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not a mar, a
scratch, or a single flaw ruining his rugged good looks. And on this side of
the street, he was the only man with any sort of intelligence.
    Beach bums and actor-wannabes roamed these pristine
white sands. Sara was drawn to a man with brains. Braun helped too, but he had
to be able to hold an intelligent conversation, otherwise she’d give up and
find another more suitable to her tastes.
    Lately, she wished she could just sit with Boyd on the
beach until the sun set, have him hold her all night long, and say nothing at
all. She was falling for Boyd, letting a man get into her heart.
    Not good.
    Today however, the potentially damaging malady
waylaid, she wanted the incredible, uncomplicated sex she always had with him—heart
be damned.
    Sara took the glass of wine out of his fingers, and
let a hearty swallow of the sweet vintage slide down her throat before she set
the expensive crystal onto his counter. It was a good year for the grapes;
sweetened perfectly by sun and time; much as a lot of things were sweetened by
sun and time; nude sun-bathers included.
    The cool fluid released its stronghold on her parched
throat near to a caress and settled into her empty stomach. Ten seconds later,
Boyd’s hand was on her wrist and he was pulling her to his office/studio—not
the bedroom, as she expected.
    Boyd was a painter and a writer. He dabbled in natural
landscapes—those he would show his wife and friends. His real passion was the
human body. A passion his clueless wife knew nothing about. The nudes he kept
under lock and key in a warehouse. He told Sara about them. She’d asked to be
shown the paintings but Boyd said no. Then he made love to her and she never
asked again.
    As she moved into the studio behind the man, Boyd
turned to her again, slid her slipover from her shoulders with practiced ease,
the material pooled at her feet, and he started a long trail of fire down the
length of her neck with his hot wet tongue.
    He grazed this dangerous weapon over her shoulder with
the skill of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. His mouth then carved a
delicious path down the full length of her arm. Finally, his lips set to the
palm of her left hand. A gentle kiss given to its center raised his eyes to
hers and the smile on his face told her all she needed know. Sex was coming,
but she would be left begging before it happened.
    Even she knew nothing good ever came to those who
couldn’t beg.
    Finished with one side of her body, the other side
more than eager for this man’s attention, Boyd’s lips found her left breast
bared and ready. Perhaps the taut nipple had drawn his attention and as an
intelligent man he was fully aware it needed its due before he continued onto
something else.
    His hot searing mouth covered her breast quickly.
Boyd’s tongue circled the rosy nub until she couldn’t stand the exquisite
torture much longer, panting uneven breaths. The flicks were gentle at first,
then aggressive. He was playing with her, using only his tongue, and this play
had set her core to burn.
    Sara threw her head back, enjoying this change of
pace. She liked the idea of changing things up. But her breast was quite happy
it was being taken care off so sweetly this morning, and a happy breast made
for a happy woman.
    Boyd’s mouth slipped from her left breast to the
right: licking, sucking, pulling, searing. His hands settled on her hips.
    Sara felt trapped by the pressure from his palms, but
it was a good trapped. An exquisite trapped. Foreplay on this man’s bed was one
thing. Foreplay while they stood inside his office became nearly erotic.
Wantonly erotic, filled with the possibility of caught in the act.
    The change of pace seemed almost frantic.
    He gave her right breast more than ample attention,
then drew back to look her in the eyes.
    “I want to paint you today.”
    This news startled her.
    Boyd had never asked to paint her before. He’d never
asked to use her as a muse. In fact, he barely made their