He caught hold of her shoulders and smiled another of his rare, wicked smiles. His eyes got a little hotter.
“Is that right?” he said.
“It’s never happened to me, you see.” She brushed her mouth across his and smiled what she knew was a very smug sort of smile. “I had almost convinced myself that I would never know what it felt like. Don’t you understand what just happened?”
“Well, biologically speaking—”
“Forget biology. You just proved that I’m not frigid.”
He raised his brows. “The possibility that you might be frigid never once crossed my mind.”
She smiled. “When you told me that your marriage had been annulled, it never once crossed my mind that the problem might have been your inability to carry out your husbandly duties in the bedroom.”
“You’re sure?”
“Okay, I admit it was on the list of possibilities but it was at the very bottom.”
“I am prepared to offer further proof that I am not incapacitated.”
She reached down and wrapped her fingers around him. “Yes, I can see that.”
She stroked him, her grasp increasingly tight. He sucked in a deep breath.
“I can’t take this much longer,” he warned.
“No waiting necessary.”
She sat up, straddled him, and slowly lowered herself until he was filling her completely. His eyes half closed. He gripped her thighs. When she began to move, he thrust into her again and again. She was still so sensitized from her release that the experience of having him deep inside her was almost unbearable. She was balanced on the exquisite edge between pain and pleasure. She knew from his sweat-soaked body and the fierce expression on his face that he was there on the same edge.
When his release struck with the force of a storm, they both went over together.
Chapter 37
Nick emerged from the bathroom smiling a decidedly satisfied smile.
“What’s so funny?” Vivian asked.
“You. Sorry.” He climbed back into bed. “Where in hell did you get the notion that you were frigid? Been reading Dr. Freud or one of his followers?”
“Winston Bancroft.”
“Oh, right. The art photographer who insulted your talent. You said things ended with a major scene.”
“Yes. There was a bit more to the story than the insult to my talent. That was reason enough to end things, of course. But I also discovered the reason he lied to me and said glowing things about my art was because he wanted to get his hands on my family’s money.”
“Talk about adding insult to injury.” Nick paused. “Huh.”
“It’s hard to make a living as a photographer, even for someone of Winston’s stature. In his defense, he has his dreams, just as I have mine. Winston’s goal was, and probably still is, to establish his own art school, an academy, and a gallery that will focus on elevating photography into the fine arts.”
“What, exactly, got said in the course of the big breakup scene?”
“Well, first I told him that I’d had to fake every orgasm I’d ever claimed to have had with him, all three of them.”
“You said that in front of the gallery owner?”
“Yep. That made Winston furious, of course. That’s when he called me frigid. He said I obviously had a deep-seated neurosis that prevented me from achieving orgasm.”
“That must have been some scene.”
“I’m afraid so. When I told Winston that I didn’t think there was anything wrong with me and that he was the one with the problem, he was even more outraged. He turned a very interesting shade of purple. I stormed out of the office and out of his life. Haven’t spoken to him since.”
“Huh.”
“That’s the second time you’ve said that in the past couple of minutes.”
“Well, damn.”
“Damn?”
“Looks like we have to add another suspect to our list.”
“Winston?” Vivian was floored. “Forget it. He was angry when I walked out but not that angry.”
“Is he still living in San Francisco?”
Vivian hesitated. “Well, no. Last I heard he had joined an artist’s colony on the coast.”
“Where on the coast?”
Vivian groaned. “About twenty miles south of here. That’s why he’s been able to get his work installed at galleries in places such as Burning Cove and Adelina Beach. Curators and gallery owners love him. He can be very charming.”
“That puts him squarely in the Los Angeles area. If we’re right that the killer finds his clients in and around L.A.—”
“I just can’t see Winston wanting to murder me. There wouldn’t be any point. The only way he could have gotten his hands on my father’s money is if he had married me. That option is definitely off the table.”
Nick rolled onto his side and looked at her. A low-grade fever burned in his eyes.
“Money isn’t the only motive for murder,” he said. “The desire for revenge is an acid that destroys everything it touches.”
“We can’t just keep adding names to your suspect list.”
“You’re right.” Nick eased the covers aside and sat up on the edge of the bed. “It’s time to edit our list.”
“How?”
“By going back to the issue that has been bothering us from the start.”
“What is that?”
“The fact that an unknown photographer who is trying to make her mark in the art world was the target of not just one but two attacks within the span of slightly less than a month.”
Vivian smiled at the energy around him. “Do you always go right back to work after making love?”
She winced at her own words. Should have said, Do you always go right back to work after going to bed with someone? She shouldn’t have used the word love.
But Nick was apparently too preoccupied with his thoughts to pay attention to nuances. He got to his feet and went to the door. He paused to look back at her.
“No,” he said. “Usually I just go to sleep afterward. Something about being with you seems to have cleared my head.”
He was serious.
Well, at least she was proving to be useful, she thought.