds from the business that I builtdespitemy marriage. Not because of it. If anyone was bled dry, it was me. I losteverythingwhen Derrick took me to court, so don’t you dare shove your cock against me and tell me what I deserve.”
Ears ringing, hands trembling, I somehow make it onto my scooter. I hear my name from the parking lot where Sebastian’s standing, watching me, his hands planted on his slim hips. Hands that shaped and plumped and burned my body only moments ago.
“Georgia,” he calls again as I turn my key in the ignition.
I don’t turn my head to acknowledge him before zooming down the street.
6
SEBASTIAN
Well,shit. I messed up.
Big surprise.
I scrub my hands through my hair and let out a long breath, looking up at the fluffy white clouds dancing across the blue sky above, wondering if I’ll ever manage to do anything right.
Georgia felt like heaven in my arms. She tasted even better. Too bad I don’t deserve even the kisses I’ve stolen from her.
Heading back into my workshop, I glance at the half-finished commission piece sitting in the middle of the concrete floor. Metal bends to my will with the help of machinery and sheer strength. I shape it into sculptures that have my DNA imprinted on every inch of them. My artwork is the only thing besides my daughter that’s meant anything to me in a long time.
My current project is one of two commissions I got as a result of the Heart’s Cove Fringe Festival exposure. The first, I finished in three days; it was just a small piece for the corner of someone’s entryway. It was curving metal shards on a simple square base, abstract and evocative. It was small, but I put all of myself into it. Now I just have one larger piece to complete, and then I’m out of work again.
I started working as a sculptor years ago, around the time my daughter was a toddler. It started small: pieces I could put up in the yard around our ranch house, gifts for friends. Then I moved on to big, unwieldy lawn ornaments that were clearly the brainchild of a Texan rancher. As the years went on, my style became more refined, more abstract, melding the man-made with the natural. I work with steel and wood and glass, manipulating the materials so they dance together seamlessly.
When I was invited to this year’s Fringe Festival in Heart’s Cove, it felt like an acknowledgment of all the hours I spent with a welding torch in my hand and sweat dripping down my spine. All the times I hid from the problems in my marriage and poured my worries into my work had finally paid off, even though my marriage had been over for years and I was more broke than I’d ever been.
And two days ago, when I saw Georgia standing in the middle of the park staring at my work, I thought the expression on her face was a gift from above. Here was a beautiful woman—the one that didn’t just get away from me, sheranaway—staring at a piece of me with awe in her eyes.
Yeah. That was heaven on earth. Until she slapped me, of course. Not that a little slap stopped me from asking for more.
My ex-wife hated my sculptures. She thought they were a waste of time and money, and she loved telling me I’d never be good enough to be an artist. I was just a dumb wannabe cowboy who couldn’t even manage to run his father’s ranch properly.
