“Someone was.”
“I mean to say it wasn’t popular,” she said, still staring up at the portrait. “Etty painted the Titian copy…when?”
“Um…1823, I think,” said J.C., “though Manet painted Olympia in 1863.”
“Still,” said Libitz, “this was painted seventy-six years later.”
“People have been copying Venus forever,” commented J.C., realizing that his arm was brushing hers, though she didn’t seem to notice.
“This is no copy,” she protested. “It’s…I don’t know. It’s haunting. Her, um…Her expression is—what is it?”
She looked up at J.C., searching his face for guidance. His gaze slipped momentarily to her lips before sliding back up to her eyes.
“Young. Hopeful. Lovely.”
“Yes,” she murmured.
He stared deeply into her eyes, transfixed by the nearness of her, the clean fragrance of her perfume heady, the naked intensity of her eyes alluring. “Too young for emeralds. Too hopeful for a country on the brink of war. Too lovely for…”
“For what?” she asked, leaning closer to him, her breath choppy and shallow between them.
“…me,” he whispered, dropping his mouth to hers.
The last time Jean-Christian had kissed Lib, it had been via coercion and with an intense hostility sizzling like static between them. This time was completely different. This time her lips were pliant and willing, and her body molded effortlessly into his. She looped her arms around his neck to pull him closer, and when he slid his hands down her back to her ass, she let him pick her up, locking her ankles around his waist with a low moan of approval. Holding her firmly against him, her sex flush against his through two layers of denim, he had no doubt she could feel the throb of his erection, swelling to full, almost-painful, rock-hard size between them.
Backing up to his desk, he leaned against it with Libitz still entwined around his body, adjusting her so that his cock pressed up into the hollow between her legs, and she moaned. He felt the slight pinch of her fingernails against the skin on the back of his neck as she arched her back to rub her breasts against his chest.
Sliding his lips from her mouth to her neck, he groaned, “You’re so fucking hot,” as she twisted her neck to give him her ear, which he bit hard enough for her to whimper before demanding his lips again. He sealed his mouth over hers, plunging his tongue into her mouth, and she met it with hers, tangling with abandon, her breath choppy and shallow. She tasted like coffee and sugar, like good coffee and real sugar, bitter and sweet, and he reveled in the taste that so accurately represented the woman in his arms. Sharp, but unexpectedly tender.
He wanted her.
Dear God, how he wanted her.
But his phone, on the desk beside them, was buzzing and banging loud enough that it couldn’t be ignored. Libitz drew away from him, her eyes glazed, her lips slick and red.
“Answer it.”
With a sneer of frustration for whomever was calling, he picked up the phone, still holding her tightly against him with one hand, their noses an inch apart, their panted breath mingling.
“What?”
“C’est étienne.”
“Oui.”
“Are you busy today?”
Lib’s heart beat wildly against his chest, but her forehead rested on his shoulder. She didn’t fight to leave his arms—her ankles were still locked around his waist and her hands still linked behind his neck. It was challenging, trying to hold her with one hand, but he tensed his grip around her—if she wasn’t going anywhere, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her go.
“Peut-être.” Maybe. It all depended on the woman in his arms.
“Jax found a cradle in the attic, and she wants us to have it for Noelle. Can you pick it up for me? Kate’s still trying to get everything organized for tomorrow, and I think she’ll cut off my balls if I leave.”
“For Noelle.” One of the only names on earth that could have cut through his fog of lust.
“Yeah. Can you help me out?”
“Of course.”
“Oh! And Kate said that Libitz had a meeting downtown this morning. Maybe you could call her and give her a ride back to Haverford? Kate feels bad that she had to take a taxi this morning. As long as you’re coming here anyway? You don’t mind, do you? I’ll give you her number and you can text her. 212-555-3232. You two have to learn how to get along.”
“Mmm,” he hummed as Lib’s lips scorched the skin of his throat with a kiss. “I feel confident we will.”