Kate Hoffmann - Ian

“Speaking of Officer Studly, where does he fit into this plan?”

“He doesn’t,” Marisol said. “He doesn’t know anything about it.”

That wasn’t entirely true, she mused. Ian knew something was going on, he just wasn’t sure what. Since he was leaving it up to her to tell him, then he’d just have to wait until it was all over and her father was safe.

“Are you still sleeping with him?”

Marisol considered her answer for a long moment. She’d slept with him last night but had no intentions of sleeping with him tonight, so technically she wasn’t still sleeping with him. Ian had made himself perfectly clear. Until she told him the truth about herself, he wasn’t interested in associating with her.

Still, Marisol had to wonder if he’d invite her back into his bed if she made the offer. Would he be able to turn her away? Or was his desire for her more powerful than his professional ethics?

Every night they spent together seemed to bring them closer and closer. Last night, after she’d crawled into her own bed, she’d lain awake for hours, trying to figure out a way to tell him the truth, a way to ask for his help, if only so they might be together again.

She knew him sexually, knew every inch of his body, knew exactly how he’d respond to her touch. Yet she could only guess at how he’d react to her revelation. She knew the man who made love to her with such reckless abandon, but she didn’t know the man who put on a uniform and spent his days enforcing the law.

Marisol wanted to know that man, but at the same time, he held such power over her-the power to take her father away from her again. No, she couldn’t trust him. Not now, not yet. Sascha was the only person who knew the truth and it would have to stay that way until she sorted out this mess.

“Well, are you going to answer my question?” Sascha asked.

“Am I still sleeping with him?”

“That’s what I asked. Either you are or you aren’t.”

“No. In fact, he knows something’s going on with me…and David. He has-he had a file on us both.”

“What?”

Marisol held out her hand to calm Sascha’s rising panic. “It’s all right. He didn’t read it, but he has suspicions about me.”

“What kind of cop is he?”

“I think he might be afraid of what he’ll learn,” Marisol admitted.

Sascha gasped. “He’s in love with you.”

“Don’t be silly,” Marisol cried.

“I’m not. He’s a cop who suspects you might be involved in criminal activity and yet he’s unwilling to even figure out what you’re up to. He’s in love with you.”

“We barely know each other.” Marisol turned away from Sascha and began to arrange her tubes of paint on the wide surface of the worktable. Was Sascha right? After all, why wouldn’t Ian appease his natural curiosity by reading the file on her? She drew a deep breath and tried to sort it all out in her mind. Was it because he didn’t care? Or because he cared too much?

“I have to find a place to hide the painting,” Marisol murmured. “David showed up a few nights ago and I think he was trying to break in here and steal it back. If he gets it, there’s no way I can fix this for my father.”

“Where can you put it?”

“You could take it,” she suggested. “Hide it at your place until we’re ready to make the switch.”

Sascha shook her head. “Not a chance. I agreed to help you with your little plan, but that extends to creating a diversion. If I get caught with that painting, my career would be over.”

“I understand.”

Marisol considered all her options and could think of only one other place that it would be perfectly safe. She smiled to herself. “There is one place that David would never think to look.”

IAN STARED AT HIS CARDS, then shrewdly searched for tells on the faces of Declan and Marcus. “I’ll call,” he finally said, tossing in three blue poker chips. He laid down his cards. “Kings over sixes.”

Declan cursed and threw his cards into the center of the table. “I can’t buy a decent hand,” he muttered. Shoving his chair back, he stood. “Does anyone want another beer?”

“I’m good,” Marcus said.

“Me, too,” Ian murmured.

Declan wandered over to the small kitchen on the far wall of Marcus’s loft and opened the refrigerator. When he returned, he carried a fresh beer and a bag of potato chips. He sprawled into the chair, groaning softly. “I guess I’m sleeping on your sofa tonight,” he said, tipping his beer bottle toward Marcus. “I’m too drunk to drive back to Providence. Or I could stay with you.” He pointed his beer at Ian and grinned. “I prefer that nice soft bed in your guest room to Marky’s sofa.”

Ian shook his head. “I have an early day tomorrow. Besides, I walked over and I’m not about to drag you home through the streets of Bonnett Harbor stumbling drunk.”

It was a logical excuse considering Ian didn’t want any houseguests. After Marisol’s surprise appearance in his bedroom the night before last, he half expected her to turn up again. And he didn’t need his brother questioning the strange frantic moans coming from Ian’s room in the middle of the night. Or the beautiful woman sneaking out the kitchen door in the hours before dawn. He’d managed to keep his affair with Marisol completely private, no small feat for a public figure in Bonnett Harbor. He wasn’t about to let that change.

“You can sack out here,” Marcus offered. “Since I’m the only one still sober enough to drive, I’ll head back over to Newport and sleep on the boat.” He gathered up his poker chips and cashed them in, then stuffed the money into his jeans pocket. “Can I drop you at your place?” he asked Ian.

“If you’re dropping him off, you can drop me off,” Dec asked.

“I’m going to walk,” Ian insisted. “The fresh air will clear my head.” He took a small share of the pot for himself, then pushed the remainder across the table at Declan.

His brother cursed as he counted out the money in front of him. “I can’t figure how you tossers always win.”

Marcus rolled his eyes as he looked over at Ian. Once Declan had a few beers in him, he was an encyclopedia of tells, every emotion written on his face. Both of them had always known it, but they weren’t about to reveal their secrets. “Just luck,” Ian murmured.

“I can’t wait to collect on our other bet,” Declan said. “I think Ian is already wavering. What do you say, Marky? Is Ian going to be the first to fall to his lustful urges?”

Marcus’s eyebrow shot up. “Ian has never been one to deny himself anything.”

And Marcus had always had the knack for cutting right to the point. Ian had come to the conclusion that he had no self-control when it came to Marisol. Every promise he’d ever made to himself to step back, to temper his desire, to fight his attraction, had been broken. And after their last encounter, Ian couldn’t ignore his feelings for her any longer. He was obsessed, an addict whose only vice in life was Marisol’s body. He couldn’t imagine a time in the near or distant future when he wouldn’t want her.

“A pact is a pact,” Ian said. “We swore on our lucky charm.”

Marcus held up his key chain, the little gold medallion dangling from it.

“That’s right,” Dec said emphatically, slamming his beer bottle down on the table. “And since you two blokes are so weak and pathetic when it comes to women, I give you permission to sleep with as many as you want. I plan to prove there isn’t a woman out there who can tempt me.”

“There isn’t a woman out there who wants to tempt you,” Marcus muttered.

Dec pointed his beer bottle at Marcus, sending him a menacing glare. “You can shut your mouth anytime, little brother.”

“And you can sleep on the street, big brother.”

Declan laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “All right. I won’t make any more disparaging remarks. Anyone who lasts three months deserves the money. And since I know the only person who will last is me, then I deserve the money.”

Marcus turned for the door. “I’ll see you guys next weekend.”

“Friday,” Declan said. “Ian’s cooking. Steaks at his place.”

Ian frowned. “Since when?”

“Since I have to be in Boston all day Saturday and since you guys don’t want to drive all the way to Providence. And since we can’t go out to the pubs anymore because there are too many women.”

“Fine,” Ian said. “My place. Friday. Burgers, not steaks.”

Marcus and Ian walked out together, down the stairs into the workroom and then out the door that opened onto the boatyard. “Maybe we shouldn’t have made that bet,” Ian said.

Marcus chuckled as he pulled open the door to his pickup. “I’m stuck on that boat, all alone. I’ve got it won, no matter how confident Dec feels.”

“Of the three of us, he’s the playboy in the bunch,” Ian commented. “All it will take is the right woman and he’ll be off and running.” Ian stepped away from the truck then waved as Marcus drove past him to the street.

The night was warm and still, small sounds magnified in the silence. A dog barked in the distance and he could hear the gentle hum of air conditioners as he passed by a row of shops. He didn’t even realize he was on Bay Street until he stood in front of Gallerie Luna.

Ian stared at the front windows, thinking back to the sculptures that had first brought him here, to that first day he’d met Marisol. It had only been two weeks, yet his life had been completely changed.

Ian sighed and closed his eyes, raking his hand through his hair. He knew the sound of her voice and the taste of her mouth, the way her hands felt on his skin and the scent of her hair. He knew what made her laugh and what made her moan with pleasure. And just that was more than he’d ever known about a woman in the past.

How had so much changed in such a short time? Two weeks ago, he’d bet his brothers he could avoid women for three months. And almost immediately, he’d found himself caught up in a wildly satisfying sexual whirlwind, unable to control his desire-or perhaps unwilling.

There were times when he wished he could go back and do it all again, to stick to the plan and stay away from Marisol. Maybe then he might have been able to master his impulses. Still, it would have only been a matter of time before he found himself drawn into her orbit.

He walked to the front door of the gallery and peered inside, but the lights were off. Resisting the urge to ring the bell, Ian turned from the door and retreated back to the sidewalk.

For all intents and purposes, it was over between him and Marisol. He’d given her a choice, honesty or him, and she’d chosen to keep her secrets. The need would fade with each day that passed, and in a month or two, he’d be able to pass an hour or even a full day without thinking of her.

For now, Marisol Arantes was no more than a citizen of Bonnett Harbor. If she caused trouble, he would be forced to involve himself in her life again. But if she kept to herself and didn’t break the law, then he had no excuse to see her.

Ian continued his walk home, his mind replaying images of Marisol, dressed and undressed, awake and asleep, aroused and sated, like an erotic movie in his head. Did he really believe he could do without her? He’d always achieved anything he set his mind to, so why was he suddenly doubting himself? She was a woman and women came and went in his life without much fanfare.

Cursing softly, he picked up his pace, his walk turning to a jog and then to a run. He ran until his chest burned and his breath came in ragged gasps. He ran until he reached his house, then ran around the block a few more times. When he was finally exhausted, Ian returned to his house, threw the back door open and stumbled inside.

The house was quiet and cool and Ian moved comfortably in the darkness. He grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and cracked it open, then took a long drink. But his mind immediately returned to the last night they’d spent together, in his bed.

He wondered if she’d come again that night and a twinge of anticipation twisted at his gut. “Damn her,” he muttered. Ian turned to walk to the front of the house, but froze when he saw a figure outlined in the doorway.

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, then opened them again. She was still there. Slowly, she walked toward him and Ian held his breath, waiting for her to simply evaporate before his eyes. But when she touched him, he knew she wasn’t a mirage.

Marisol nuzzled his chest, gently pushing him back against the counter. The water bottle fell to the floor and Ian braced his hands behind him as she slowly worked at the buttons of his shirt. Her lips traced a path, lower and lower, with each button she opened. And when she reached the bottom, she undid the button on his jeans.