Ian

5

THE PUB WAS PACKED, the Saturday-night crowd gathered around the bar to watch a Red Sox game. Ian grabbed a pitcher of beer from the bartender and headed to the pool table, set in an alcove near the back of the bar. Marcus and Declan were caught up in a game of pool with two of the regulars and Ian set the beer on a nearby table then found a seat on an empty stool.

He glanced at his watch as he’d done so many times over the past hour. He’d promised Marisol he’d call her before he came over, but if he waited too long, it might seem more like a booty call than a genuine desire to be with her.

He and Dec and Marcus had been forced to cancel their regular Friday night out last night because Dec had a security job scheduled, so they’d agreed to meet at Finnerty’s on Saturday.

A few weeks ago, Ian would have looked forward to a night out with his brothers. But now that Marisol had entered his life, he’d lost all interest in hanging out, in playing pool or darts or in trying to analyze the female sex over a pitcher of beer. From the moment he’d first touched Marisol, Ian couldn’t explain why he wanted her. He didn’t care why. His affair with Marisol was exciting and unpredictable and confusing. Trying to figure it all out would only make it seem ordinary.

Marcus sank the eight ball in the corner pocket, ending the game, then held out the cue to Ian. Ian shook his head. “I’m done.”

Marcus glanced at Dec and they turned the table over to the next pair of players. He sat down next to Ian and sipped at his beer, watching as the players racked the balls. Dec returned the cues and wandered over to his brothers. A pretty blonde stopped him, her hand coming to rest on his arm. He bent close to listen to what she said, then nodded and grinned, before she joined her friends at a nearby booth.

“You’re never going to last,” Ian warned as Dec found another stool.

“Just because I converse with a woman does not mean I feel compelled to sleep with her. She asked if I wanted to play a game of pool and I said no, that I had to leave soon.” He took a long drink of his beer. “So what’s the topic of conversation for tonight?”

“Jealousy,” Marcus suggested. “Ian and I were talking about that the other night.”

Ian shot his brother an irritated look, but Dec seemed to find the topic intriguing. “Who are you jealous of?” he asked.

“No one,” Ian said. “It was just hypothetical.”

“Tell him about your other hypothetical,” Marcus urged. “The one where you meet the girl of your dreams and you have to break the pact.”

Ian knew that Marcus was goading him on, but he wasn’t going to take the bait. “Hey, I was just wondering what would happen. Let’s be real. Which one of us is going to turn a woman down because of this silly deal we made?”

“I would,” Marcus said, raising his hand.

“That’s because you’ve got no game in the first place,” Dec teased. “But, I’d turn a woman down, for the greater good.”

“We swore on the medallion,” Marcus said. “We can’t break the pact.”

“Even if you met some nymphomaniac swimsuit model who was going back to Australia tomorrow? You wouldn’t sleep with her?” Ian asked.

His brothers shook their heads.

“Bollocks,” Ian said. “You are both bleedin’ liars.”

“We swore on the medallion,” Dec said. “You can’t break a promise like that. You’d probably be cursed.” He studied Ian’s expression. “Or did you already break the pact?”

Ian stood. “I have to go. I’ve got to work tomorrow at the fire department picnic.” Now who was the liar, Ian mused. He’d pawned that job off on Delaney and Wilson.

“I’m gonna stay,” Marcus said. “Maybe win some more money at pool. These guys can’t play worth shite.”

Dec clapped Ian on the shoulder. “I’ll walk you out. I’ve got a presentation in Manhattan tomorrow morning and I need to drive down there tonight. I’m doing background checks for a company down there.”

They wove their way through the crowd in the bar and when they reached the street, Ian stopped. “So what do you find out in these background checks?”

“Pretty much the same thing law enforcement has. But we also check into personal history. Employment, marriages, boyfriends and girlfriends. Even schooling.”

“Answers to all the questions,” Ian murmured.

“All the important questions,” Dec replied.

“Could you do a check for me?” The moment Ian made the request, he wanted to take it back. Sure, he’d been curious about Marisol’s past. It was in his nature to be cautious. And if he was going to fall in love with her, he deserved to know a little more about her. But still, it seemed a bit underhanded to use his connections to learn more.

“What’s the name?”

Ian paused, then brushed aside his qualms. What would the report say? Not much more than he already knew. So it really wasn’t a big deal. After all, it wasn’t as though he expected to find a string of arrests and a prison record. “Her name is Marisol Arantes. She’s from New York and she drives a Triumph Spitfire and she’s an artist who just moved into town. That’s about all I know about her.”

He wasn’t about to tell his brother about Marisol’s beautiful body or about the way her hair felt when he ran his fingers through it or about how her face flushed in the moments before she came. Ian knew those details, but not a whole lot more.

“And why do you want to know about her?” Declan asked.

“Curiosity. That’s not breaking the deal we made, is it?”

“Depends on how far you take your curiosity,” Dec said. He considered the request, then nodded. “Hell, if it will win me the money, I’ll get you anything you want. I’ll put someone on it right away. I should have something for you by Tuesday.” He gave Ian a playful punch to the shoulder. “Maybe I should encourage this?”

“Piss off,” Ian muttered, a sarcastic edge to his words. He watched as Dec headed off to his car, then glanced at his watch again. It was nearly ten, but Marisol usually worked late into the night. Maybe she was ready for a break.

He’d grown a bit protective of Marisol as of late. She didn’t seem to take care of herself when she was working. She rarely bothered to eat or to sleep, and often, she looked as if she were on the edge of exhaustion. He didn’t always understand her art, but he did know how to make her life a bit easier.

Bonnett Harbor’s favorite ice-cream stand was still open and Ian left Finnerty’s and drove down to the waterfront, intent on getting something to tempt her away from work. He ordered a raspberry sundae at the drive-through. Maybe he did know more about her than he realized. From what she’d had in her cart at the grocery store the other night, he knew she liked junk food, anything sweet and anything crunchy.

A tiny sliver of guilt shot through him as he turned the Mustang onto Bay Street. So why the hell did he need a background check? What could it tell him that would make any difference? Would he want her any less if she’d passed a bad check or been fired from a job?

As Ian drove by Gallerie Luna, searching for a place to park, he noticed two things-the lights were off inside the gallery and a shadowy figure stood in the doorway, bent over the lock. He pulled the car around the block, then hopped out, leaving the sundae sitting on the front seat. He wasn’t carrying his gun, but he did have a nightstick and a pair of cuffs in the trunk. He grabbed them both, along with his radio. Then, keeping close to the storefronts, made his way down to Marisol’s place.

The streets were eerily quiet. Usually there were at least a few pedestrians out at ten o’clock on a summer night, people walking their dogs, diners heading home from the local restaurants. When he got within fifteen feet of the gallery, he could tell the figure was a man and that he was working at the lock with a small tool.

Ian took a deep breath and settled on a strategy. He’d whack the guy on the knee, then grab his arms and cuff him before he had a chance to turn around. But just as Ian came close enough to touch him, the intruder managed to get the door open.

The moment it swung open, an alarm sounded. He spun around, only to find Ian standing in his way. One quick jab in the stomach was enough to double him over. Ian shoved him into the gallery, rolled him over, then put a knee in his back. He grabbed his arms and put on the handcuffs.

“Get up,” he growled, yanking him to his feet.

“What the hell are you-get off me!”

Ian grabbed his radio from his jacket pocket, ready to call in for backup, but Marisol suddenly appeared, dressed in a short little nightgown, her hair tumbled around her face.

“What are you doing?” she shouted over the sound of the alarm. She glanced back and forth between the two of them, covering her ears. “David?”

“You know this guy?” Ian yelled.

“Yes,” she said, nodding her head. “His name is David Barnett. Why is he in handcuffs?”

“He was trying to break in.” Ian winced. “Can you turn off the alarm?”

She disappeared, and a few seconds later, the alarm fell silent. When she returned, she stood in front of them both. “Who’s going to start?”

“This idiot just knocked me over and put me in handcuffs,” Barnett explained. “I was knocking on the door, hoping you were still up and-”

“He was messing with the lock,” Ian said. “How do you suppose he got the door open?”

“It was unlocked already,” David said.

“Bullshit,” Ian replied. “Marisol, did you lock the door?”

“I-I thought I did,” she said. A frown wrinkled her brow. “But maybe I didn’t.” She ran her hand through her rumpled hair. “Just let him go,” she finally said.

“I can’t do that,” Ian replied. “He was trying to break in.”

“He wasn’t,” she said. “I-I asked him to come over and I forgot.”

Ian could tell she was lying but he wasn’t sure why. With a soft curse, he unlocked the cuffs, leaning forward to whisper in Barnett’s ear. “We both know what you were doing,” he said. “I’d suggest you get out of town, before I find something else to arrest you for.”

Barnett cursed, giving Ian a shove. “Marisol, I-”

Ian went after him, ready to arrest him for assaulting an officer, but Marisol stepped in between them both. “Ian, wait here,” she ordered. She pointed to a spot near the door and Ian reluctantly did as he was told.

Then she walked outside, closing the door behind her. But Ian pulled the blinds aside and watched her as she spoke with the guy she called David. They appeared to be more than just passing acquaintances, but it was obvious from the way she was gesturing to him, that they weren’t on good terms.

He watched as the skinny strap from her nightgown dropped over her shoulder, revealing the soft flesh of her breast. She angrily pulled it up, but continued talking. He saw Barnett’s gaze drop to her breasts and fought back a surge of anger.

When the guy reached out and took Marisol’s hand, Ian cursed softly, grabbing the door handle, ready to step between them. He shouldn’t feel this way, as if Marisol belonged to him. They’d known each other exactly one week. It wasn’t nearly enough time to consider her anything more than an extended one-night stand.

But that wasn’t how he felt. In truth, he couldn’t recall ever feeling that way about her. From the very start, Ian had sensed that there was something more between them, something holding them together beyond basic lust and desire.

Ian walked away from the door, convincing himself he didn’t care who the man was to Marisol, or how she felt about him. For now, Ian was in her life and he wasn’t about to be displaced by some smart-ass city boy in a fancy suit. The guy was up to no good, and tomorrow, he’d call his brother and ask him to cancel the background check on Marisol, and instead, concentrate on David Barnett.

MARISOL STEPPED INSIDE the gallery and shut the door behind her, leaning back against it and closing her eyes. She’d planned to spend a quiet evening, catching up on her sleep and trying to put her troubles aside for just a little while. But the longer she had the painting in her possession, the more trouble seemed to find her.

If David had been breaking in, then she knew exactly what he was looking for. He intended to steal the painting from her and sell it to his client. But once the sale was complete, then her father was just as culpable as David-if they got caught. Maybe she ought to just give it to him and be done with it, to take the chance and pray that the odds would be with her and no one would ever find out.

“Is he gone?”

Marisol looked up to see Ian standing in the shadows of the gallery, his frame outlined by the feeble light from the street shining through the transom windows. “Yes. He’s gone.”

He slowly approached, stopping just far enough away that she couldn’t read his expression. “Would you like to explain to me what that was all about?”

She shook her head. “Not now. I’m tired and I want to go back to bed.” She walked toward the back of the gallery, then turned. “Are you coming?”

Ian cursed softly. “Who was that guy?”

She didn’t care for the tone in his voice, but if answering his questions would get them to bed any faster, then she was willing to do it. “David Barnett. My ex.”

“Ex what?” he asked, his voice tense.

“Boyfriend,” she said. “Fiancé, actually. We were engaged for about six months.”

Ian let the revelation settle for a while before he responded. “How long ago did you break up?”

“Six months,” she said. “That’s why I decided I needed to get out of the city. To get away from him, to make a fresh start.”

“Do you still have a thing for him?”

“Why all the questions?” Marisol snapped. “He’s no longer in my life. Isn’t that enough?”

He crossed the room, standing silently in front of her, staring down at her face. Then, he grabbed Marisol’s hand and drew it to his mouth, kissing the center of her palm. “Am I in your life, Marisol?”

She drew a sharp breath, the question taking her by surprise. Was he? Even in the very early days of her relationship with David, she never felt the way she did when she was with Ian. Her heart beat ten times more each minute when Ian touched her and she always seemed to be a little breathless when he was near. And at times, she couldn’t think straight.

He wasn’t just in her life. He’d carved out a corner in her heart and stolen a tiny piece of her soul. “Yes,” she finally admitted. “I guess you are.”

At that, Ian pulled her into his arms and gave her a fierce kiss, his mouth covering hers until she had no choice but surrender. When he finally pulled back, Ian brushed her tousled hair from her eyes and smiled. “I was worried about you. He was breaking in and all I could think about was your safety.” He paused and frowned. “Why do you think he was doing that?”

“I don’t know that he was breaking in,” she lied. “I saw him earlier today and told him I didn’t want to talk to him. Maybe he wasn’t ready to take no for an answer. And I’ve been so distracted, I probably did forget to lock the door.”

Ian pulled her along to the rear of the gallery, then gently pushed her down on the sofa. He sat beside her, her hands folded in his. “Tell me,” he said.

“Why? It’s over now.”

“Humor me. I want to know who this guy is and what he meant to you.”

She sighed. “He’s an art dealer in Manhattan. We met at a gallery opening two years ago, we moved in together a year ago, and six months ago, I caught him in our bed with a twenty-one-year-old Brazilian model. I kicked him out, he took his stuff, and I decided to move up here for a while.” The story made her sound like a gullible fool, but she knew Ian would side with her and consider David the enemy.

“And that’s it? It’s over?”

“For me,” she said. She stood and pulled him to his feet. “Completely over. Now, are you going to come to bed or are you going to continue to interrogate me? Because, if you’re going to continue with the questions, I might have to call a lawyer.”

Ian grinned. “You’re not under arrest. You don’t need a lawyer.” He held up his handcuffs. “Unless you want me to put these on you.”

She took them from his fingers. “What do I need to do to get you to take your clothes off?”

Ian shrugged. “A kiss might work,” he said.

She grabbed his face and pressed her mouth to his, then drew back. “How’s that?”

“That’ll take care of my shoes.” He kicked off his Nikes and reached down to yank off a sock.

Marisol grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him toward the back of the gallery. When they reached the stairs to her apartment, she stood on the step above him and kissed him again, this time teasing his mouth open with her tongue. For good measure, she dropped a trail of kisses along his jaw to a spot just below his left ear.

Ian growled playfully. “That’s worth a sock and my shirt.” He pulled off the second sock and by the time he straightened, Marisol was already working on the buttons of his shirt. When she had the first three undone, he grabbed the hem and pulled it over his head, tossing it aside.

“That was easy,” she murmured, running her hands over his broad shoulders. “What’s it going to take for you to get rid of the pants?”

“Make me an offer,” he said.

She slowly pulled him along with her, up the stairs. When they reached the landing, Marisol pushed him against the wall and pressed her lips to his chest. With her tongue, she traced a path to his nipple, then sucked on it gently until it rose in a hard peak. She drew back and blew on it and Ian groaned.

“The pants?” she asked.

“The belt,” he countered.

“And the zipper,” she said.

Ian removed his belt, then slowly lowered his zipper. He was already aroused, the little game they played silly, yet sexually charged. “Now what?” he asked.

She stood staring at him, the beauty of his half-naked body capturing her complete attention. Suddenly, her desire to possess him dissolved, replaced by an equally burning need to paint him. Her gaze slid from his face to his chest and then to his belly and back up again. She grabbed him by the hand and started back down the stairs. “Hurry,” she murmured, desperate to get her vision down on paper.

Ian held back, pulling her to a stop. “Where are we going?”

“Just come with me,” she insisted. She hurried downstairs to the gallery and left him standing near one of the low benches that lined the walls. Flipping on a contractor’s light that hung from a cord on one of the pillars, Marisol aimed it at the wall. Then she grabbed her sketch pad and a piece of charcoal and perched on a nearby stool.

“Take the rest off,” she ordered, staring down at the blank page and focusing on what she needed to draw.

Ian chuckled. “You’re not going to draw me. Come on, Marisol, let’s go to bed. You’ve been working too hard.”

Marisol turned and stared at him intently, her gaze skimming over his body from top to toe. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she circled the charcoal above the paper. “I have to do this now,” she murmured. “I have to get it down before I lose it.” Tossing the pad and charcoal aside, she walked over to him and finished unzipping his pants, then drew them down to his ankles. His boxers followed.

Though Ian had been naked with her before, undressing him now seemed almost improper. Marisol had leave to take in every detail and what she saw was stunning, masculine beauty that took her breath away.

He reached for his pants, but she shook her head. “Please. It won’t take long, I promise. Then we’ll go to bed.”

Reluctantly, Ian stepped out of his clothes. She walked over to the wall and braced her hands above her head, leaning forward. “Like this,” she said. “I want to see the muscles in your back.”

Ian did as he was told and Marisol slowly walked around him, running her hands over his body, checking to see how the light and shadows played across his skin. “Relax. Like you’re standing in a shower with the water pouring down on you. Lean into the wall and put one foot forward a bit. And let your head drop slightly.”

Though she wasn’t trying to excite him, she could see what her touch was doing. His shaft was stiff and ready, brushing against his belly. For a moment, she thought about easing his need first and drawing him later. But she cast the notion aside and continued to observe him.

“How long will this-”

“Shh!” she said. “Don’t talk.”

Marisol grabbed her digital camera from the worktable and began to snap pictures of him, but he turned around and held his hand out.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s just to help me remember,” she said.

“If those pictures get out, the folks in this town are going to demand my resignation.”

She smiled, dropping her gaze to his rigid shaft. “I think they might be impressed rather than upset. Now turn around and let me do this.”

Over the next hour, Marisol completed sketch after sketch of Ian, putting him in different poses and adjusting the light until it cast his beautiful body in sharp contrasts. They didn’t speak, Ian growing more comfortable with the task at hand and anxious to please her.

Having him pose made the work so simple. They were lovers, so she didn’t have to worry about what she asked him to do, or how she touched his body. There had always been rules when she’d worked with nude models, but with Ian, there were no rules.

She glanced up from the sketch pad and took a good look at him. He was lying on one of the low, upholstered benches, one leg hanging off the side, the other bent. His head was tipped back, his arm carelessly covering his eyes.

“Can you make yourself hard again?” she asked.

His arm dropped away from his eyes and he turned and looked at her, as if he’d misunderstood. “What?”

“Touch yourself,” she said. “I want you to be…aroused.”

He smiled. “Why don’t you take care of that?”

“I can’t,” she said. Marisol knew the moment she touched him in that way, she’d forget about her work and begin to obsess about the pleasures that his body offered. Even now, it would be difficult to just sit and watch him touch himself. But for this drawing, she needed to see his desire in order to draw it.

He ran his hand over his chest, then his belly, but he stopped there. She waited. Finally, he closed his eyes and moved lower. Marisol watched as he stroked himself, curious and yet detached. She knew men pleasured themselves on a regular basis, but she’d never actually watched how it was done.

He began slowly, wrapping his fingers around his shaft as she had done for him. It didn’t take long before he was hard and he stopped. By that time, she’d lowered her sketch pad, much more interested in watching him.

“Don’t stop,” she murmured.

He didn’t open his eyes, but merely smiled. Marisol set the sketchbook and charcoal down on the floor and slowly crossed to him, her eyes scanning his body, watching for the cues to his desire.

Though he had to know she was near, he continued on, his head tipped back, his lips slightly parted. She reached for the straps of her nightgown, brushing them off her shoulders and letting the loose garment drop to the floor in front of the bench.

Marisol reached out to touch him, but instead, let her hand hover close to his skin, feeling the warmth of his body and listening to his quickened breathing. She bent over him, her hair brushing along his chest, then touched the tip of his penis with her tongue.

Ian moaned softly. She crawled on top of him, and a moment later, he slipped inside her. Only then, did he open his eyes and look at her. Marisol smiled, smoothing her hands over his chest. For a long time, they just stared at each other, unmoving, the silent communication more arousing than any foreplay they had enjoyed.

He reached between them and touched her. Already, he was so familiar with her responses, so attuned to her body and ready to please her. Sex had become something more than just mutual gratification. Between them, it had become an expression of trust and understanding, a refuge from the troubles that invaded her life. She was safe with Ian.

He arched against her and Marisol held her breath. Then, he sat up and grabbed her around the waist, swinging his feet to the floor. She felt him buried so deep inside her it made her ache. Ian looked up at her as she began to rock above him, his gaze taking in every reaction, the need beginning to spiral out of control.

With every moment that she spent with him, this connection grew stronger, like strands being added to a rope. It had grown so quietly and now, Marisol couldn’t imagine any other man in her life. Everything that she needed was here. Though she didn’t know it for certain, she felt it, as if complete and utter happiness was lying just beyond her reach.

But would she grab it and hold on? Or would she allow it to slip between her fingers? She didn’t want to fall in love, to turn her life over to an emotion she couldn’t control. It was far more sensible to distance herself from this man. Though her mind told her one thing, Marisol’s heart contradicted every fear.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and Ian buried his face between her breasts, the two of them now caught in the vortex of their desire. As her need began to build and her release grew closer, Marisol allowed both her body and her mind to surrender to him.

Her orgasm came upon her slowly this time, a single shudder and then another. He buried himself even deeper inside her and then moaned and it was only then that she felt the explosion of sensation. Who was this man who made her feel so powerful, yet so completely defenseless?

She nuzzled his soft hair, weaving her fingers through it and arching against him one last time. She couldn’t let herself love him, but Marisol was left to wonder if she already did.

DECLAN DROPPED the file folder in the center of Ian’s desk, then took a seat in one of the office chairs. “It’s all there,” he said. “Marisol Arantes and David Barnett.”

“When I called, I thought I told you I didn’t want you to do a check on her. Just on him.”

Declan shrugged. “Well, I did it anyway.” He pointed to the folder. “Go ahead. Read it. I think you’ll be interested in what we found.”

Ian pushed the folder back across the desk to his brother. “Nah. I don’t need to know anything about her.”

“You’re a cop, aren’t you?” Declan replied, watching him shrewdly.

Ian glanced up at his brother. “Why? Is she in trouble?”

“Not in trouble,” Dec said. “More like, she is trouble.” He paused. “What is this woman to you?”

“I don’t know,” Ian said. “I’m just curious. She’s been causing some problems in town. And I caught Barnett breaking into her gallery a few nights ago. She said they used to be engaged, but I think something’s going on there.”

“I’d say more than something,” Dec replied.

“What?”

His brother stood and nodded at the folder. “Just read it. I think you’ll find that Marisol Arantes is connected to some pretty shady characters, the kind of characters that the police chief of Bonnett Harbor might take a particular interest in.”

With that, Dec turned and walked out of Ian’s office, leaving the folder sitting on the desk. Ian reached out and ran his hand over it, tracing the logo of Dec’s company with his fingertip. Did he really want to know what was inside? Or was it better to just let it go?

This was his fault. He could have insisted that they learn more about each other, that they at least spend a day or two discussing their pasts. But it seemed that the moment he saw Marisol, all he could think about was sex. If he spent as much time getting to know her as he did trying to seduce her, he could probably write her biography.

But did he really care about the silly details of her past? What counted was the time they spent together in the present. And in the present, she was the perfect woman for him-no matter what Declan thought.

Ian grabbed the folder and shoved it into the top drawer of his desk, then strode out of the office. But halfway down the hall, he turned around and went back to retrieve it. If he was going to allow himself to need this woman, then he deserved to know everything about her-the good and bad. And if the bad was very bad, then he’d be better off knowing.

With the folder tucked under his arm, Ian walked to the front desk and grabbed a radio, then told Sally to call him if he was needed. He decided to walk the seven blocks to Gallerie Luna, hoping the exercise would help him decide what to do.

But by the time he reached Bay Street, the answer was no clearer. Though his curiosity was killing him, he was afraid to learn something that might ruin his relationship with Marisol.

The front door to the gallery was propped open and Ian peeked inside. He saw Marisol standing over a huge canvas that she’d laid flat on the floor. Her hands were hitched on her waist and her hair tumbled around her face as she stared down at the painting in progress. She wore a baggy T-shirt and a pair of pants that ended just below the knee, showing off the pretty curve of her calf.

He watched her for a long time as she dabbed paint onto the canvas, then stepped back to look at her work. He was tempted to turn around and walk away, and to dump the file in the nearest trash bin. But instead, he stepped inside.

She heard his approach and turned. A smile broke across her face and she dropped her brush in a nearby coffee can and ran across the room. Throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed him. Ian held her body against his and thought about how easy it was to take her into his arms. There was no longer any clumsiness or hesitation. It was as if they’d been together for ages and just knew how they fit, her hips against his, his hands spanning her tiny waist, her fingers furrowed through the hair at his nape.

“I was hoping you’d stop by,” she said. Marisol grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind her. “You have to see. I’ve been working on this all day and it’s just happening. I don’t even have to think, I just paint.”

The painting was of a nude in a familiar pose. “That’s me?”

She nodded. “It’s not finished. But I can already tell it’s going to be perfect. See across the shoulders, how there’s a sense of movement. As if I’ve caught you shifting beneath the light. It’s powerful and alive.”

Ian could see what she meant and he was surprised at how her simple charcoal sketches had been transformed into a painting.

“You have to pose for me again tonight. There’s something else I want to try.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “This could be a series. I don’t usually paint on a canvas this large, but I think it works. It just has to be big, don’t you agree?” She took a deep breath, then sighed. “I could use something to eat. Why don’t we go out and celebrate?”

Ian scrambled for an excuse. He and Marisol had kept their affair quiet for this long for no particular reason. He was ready to pay up on the bet with his brothers any time they might ask. But Bonnett Harbor was a small town and rumors usually began small and escalated. The police chief involved with the town’s newest resident would provide plenty of titillating gossip, especially if there was sex involved. And Marisol’s art made her the subject of plenty of speculation.

But now there was something else to add to the mix. If Marisol was involved in something shady, then he couldn’t afford to make his relationship with her public. The last thing he needed was a scandal to drag him down. “I’d love to,” Ian said, “but I’m still on the clock.”

“You don’t even have time for dinner?”

“It’s two in the afternoon,” he said. “It’s lunchtime, not dinnertime.”

Marisol giggled. “All right, lunch then.”

Ian shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Dinner later?”

“I have to work this evening,” he lied. “Why don’t I call you?”

She gave him a confused look, then shrugged. “All right. But can you at least stay for a snack? I’ve got some ice-cream sandwiches in the fridge.”

He nodded and Marisol hurried off to the small kitchen in the back of the gallery. When she returned, she pulled him over to the sofa and sat down on one end. “So, if things continue to go well, I think I should open the gallery in three weeks. That means I have to get invitations printed up and hire a caterer and figure out what to do about parking.” She took a bite of the ice-cream sandwich, then handed it to him. “You’re going to be famous, you know.”

“Why?”

“And you have to be at the opening. Everyone will want to see my muse.” She reached out and ran a finger down his forearm, sending him a tantalizing smile. “Unless you want to be my secret muse?”

“Maybe that would be best,” Ian said. “I’d prefer that my ass stay incognito in this town.”

“You’re my secret lover, too,” Marisol said. “Does that make it more exciting for you?”

“Maybe,” he replied. “Have you told anyone about us?”

“I’m not sure what I’d say,” she replied. “I’m not sure what’s going on with us. I know we’re lovers and…”

Ian nodded. “And?”

She pushed up on her knees and crawled over to him, then wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a lingering kiss. When she drew back, her gaze met his and for a long moment, Marisol searched his face.

She kissed him again and he tried to react normally, but it was as if she were testing him, evaluating his response. The conversation had suddenly turned serious. When she looked at him again, it was there in her eyes-a tiny hint of sadness and resignation, bewilderment and then acceptance.

Marisol forced a smile. “You know, I should really get back to work,” she said, her tone cool and indifferent. “And I’m sure you have speeding tickets to write and criminals to arrest.”

She jumped off the couch and wandered back over to her painting, turning her attention to the canvas. Ian stood, not quite sure how he ought to leave things. He’d almost forgotten their time together would probably end, and sooner rather than later. He’d been so caught up in the excitement, in biding the hours until the next moment he’d be able to touch her or kiss her, that he hadn’t planned for this or even run it over in his head. But this was reality, not the fantasy life that they’d been living.

Was this it? Was this the beginning of the end for them? In the past, there had always been accusations and anger, a long list of his faults and explanations of how it should have been. With Marisol, it wouldn’t be so dramatic. She’d simply let go of his hand and walk away, no regrets and no doubts.

Perhaps their relationship was just a sexual flash fire, burning hot and bright for a short time before quickly smothering itself. He didn’t want to walk away and it took every ounce of his willpower to move to the door. “I’ll call you,” he said.

“Or I’ll call you,” she replied, not even looking at him.

He nodded, the unread file still clutched in his hand. He didn’t bother to glance back, knowing that he’d only question his choice to leave. Ian didn’t need to be reminded of how beautiful Marisol was, or how her smile had the capacity to make him feel as if he owned the world. Or how being with her had become his primary reason for getting up in the morning.

Ian opened the door and stepped out into the bright afternoon light. A little more than a week ago, he’d been content with his life, happy with his work and hopeful that his social life might improve. And then he’d spent the most incredible week caught up in an affair with a sexy stranger. In the end, what had he really lost?

As he strolled down the sidewalk, Ian decided the best course of action would be to shred the file the moment he got back to the station. It didn’t matter what Declan had found. Until Marisol Arantes did something illegal on his watch, in his jurisdiction, she was just another citizen of Bonnett Harbor.

And what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.