The Artist's Provocateur: Serano Brothers Novel, Book 3 Read online

  Quickly, she shoved her camera back into her tote and took Adam's hand when he reached for her. Both of them laughing, they ran to the shelter of the sprawling back porch. Pushing his now wet, long black hair away from his face with one hand, he tried to shake some of the ice drops off of his coat with the other.

  "This is going to be a bitch to drive back into town in," she said, trying to distract herself from the gorgeous, wet god of a man standing next to her.

  "I don't think it's supposed to last long, though, so we might as well wait it out."

  Nodding, she wrapped her arms around herself when a shiver wracked her body. Now that the sun began to set, any warmth she might have felt earlier started to seep away from her body. Getting drenched on the way to the porch didn't help, either.

  It seemed he noticed because he turned to her and said, "Have you ever actually been inside this house?"

  "No, I've only ever seen it from the road." But, of course, like every other kid in this town, she had always been curious about it.

  So, when he smiled and said, "wanna come inside and see?" there was no hesitation on her part whatsoever.

  Producing a set of keys from his pocket, he unlocked the backdoor and pushed it open, gesturing for her to precede him into the house. Even with the door closed behind them, the inside wasn't much warmer than the outside. No sense in heating a place nobody lived in yet, she guessed. Light flickered on above their heads, revealing the wide kitchen they stood in. The sink and laminate counters surrounding it looked warn but clean. Small, light oak cabinets lined the wall above and below the sink and onto the adjoining wall. Several of the cabinet doors hung loose or were missing, and it all looked mismatched against the gray slate flooring.

  "This project is going to take a while," Adam said following the direction of her gaze. "We're pretty much going to gut this kitchen. Get all new cabinets and granite countertops."

  "Sounds expensive. But I bet it'll look great once you're done with it."

  He shrugged. "I plan on making this my home for a very long time, maybe even forever. So, I'm gonna do it right while I have the chance. Other than making the necessary updates, I want to maintain the original character of the house. C'mon. Let me show you the rest."

  She followed him out of the kitchen, into what he said would eventually be the dining room. A poorly lit room with hardwood floors, pealing wallpaper and dark wainscoting along the walls. In her mind's eye, she could picture what this room must have once been like. Elegant, but well used. Now, the neglect the whole house had suffered from made it look very much like something out of the ghost stories she and her friends used to tell about this place.

  They moved out into a wide hallway that ended with a foyer by the front door. What must have been a grand staircase, at one time, lay off to her right. The original railing had been torn off and she could see that his crew had started to do work on repairing the steps.

  "This staircase was about to collapse, so we decided to start doing the work here first before going into the rest of the house," he said, once again observing everywhere her eyes touched. "But let me show you the coolest thing about this place, one of the main reasons I bought it."

  To her surprise, he took her hand to lead her to the room just off the foyer. The warmth of his fingers surrounded hers, warding off some of the damp chill that had settled into her bones.

  Right, you're syphoning his heat. That's why you aren't pulling away from him. Keep telling yourself that, babe.

  Pushing her inner bitch out of the way, she let him draw her into the aptly named great room. The large cavernous space might be described as quite unremarkable if one overlooked the obvious focal point of the room. A somber coating of fading, off-white paint covered all the walls but one. A giant fireplace took up the majority of the far wall. Antique hardwood lined the floors until it met the brick base of the fireplace. Those same bricks made up the back and interior walls, while large gray stone ran up each side topped off by a thick, dark wooden mantel. It looked old and well used, as if it could tell a thousand stories of what it had seen over the long years in this room. Instantly, she fell in love with its charm and authentic beauty. Much as he probably had.

  "Oh wow, this is incredible," she murmured as she moved to get a closer look. The fireplace was almost taller than her five-foot six frame. She could imagine this room filled with elegant – yet comfortable – furniture with a large, welcoming rug happily situated in front of the fireplace. It was easy to picture spending every night here, sitting by the warm fire, reading or sketching in her pad. Or spending hours talking to someone beside the glow of the flames.

  Wind and hard, driving rain rattled the windows, making her jump a little and turn toward the sound. By now, what was left of the setting sun had been completely obliterated by the dark, heavy clouds.

  "I thought you said that this storm wasn't supposed to last long," she said as she made her way over to the window.

  "It wasn't." He moved in behind her, bracing his weight against the window frame to peer over her shoulder, seemingly oblivious to how close this position put them. "How often do weathermen get it right, though? Might have to settle in for a while."

  "What does that mean?" She turned to face him, got caught off guard by his proximity, and reflexively tried to take a step back, but only ended up with her ass pressed against the window.

  Taking note of her panicked, failed retreat, he smirked and backed away.

  "Don't worry, darlin', I promise to be a gentleman. I just meant that we might have to wait it out a little longer than we thought. This is actually a perfect opportunity for me to fire this sucker up for the first time," he said with a nod toward the fireplace.

  Shit. What happened to her plan of getting in and getting the hell out? This was starting to get way too cozy for her comfort. She needed to get them back on familiar territory. "Oh, please don't. You'll probably catch the damn house on fire, and I don't think I have a strong enough cell signal out here to call 911."

  A raised obsidian brow was the only response she got for her effort. He didn't take the bait. Instead, he barked out an order. "Go get some blankets out of the linen closet in the hallway. We can sit on those while we wait for the storm to pass."

  Then, without any further comment or acknowledgement, he dismissed her by turning his back to her and moving toward the fireplace. Seeing that she would get nowhere with him by opening her mouth, she pivoted on her heel and went into the hallway in search of the linen closet. By the time she returned with two, surprisingly freshly laundered-smelling blankets in her arms, he had a small fire going in the center of the massive fireplace.

  Once they laid the blankets down, she moved awkwardly to sit down beside him. Silence stretched between them and Marie realized that if she didn't have their snarky banter to lean on, she flat-out didn't know what to say to him. Idle chitchat seemed too banal in light of their typical exchanges. In the end, though, that was all she could come up with.

  "Thank you for letting me finally see the inside of this house after all these years. I'm glad you decided not to knock it down and modernize it. I think it's gonna look beautiful once you're done with the renovations."

  "You're welcome," he said leaning back on his elbows. He had removed his coat before getting onto the blanket with her, revealing the black Henley he had on underneath. The material stretched with his new position, outlining the strong muscles of his arms, which she told herself, that she in no way enjoyed. "I've always liked these old types of farmhouses. They seem more lived in and interesting than modern architecture. Plus, after I heard the story about the original owners, I thought I owed it to them to keep it the way they built it as much as possible."

  Now that piqued her interest and she turned her body to sit cross-legged facing him. "What is the actual story of the original farmer? I've heard so many made up versions, it'd be nice to know the truth."

  "I know what you mean. The realtor I went through to get this place was an older
lady who actually knew the people who built it. When she told me the real story of who they were, it surprised me, given all the stupid stories we made up as kids. It wasn't a lone old man farmer who lived here like all those rumors we heard growing up. The farmer had a wife. What really happened is kind of a sweet love story. They had been married for sixty-three years but never had any children." He scoffed and turned his gaze toward the fire. "It sort of amazes me that their love, alone, for each other, carried them through and kept them together for so long."

  "Times were different then, though," she said looking down to play with the shoelaces of her boot. "People didn't typically believe in divorce and the social stigma was so great that they felt they had no other choice but to stay together."

  "That's true, but it wasn't the case here. This story is one like you read about. Their names were Otto and Elke Brewer. A few years before they passed, Elke developed dementia which eventually evolved into Alzheimer's. Apparently, Otto insisted on taking care of Elke himself, wouldn't hear of putting her in assisted living or having help come into the house, even after he was diagnosed with bone cancer. He said that she was his wife and it was his job to take care of her. So, he ignored his own illness, mentally pushed it aside, to devote all his attention to her, a woman that most days toward the end couldn't remember her own name." He let out a soft laugh and shook his head. "Cathy, my realtor, says that Elke knew Otto, though. Everything else alluded her but her recollection of this one man, her rock, and her sole source of familiarity. That was part of the reason Otto kept her at home. He hoped that being in the same house they had built together might spark her memory."

  "And did it?" Marie asked quietly, meeting Adam's gaze.

  Shaking his head, he sat up to sit cross-legged opposite her. "I don't know. I'm sure she probably felt more comfortable here with him than she would have if he'd put her in a home. Eventually, the disease won out and she passed away. After that, Otto's reason for fighting so hard was gone, and he gave into the cancer. He lasted another year without her before he died."

  "And then the house they had built, the one in which they had loved each other for so long sat abandoned for years." She said looking around the room, taking in the ruin and the charm with fresh eyes, trying to see it as the peaceful haven Otto and Elke had made it. "It's kind of a sad story after all, isn't it?"

  "I don't see it that way." The deep sincerity in his tone brought her eyes back to him. His gaze returned to the fire, but she didn't think he saw the flames. Where his mind's eye had gone, she could only guess. "That right there is the kind of love that everyone dreams of having, even if only on a subconscious level. To have someone you can devote yourself to, who will love you right back. Someone who thinks the world of you. A best friend and lover that becomes your reason for living. Someone you can grow old with."

  She never expected to hear these types of words coming out of Adam's mouth. Seemed, despite his playboy lifestyle, he might actually be a closet romantic. Who knew? It begged the question: if he wanted that kind of story in his own life, why did he sleep around so much? Surely, with desires like that, he would have settled down by now.

  "Do you believe that kind of love exists?" She asked, trying to wrap her head around this conversation.

  His dark eyes glittered in the firelight and the dimple in his left cheek appeared. "Do you?"

  The whole concept of the type of love Otto and Elke obviously shared seemed too romantic for someone like him to take seriously or to give much thought. Maybe she was wrong, though, and the opposite was true. But that didn't make much sense, did it?

  Drawing her knees up to her chest, she narrowed her eyes. "Did you make that whole story up to see how I would react?"

  His warm laughter drifted between them, giving her goose bumps. "No, I swear it's the story Cathy told me. For once, I'm not trying to mess with you. You know I like to get under your skin about your lack of a love life, but I am genuinely curious where you stand on this stuff."

  "Why? You afraid I'll hear all the rumors of you and me as a couple, forget reality, and fall madly in love with you?" As the jab left her lips, it suddenly struck her that it could very well be his motivation for asking the question and an uneasy feeling settled into the pit of her stomach. She knew he thought her pathetic in the ways of sex but surely, he didn't think her delusional. Or that he could ever be the type of man to whom she would entrust her heart. Romantic notions or no.

  Only, when he looked at her, she didn't get the vibe that he was overly concerned with the idea that he might become the object of her infatuation. In fact, the way he licked his lips and scooted closer to her on the blanket turned that uneasy feeling in her stomach into warm electricity much lower in her belly.

  "Honestly? I think I might enjoy it if you fell in love with me. See what happens when you let yourself acknowledge what you feel when we're together." He took the hand that had been fidgeting with her shoelace into his and brought it to his mouth, never breaking eye contact.

  Her breath caught when his soft lips parted and she felt his tongue touch between her knuckles, but her voice, surprisingly, hadn't gotten as wobbly as her insides. "What is it that you think you make me feel?"

  "It's what you feel like when you have chemistry with someone," he said, twining his fingers through hers.

  Suddenly uncomfortable on the hard floor beneath her, she took her hand from his and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping herself in the cocoon of her arms. Hiding from him. And maybe herself. "Ah, you're mistaking animosity for chemistry. All we ever do is argue."

  Clicking his tongue, he shook his head and reached out to unwind her limbs. With one sharp pull, he caught her off guard and pulled her into his lap. Abruptly, her face came within inches of his. "I'm talking about sexual chemistry, Marie. All the bickering we do is just foreplay."

  "Once again I have to tell you that you're full of shit." Her actions lacked conviction, though, as she made no move to crawl off his lap. This felt as though she had tumbled into the tale of the spider and the fly and despite her better judgement, she wanted to see how tangled into his web she could become.

  "You know I'm not. You know what it feels like. Your mouth goes dry." Softly, he pressed his lips to hers before they moved down to the sensitive place below her chin. "Your heart races. Goose bumps break out along your skin when we touch."

  That deep baritone of his murmuring in her ear sent a shiver through her body, giving him exactly the reaction he spoke of. She never would have admitted it to him, but it really had been far too long since she had experienced anything even close to this. Maybe he was right. Maybe her arguing with him was a way to protect herself from the way he made her feel. A protection that failed miserably in this moment. Right now, she wanted to drown in him.

  Fisting his hand in her hair, he brought her mouth to his. This kiss was unlike the ones they had previously shared. This one was long and a little bit rough as he dominated her mouth. This kiss was genuine, and she felt the difference.

  Friction. She just needed a little. His kisses moved through her like syrup and his body was so close to hers. Without sending the message to her higher brain function, her hips began rocking into his and she couldn't suppress her gasp when he rocked back.

  "I want you, Marie," he whispered against her lips, his hands coming down to guide her motion, letting her feel his hard cock press against her slit through their layers of clothes. "Say yes."

  She pulled back from him, taking in his lust-drunk expression, an expression that must echo her own. This moment seemed so surreal that it forced her brain to engage. She shouldn't be doing this. It would mean nothing more to him than a way to pass the time as they waited out the storm. But then his warm, work-roughened hand moved beneath the hem of her shirt and drifted up her back, while the other pulled her down for another kiss and she got lost. The way he smelled, like dark spices mixed with the cool scent of winter, the way his tongue played with hers, the low growl in his throat when she kiss
ed him back. It all pulled her under until Adam and the thumping hard pulse of her core became the center of her world.

  "Say yes," he repeated dragging his teeth along her bottom lip.

  "Yes," she murmured against his lips and his devilish grin followed her words.

  Before she could fully process what she had agreed to, he flipped their positions so that her back lay against the blanket while he made himself comfortable between her thighs above her. Once he had her where he wanted her, he took his time. Warm fingers skimmed beneath her sweater, bunching the material as he slid his palms upward. Those expressive brown eyes darkened when her lace-covered breasts came into view. Typically, the state of her underwear only occurred to her as an afterthought, but today, as she'd gotten dressed to meet him, her feminine side rebelled against practicality. His previous comments to her regarding cobwebs and spinsterhood dared her to defy all their implications, and she had donned a pale blue demi-bra with delicate lace that barely covered her breasts. At the time, she had never imagined that he, or anyone else, would see it. It had been purely for her benefit alone.

  The raw desire in those dark eyes made her bold impulse completely worth it. Licking his lips, he pulled her sweater free of her body and tossed it aside.

  "You're full of surprises, darlin'," he rumbled, trailing his index finger over the swell of her breast, into the valley of her cleavage to deftly flick open the front clasp of the bra. As he peeled the material away from her flesh, he rocked his hips into her making her breath hitch. "And so damn beautiful."

  Those words, the unexpected praise, sung through her system and she tugged on his shirt to pull him down to her. They battled for control of the kiss until he cupped her breasts in his palms and pinched her nipples hard. That jolt of pleasure/pain zinged down the direct current to her pussy and she moaned into his mouth, no longer fighting him. He could do whatever the hell he wanted as long as he didn't stop touching her.