Whiskey Sharp: Torn. Lauren DaneЧитать онлайн книгу.
before letting her go at last.
Leaving her needing to lean against the wall a moment because she was weak in the knees.
“Glad to be of service,” he said. “I like the way you objectify me.”
“That’s a big relief because I gotta tell you, looking at you gets me all warm and tingly. And then you add the cooking and the sense of humor and the way you fuck and it’s just downright impossible not to objectify you.”
Smiling, he walked two steps back to where she leaned against the wall and caged her in with his body. Yum.
“I’m not the irresistible one here,” he murmured before bending his knees to kiss her slow. “I have dreams about your taste,” he said, stepping away from her.
How did one even process a man like Beau saying such things? It made her light-headed in the best way. Made her feel like a gorgeous queen and damn it was really fucking wonderful.
The start of something really fucking wonderful. She hoped, even as she knew it could be a quick thing, she had a very strong feeling it wouldn’t be. There was something compelling about not only Beau, but the energy they had as Beau and Cora.
She shouldn’t think on it overmuch at that point though. Let it be magic. Magic was lovely.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GALLERY SILVERA SAT on a corner, next to a wine bar and across from a café. It was the perfect sort of place to wander after enjoying a glass of wine or a cup of tea. There were several other galleries within a four-block radius, all having a different perspective and emphasis. It created a lovely, artsy atmosphere.
Cora’s town house was close enough that she usually walked during the warmest months. But more, she herself was part of the neighborhood she worked in. When she chose what went on the walls in the gallery, what could be seen through the big windows facing the street, Cora expanded her gallery outside. Connected with those other places, and through Seattle Center, they were part of something vibrant, pulsing with music and art and dance.
It’d been in the current location in the shadow of the Space Needle for thirty years. Most of them had been as a moderate success. Her father had originally bought it as a gift for his wife—and as Cora believed, a way to give Walda roots. To give her a sense of place to build a life and a family. Which she’d done, but in her own way because no one told her mother how to live.
Like any kid who grew up in a family that ran a business, she and her siblings had spent a lot of afternoons and weekends at the gallery. It had brought color and creativity into her life at a very early age. She’d learned her multiplication tables while tucked into a back corner. A young painter who now had an established, successful career had helped her with a book report. Their dining table had always been surrounded by artists, art lovers and all manner of exciting, interesting folk.
The gallery and the people who came through it were what she always thought of as another room of her childhood home.
She would get dressed and in makeup in her office once all the last touches were in place. For the time being she was in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and wore sneakers as she rearranged some of the bouquets and floral baskets while making sure all the descriptions and associated materials with each piece were free of errors.
The caterers and bar staff had arrived and were beginning to get set up when she finished up all she could do for the event.
Maybe knocked on the door of Cora’s office not thirty seconds after she’d gotten her clothes and accessories for the night laid out. “I brought you a coffee,” Maybe told her, kissing her cheek as she handed the travel mug over.
Her friend was not only a fantastic hairdresser and barber, she also did makeup for her friends on special occasions. Maybe had shown up with her case, ready to work.
“You’re my favorite,” Cora said as she got into the chair.
“Naturally. You can tell me about the pumpkin patch and the sex you had afterward while I’m doing your hair.”
“How the hell do you know we had sex?” Cora looked at herself in the mirror, carefully making sure she hadn’t missed a love bite or something embarrassing.
“You have the glow. Your hair is looking fantastic. It’s got sex volume. And you didn’t deny it immediately. Also, you seemed pretty hot for one another and so it was a natural assumption.”
Maybe began to do her magic on Cora’s hair while she sipped her coffee and sighed happily.
“He was cute at the pumpkin patch. He pulled the wagon without complaint. Then he made me three different kinds of tacos while I decorated. Then we had terrific sex. Like stick your finger in a light socket electric sex. And in the afterglow what do you think we did?”
“Ate more tacos?”
Cora sighed. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Hell, eating more tacos totally would have been a wise choice. But no, after he fucked me silly, he helped me with some of my pumpkins. We even carved some before I had to leave to get here. Oh, and he’s coming tonight.”
Cora kept her eyes closed as Maybe worked. Pinning, curling and spraying her hair before moving on to makeup. At some point, Rachel arrived and Cora recounted the same story, catching her up.
“He’ll be more comfortable because he knows everyone already except for Beto and Finley.” It was less pressure that way. If, for whatever reason, he hit his limit on Cora time, or their chemistry cooled or soured, there’d be other people around to make it easier to avoid one another.
“Finley is curious about him. She’s done some internet sleuthing so be ready for all her questions about his, um, more colorful days,” Rachel said of Cora’s sister.
“She runs a tattoo shop. She’s around colorful people all day long. Hell, she is one.”
“Don’t get defensive. She loves you and you’re the baby,” Rachel reminded her.
She didn’t want that feeling lodged in her gut just then. Resentment and maybe a little bitterness. She adored Finley, who’d always been there for her. But if she was so concerned, why not help with their mom?
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. He’s charming. And it’s not like I’m harvesting his organs for dinner or anything. We’re just having fun,” Cora said.
“Hold your breath I’m getting ready to set your hair with spray,” Maybe told Cora.
They helped her get into the dress without smearing makeup, mussing hair or getting deodorant on anything. A bonus was the way the high neck and illusion panel on the front accentuated her boobs without having them in danger of falling out of anything.
It was a grown-up, sexy dress and she couldn’t deny she chose it with Beau in mind.
“Dayum, baby. You lookin’ good,” Maybe said as she circled Cora slowly.
The three friends laughed as they headed out to the main gallery floor where the candles were lit, the wine had been decanted and music played in the background.
It smelled like cinnamon and oranges so she knew her brother was around somewhere, a mug of Market Spice tea in his hand. She followed her nose and found him setting that cup of tea down so he could open the doors for their parents as they approached the gallery.
Before she could head to them, Finley stepped into her path. Her sister wore an amazing jumpsuit that would have looked awful on most other people. Her forearms and chest were mainly bare, all her ink on display. Her dark brown hair was pulled away from her face into a loose knot at the base of her neck.
Finley was unique. She had an edge, but she put makeup on it, winged its eyeliner and used her tattoos like jewelry. Her sister was a badass. Gorgeous. Fierce and deeply thoughtful. Her artistic nature was the closest to control freak of the sisters.
She loved hard, including