Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

of potential.

      “Beautiful,” he said involuntarily as he watched the play of muscles along her legs and torso.

      Her breasts strained upward, and he could see her ribs expand and contract with every breath. Once again he was hopelessly torn between admiring her skill, wanting to capture her perfection on paper and needing to touch her so badly his groin was aching with it.

       Start drawing, moron. It’s going to be like this all morning. The sooner the session is over, the sooner you can have your sanity back.

      His pencil held in a death grip, Max started to sketch.

      An hour later, he’d captured a dozen poses and sustained a hard-on for longer than he’d thought was humanly possible. No matter what he told himself, or how many times he lost himself in the discipline of translating what his eye saw through his hand onto the page, his animal need for Maddy hummed constantly in the background.

      By the time he put down his pencil and shut his sketch pad, he was literally shaking with desire.

      He wanted to cross the space that separated them and get his hands on her so intensely that his mouth was dry and his belly contracted. It almost hurt to breathe, he was holding himself so tightly in check, in case his body sprang into action without his say-so.

      “We’re done?” Maddy said as she registered the slap of his sketchbook hitting the table.

      “Yep.”

      Desperate to minimize the temptation, he strode forward and scooped up his bathrobe from where it lay pooled at her feet.

      “Here,” he said, holding the robe wide for her.

      She turned her back and slid first one arm then the other into the sleeves. She reached up and tugged at the mass of hair knotted high on her head. Before he could pull away, it was tumbling down her back and over his hands. He stepped backward, but not before her scent surrounded him.

      “I might grab a shower,” he said abruptly.

      They’d only been working for three hours and he’d hardly broken a sweat, but he had to get away from her. And he had to do something about the tent pole in his jeans before she saw that her good friend was packing wood.

      Embarrassing? Oui. Big-time.

      “Okay,” she said. “I noticed a boulangerie on the corner yesterday. I could go get us some bread for lunch, maybe some quiche,” she said.

      “Great idea,” he said, already heading for the bathroom. Her plan had the added advantage of getting her out of his apartment for five minutes. Long enough for him to get a grip on himself. He hoped.

      The bathroom door safely closed behind him, Max shed his clothes and stared down at his straining boner. His body had a mind of its own where Maddy was concerned. No matter what he knew to be true—that it was never going to happen with her—his body had other ideas.

      He twisted on the cold tap. Then he gritted his teeth and stepped beneath the spray.

      Chill water hit him like a slap. He closed his eyes, willing his body into submission.

      After a good minute, he glanced down at his resilient, determined hard-on, still standing proudly. Whoever heard of an erection so stubborn, so deeply committed to its cause that it could withstand the brutal effects of a cold shower?

      His skin pebbled with gooseflesh, he finally gave up and twisted on the hot tap. There was more than one way to skin a cat, after all. Reaching for the soap, he lathered his palms until they were slippery and reached for his erection.

      A few minutes, fast and furious, ought to take care of business—and hopefully keep his body under control for the rest of the day.

      He closed his eyes and angled his face away from the spray. Hot water hit his chest and ran down his body in rivulets as he stroked his shaft.

      Sensation washed through him and images filled his mind. The soft outline of Maddy’s breasts against his T-shirt. The curve of her butt pressed against his hard-on this morning. The dark, mysterious shadow between her thighs as she posed for him. The puckered pinkness of her nipples, tight from the cold.

      He tried to force his thoughts away from Maddy, but for the life of him he couldn’t summon up an image of Marie-Helene or Jordan. Could barely remember their faces, let alone their bodies. He wanted Maddy. And, so help him, in the safe confines of the shower and his mind, he was going to have her.

      He gave himself up to the fantasy. A dozen scenarios flitted across his imagination, but he settled on the one that best suited the moment.

      He imagined Maddy entering the bathroom, wearing nothing but his robe. He could almost see her standing there, steam rising around her as she let the robe slide to the floor.

      He groaned in the back of his throat as he imagined himself touching her at last, pulling her close, kissing her, plunging his tongue inside her mouth, his hands racing over her body.

      Squeezing her breasts, teasing her nipples. Nudging a knee between her thighs. Sliding a hand into that tempting thatch of curls, then into her slick folds.

      She’d be wet for him. So wet and ready that when he slicked a finger over her she’d twist and moan. He’d bend her over his arm and pull a nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting her. He’d keep stroking between her thighs, slicking over and over her until she begged him to give her what she needed.

      Max’s fist worked up and down his shaft, his eyes tightly closed as he lost himself in the rising tide of his own desire.

      He’d push Maddy against the tiles, cup her butt in his hands and lift her till he could slide inside her. She’d be so tight and wet. She’d grip him with her inner muscles and he’d start to pound into her. Deep, hard, relentless. His hardness to her wet softness. Her need meeting his.

      He frowned as desire built within him and guilt warred with need. He knew he shouldn’t be eroticizing Maddy this way, that it would only make things more difficult, not less. But he was so close. Just this once, he promised himself. Just this once he’d indulge himself where Maddy was concerned.

      His hand a blur, Max pushed himself toward the edge.

      MADDY GRABBED HER PURSE and slung the strap over her shoulder. The bakery was just a few steps away on the corner, but she pulled on Max’s coat for the short walk. When she’d arrived last night, she’d had a taste of how bitterly cold a Parisian winter could be, and she didn’t need to learn the same lesson twice. She needed to shop for a coat of her own and a bunch of other stuff now that she’d decided to stay. The few tops and changes of underwear she’d thrown into her dance bag were barely good for a couple of days.

      She was on her way out the door when the phone rang. She turned, eyeing it uncertainly for a beat, waiting for an unseen answering machine to pick it up. But the phone rang and rang. Finally she returned to the living space and picked up the receiver. If Max objected to her answering his phone, she’d find out soon enough.

      “Max’s apartment,” she said.

      There was a short, surprised silence before a woman spoke in accented English. “Is Max there? I need to speak to him.”

      “Um, he’s in the shower. I can pass on a message,” Maddy suggested. She hoped like hell this wasn’t a girlfriend who would get the wrong idea about her and Max from the fact that she was in his apartment answering his phone.

      “No. I need to speak to him now. Tell him it’s his sister. Tell him it’s about Eloise.”

      There was an urgency in Charlotte’s voice that was undeniable.

      “Give me a second, I’ll get him for you.”

      Phone in hand, Maddy crossed to the bathroom door and tapped lightly.

      “Max. It’s your sister. It sounds urgent,” she said through the door.

      Nothing. She tapped on the door again.