Rosa smiled shyly at Drake as she stepped out of her motel room ten minutes later. “Sorry I took so long. I was having a hard time getting the tangles out of my hair.” She seemed more than a little nervous as she ran her fingers through the silky strands. The sound of a car door slamming out in the parking lot made her jump and reach into her bag for her big sunglasses. “We should go.”
He hated how she felt like she needed to hide from the world, all because some asshole had taken and sold those pictures of her. But considering how hard it had been to convince her to come back to his cabin, he didn’t want to risk his luck by pushing her on it right now.
But he wouldn’t stop himself from putting his hand on the small of her back as they headed across the second-floor landing to the stairs. Now that he’d touched her, kissed her, he couldn’t stop wanting to do it again. And again. And again.
Lord, the way she tasted.
Just thinking about how sweet she’d been, how eagerly she’d wrapped herself around him, how soft her skin had been, made Drake call upon every ounce of control he possessed to keep from spinning her around against the motel wall so that he could devour her.
He’d promised not to kiss her again—and he meant it, even if it killed him to keep that promise. He hadn’t planned on jumping her when she’d opened her door, but as soon as he’d looked into her eyes, primal need had taken over. He hadn’t been thinking, hadn’t even realized what he’d done until she was in his arms, kissing him back with just as much hunger. Just as much need.
But this thing between them was bigger than a kiss. Because Rosa wasn’t just a woman he desired. She made him want to take risks. Big ones. Even if it meant taking a hard look at his long-held beliefs about what had happened between his parents.
Drake had always assumed that if his father had it to do all over, he would never have let his mother become his all-consuming muse. But had Drake assumed wrong? Neither Drake nor any of his siblings had ever asked their father that loaded question. Hell, the five of them had hardly even said Lynn Sullivan’s name aloud during the past thirty years. No one in the extended family did either, as if they all knew that simply talking about her was as good as handing their father a match for a loaded powder keg.
But now there was this whole mystery of why his father suddenly wanted to give his paintings of their mother to each of them. What could have changed?
Drake got into the driver’s seat beside Rosa, and when she smiled at him, he was glad to have a reason to push thoughts of his father to the back burner. For now, he only wanted to concentrate on her. And as he let himself really drink her in, he suddenly noticed what she was wearing.
Yesterday, she had shown up at his cabin in sweats. Today, though, she was wearing the same Montauk tourist gear. It looked completely different. Closer to couture than five-and-dime.
“What did you do to your clothes?”
She ran her finger over an intricately stitched blue and green pattern along the hem. “I made a few modifications.”
“A few modifications? You’ve turned that sweatshirt into a piece of wearable art.” He knew some damn good fiber artists in the city and was certain they’d be just as impressed. No wonder she’d had the spools of thread and package of needles in her grocery bag. “How long have you been doing this?”
She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with his question. “A while. Although I don’t normally repurpose clothes. I didn’t have any canvases to work on yesterday, and I needed my hands to be busy to keep from losing it.”
Mentally filing away that piece of information of just how important creating art was for her, he asked, “You stitch straight onto canvas?”
She nodded. “But it’s just a hobby. No one knows I do it. Just my family...and now you.”
When she didn’t meet his eyes, he reached over to tip her chin up the same way he had in the motel room. “Why doesn’t the whole world know how talented you are? That you’re an artist?”
Instead of answering him, she licked her lips, and he couldn’t resist brushing his thumb over the damp flesh. As long as he didn’t kiss her, he wasn’t breaking his promise. But when she shivered and her eyes darkened with desire while her gaze shifted to his mouth, he was hard-pressed not to drag her closer and kiss her breathless.
“Rosa?”
She lifted her eyes back to his. “What did you ask me?”
He nearly groaned from the sexual tension sparking like a live wire between them. He’d never wanted anyone like this. Never had to hold himself back either. “You’re on TV every week, and I assume your family sells certain products to your viewers, right? So why are you keeping your art a secret?”