We continue with excerpts from The Art of Desire by Cherie Feather, a new erotic romance from Berkley Heat. Keep reading for the book’s summary and part II of four excerpts. This is a seriously steamy series of excerpts, so read on only if you dare!

Summary:

Museum director Mandy Cooper is obsessed with nineteenth-century artist Catherine Burke-and the artist’s erotically charged relationship with Atacar, her enthralling American Indian lover. But Mandy’s link to the legendary couple runs deeper than she knows. She’s having a heated affair herself-with Jared Cabrillo, Atacar’s handsome great-great nephew who knows precisely what it takes to seduce a woman…

He’s in possession of Catherine’s explicit journal. He knows every intimate detail of what she wanted and needed. But he also knows how desperately Catherine had loved Atacar and how dangerously he’d loved her. The journal is timeless and tragic, and the secrets contained within its pages can bring Mandy and Jared together, or just as surely destroy them both-desire by shocking desire.

E-X-C-E-R-P-T

ONE

 

Dirty sex with a dirty boy.

That was all Mandy Cooper, the proper, professional, highly organized director of the Santa Fe Women’s Art Museum, could think about.

She was addicted to Jared Cabrillo, Atacar’s great-great nephew, a man who sizzled in the art scene, who was notorious for having public liaisons, who wielded his celebrity like the party-on-the-edge charmer he was.

Mandy could feel him watching her from across the museum. She and her staff were hosting a summer reception and he’d crashed the event.

She tried to avoid him, but she couldn’t. His gaze was too strong, too persistent. She gave up the fight and looked at him, too.

Their eyes met, and he lifted his wine and toasted her before he put the glass to his lips and drank the blood-red liquid.

She gripped the silver chain on her evening bag, locking it around her wrist like a handcuff. He was drop-dead, imprison-a-woman gorgeous. There was no other way to describe him. He walked toward her, and her panties stuck to her skin, making her want to rub her thighs together.

“Nice party,” he said, as they came face to face.

“It’s going well.” She’d been sleeping with him for almost a month, yet she couldn’t stop herself from staring.

He sported a retro-style, black western shirt, decorated with white piping and tucked into crisp jeans. His face, diamond-blade dazzling and stone-quarry tough, mirrored his heritage. Both ears showcased tiny silver hoops. He had an intimate body piercing and tribal tattoos, too.

He was everything she shouldn’t want. At thirty-eight, she was supposed to know better. He was ten years younger than she was, but he wasn’t her boy toy. He controlled their affair, enticing her into carnal situations.

He set his empty glass on a nearby table. “You look beautiful, Mandy.”

“Thank you.” Her black dress scooped modestly in front and the delicate silver-and-turquoise cross around her neck offered a hint of adornment.

Aside from their naked urges, they didn’t know each other very well. They didn’t have meaningful conversations. But at least she knew he wasn’t seeing anyone else. He didn’t cheat on his lovers. Of course that didn’t change who and what he was. He treated monogamy like a courtesy, not a commitment.

Needing a diversion, Mandy turned toward a famous portrait of Jared’s ancestor. They were standing in front of Atacar’s exhibit.

He was the museum’s most prized possession, a Catherine Burke treasure, a portrait remarkable for its depth and passion, for its stunning realism. But Atacar was more than Catherine’s greatest work. So much more. The nineteenth century artist was rumored to have loved him, just as he was rumored to have loved her.

But no one knew for sure.

Catherine had abandoned her Texas home, never to be heard from again, and soon after she’d disappeared, Atacar had been shot and killed by a trio of soldiers.

As Mandy looked into his eyes, an air-conditioned chill blasted from the ceiling, sending goose bumps along her arms.

He was an imposing figure, his head cocked just so, his expression dark and serious. Positioned in a straight-back chair, he gripped the barrel of a Winchester rifle. She tried to imagine him sitting for Catherine while the daring girl painted his image. His clothes consisted of Anglo gear, reminiscent of ranchers and farmers, but he was Chiricahua Apache, an enlisted army scout who’d become a prisoner of war.

Mandy blinked, but Atacar’s gaze remained constant. The museum had acquired his portrait nearly forty years ago. Prior to that, it had been hidden inside the walls of the farmhouse where Catherine had lived.

Upon its discovery, their romantic legacy had begun. Rumors spawned that they’d been lovers. That she’d disappeared because of him. That their desperate hearts would remain forever entwined.

But once again, no one knew for sure.

The only ray of hope was that Catherine had kept a secret journal, writings that had never been found.

By now, most of the art world thought the journal was a myth. But Mandy chose to believe otherwise. She had the museum historian searching for it.

Suddenly Jared moved closer, close enough to invade Mandy’s space, to attack her senses. She could smell the spicy notes of his cologne. She turned to face him, his ancestor fading into the background.

“Why did you come here tonight?” she asked.

He smoothed the front of his hair. He wore it plaited into a single braid, leaving the hardened angles of his face unframed. “To fuck you.”

Her addiction jabbed her hard and quick, like a needle to a starving vein. “I’m working, Jared.”

“That’s what makes it so fun.” Fun or not, he didn’t smile. He just looked at her with the same driven expression as when he’d toasted her with his merlot or cabernet or whatever he’d been drinking. “Like when we do it at my work.”

She didn’t respond. He was a highly successful breeder, trainer and showman who managed his own horse farm. Banging each other’s brains out in his barn wasn’t the same as getting naked at the museum.

His gaze turned darker, more intense. “You could take me to your office. You could make me do things to you.”

Hedonic chills vibrated her spine. By now, they were just inches apart. He kept moving closer, drawing her into his seductive sphere, doing what he always did.

“What things?” she asked.

“You could take off your panties, order me to my knees and lift your dress in front of my face. You could make me taste how sweet you are.”

The room started to spin. She wanted his mouth between her legs. But envisioning herself standing in front of him, making him do it was almost more than she could bear.

“Does that excite you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“What else turns you on? What other games do you want to play?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice shook. “I honestly don’t know.” At the moment she just wanted to crawl all over him, to fall like a sugared gumdrop at his feet.

“I’ll bet she did it,” Jared said.

“What? Who?”

“Catherine.” Jared moistened his lips. “I’ll bet she lifted her skirts in front of Atacar’s face. I’ll bet she came all over him.” His voice was soft and low, dangerously demanding. “Do it, Mandy. Be bad for me.”

Heat flooded her lungs. If her guests weren’t milling around, eating canapés and socializing, she would’ve removed her panties right then and there.

“Meet me at my office,” she said. “But give me a head start. I need to unlock the door.”

His demeanor didn’t falter. “Hurry up.”

“I will.” She did her damnedest to regain her composure, to not give away what she was about to do.

She walked toward the stairs, moving quickly so no one stopped her, so she didn’t get trapped into small talk. Finally she ascended to the second floor, her low-heeled pumps assaulting terrazzo-topped concrete, ringing like bullets in her ears.

Her office door came into view, and she fumbled with her purse. What if she got caught? Her affair with Jared wasn’t a secret, but doing it at work….

She removed her keys, and footsteps sounded. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Easy, baby, it’s me.”

Jared. He’d barely given her a head start. Mandy glanced his way, her heart thudding between her thighs.

He came up behind her, bumping his fly against her rear. “You’re so conventional. So ladylike. But here you are, wanting this as badly as I do.”

He had no idea. She crammed the key into the lock and pushed open the door. Her drug-of-choice was crashing in on her, rushing perilously through her veins.

They crossed the threshold and locked themselves inside. Her office housed an executive desk, a sofa and matching side chairs. But she didn’t move in that direction. She paused just beyond the entryway, beside a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, with a security light burning low.

Caught in a sexual whirlwind, she reached under her dress and removed her panties. She wasn’t wearing hose. Her legs were bare.

“Get on your knees,” she told him.

He dropped down with a grateful thud. Gorgeous Jared with his head tipped back, his jaw jutting forward. While he waited, a thick, naughty beat of silence swallowed the air.

One. Two. Three. Let him see.

She hiked up her dress, bunched the fabric around her hips and exposed herself.

“Damn.” His voice pulsed, the tendons in his throat strained.

He was staring at her. Ravenously. Mandy gripped her hem a little tighter. She knew he liked her Brazilian. He thought the process that left a small strip of pubic hair above a woman’s vulva was hot and sexy. He’d talked her into getting waxed, convincing her that it would make her feel prettier, even when she was alone. He’d told her to touch herself and think about him when he wasn’t around, to make it her guilty pleasure. She couldn’t begin to count how many times she’d followed his advice, imagining that he was watching her.

She moved closer, teasing Jared with her guilty pleasure, widening her stance to give him a better look, to show him the cleft of her labia. But that wasn’t enough. Anxious, she took her dress completely off, dragging it over her head. Her basic under-wire bra came next. She wanted to be naked, all the way bare, except for conservative black pumps.

He swallowed, eager to taste her. He looked half starved.

“Do it,” she commanded, spreading herself for him. “Do it.”

He didn’t waste a second, not one delicious moment. He went right for her clit, sucking hard and fast, then slowing to deliberate strokes. He knew how much pressure to apply, how much saliva to spread. Excitement gathered low in her belly.

She watched him, lavishing every taut, tingling taste. The sight was roughly, fiercely erotic. His hungry mouth. Her damp, swollen sex. She pitched forward, and he made a primal sound. Mandy got even more aroused.

“Are you hard?” she asked, trailing her hands through his hair and snagging his thick, silky braid.

He paused to answer her question, moisture glistening on his lips. “I’m so turned on, I could come in my pants.”

Her knees nearly buckled. “I’m going to do this to you. When you’re done with me.”

“What if I don’t want to stop? What if I want to keep going?” He snaked his tongue so she could see him make contact with her clit. He banged her with his fingers, too.

All the way in. All the way out. He even rubbed his sticky digits down the front of his shirt and along his bulging fly, searing himself with her juices.

Dizzy, she rotated her hips. Sooner or later he would have to stop, if he didn’t she would explode into a pool of pollinated liquid.

Reaching out, she grappled for something to brace the blinding pleasure and fisted the edge of a shelf. A moment later, she caught the binding of a hardback book and clutched it between her white-knuckled fingers.

He made a sudden move, cupping her rear and pulling her toward him. They both went crashing until she landed on top of him, sprawled across his handsome face.

This was even wilder, she thought. Sexier. She rode his mouth, her body flexed, her back bowed in a fluid arc. She’d never felt more graceful, more ladylike. The irony should have made her laugh. Instead, she came in convulsing waves.

All over her dirty boy.

#

 

Jared and Mandy sat on the floor and gazed at each other. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d just devoured her orchid-soft, pussy-sweet flavor, enjoying every warm, wet, orgasmic taste.

“That was the hottest thing ever,” he said, before she got shy and glanced away. “So don’t even think about blushing.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not.”

Sometimes she did. Regardless of how nasty they got, she still had an innocent quality. Her mink-colored hair skimmed her shoulders, and her eyes were framed with sweeping lashes.

She was the first proper girl he’d fucked, and he was hooked. He didn’t know for how long, and he didn’t want to know. For him, it was easier living from day to day, walking the sexual tightrope that drove him.

“Now it’s your turn,” she said. “Take off your clothes.”

“Are you still going to blow me?” he asked, upping the ante on the offer she’d made. “Are you going to suck me as deep as you can? Deeper than you ever have?”

“Yes.” She released a shuddering breath. There was a damp spot on the carpet beneath her, where some of her wetness had leaked onto the floor. “I am.”

His nerve endings went electric. He got to his feet and offered her a hand. She stood up, and he grabbed her and swung her into his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Carrying you to bed.”

She looped her arms around his neck and kicked off her shoes. “It’s a sofa. Not a bed.”

“Close enough.” He tossed her onto the sofa in question, planted his knees on either side of her face and shoved down his boxers and jeans in one fell swoop.

His penis sprang free, and he felt good enough to grin. The head of his cock was pierced, and he knew it fascinated her.

“Up close and personal,” she said.

“Just for you.” He imagined her tongue sliding over the curved barbell. He got harder just thinking about it. Not that he wasn’t already rock solid, not that he hadn’t meant what he’d said about creaming his jeans earlier.

“I like touching it,” she told him.

“Then what are you waiting for?” He wanted her to get aggressive.

But she didn’t. She traced the barbell with the tip of her finger. Softly. Tentatively. He thought he might die.

“You never told me what it’s called.”

“It’s a PA.” His own breathing engulfed him. “A Prince Albert. They pierce it from the outside of the frenulum and into the urethra.”

“Is this the frenulum?” She gestured to the band of tissue under the head of his cock, where a portion of the barbell was.

He nodded. “It’s a common piercing for a guy.”

“Not in my world.” She touched him again. No, not him. The jewelry. “Every time I see it, I keep thinking that it hurt.”

“When I first had it done? It didn’t. No more than getting your ears pierced.” His stomach muscles jumped. He wanted her to lean forward, to give him a silky blowjob. Her gentleness was exciting him. “It takes about the same amount of time to heal, too. But I’ve had it forever.” Since he was a rebellious teenager, seeking a rite of passage, a way to define who he was.

“If feels amazing when we have sex,” she said. “I didn’t expect it to. But it does.”

“It’s supposed to give both partners more pleasure. Not painful pleasure. Tingling sensations. It increases the sensitivity.”

Mandy looked up at him, and their eyes met, making him more aware of his erection popping in her face, of the promise she’d made.

They moved toward each other at the same time, at the same exhilarating instant, and she parted her lips, taking the tip of his cock inside.

She toyed with the barbell, creating a rippling sensation, then pulling back to lick him, to run her tongue along the underside of his shaft and over the top, until she nursed the head again.

He fought the urge to relinquish control. But he didn’t. He held on, letting Mandy play, letting her decide when she would take him deeper. While she experimented, he watched her, heightening the game.

It got better from there.

She shoved his jeans farther down his hips. “Lie on your back,” she said. “I want to crawl between your legs.”

Who was he to argue?

He did what she told him to do, even if they had to fight the sofa to make it happen. Once he was in position, she opened the snaps on his shirt and exposed his chest and stomach.

She took her time, kissing his abs, leaving wet marks on his skin. By now he wanted to push her down and make her suck him all the way to the back of her throat.

He didn’t wait for long. He tried, but he couldn’t. She put her mouth on him again, and he lost the battle. He did what he was craving to do. He pushed her down.

She made a girl-hungry sound. She liked his roughness, he thought. Jared spread his legs and lifted his hips, grinding one booted heel into the cushion and planting his other foot on the floor, supporting his weight. He set the rhythm, and she took over, sucking greedily.

She was sowing her blowjob oats, reaping him for all he was worth, the way he’d wanted her to. But even so, he didn’t spill into her mouth. Not because he was being polite. He loved watching her swallow. But tonight he wanted to come inside her. So he lifted her up and told her to stop, whispering gruffly in her ear, telling her it was time to fuck.

Mandy watched him undress. Her eyes were bright and her hair was tumbled. She was still feeling her oats.

Anxious, he ditched his boots and went to work on his jeans, then his pricey western shirt, tugging the sleeves to get himself out of it. He hadn’t brought protection. He and Mandy were clean and safe. They’d talked about it on the night they’d first gotten together.

“I love your tattoos.” She pawed his triceps, where he had matching armbands. “Do you have any idea how exotic you are?”

“Do you have an idea how hard I’m going to give this to you?” He nudged her with his steel-tipped sword.

“I’m ready.”

“You better be.” He told her to straddle his lap in a reverse cowgirl position, so he could see her ass, so he could reach around and cup her tits, so he could pinch her nipples.

His lover accommodated him. She turned around and spread her thighs nice and wide, creating the slick leverage she needed.

He gripped her waist, and she went rodeo, giving him a thrill. Not only could he admire the curve of her ass, he got an erotic view of her sliding up and down, milking his cock.

She gulped her next breath. “It feels so good.”

He knew she meant the barbell. The sensation rocked him, too. Her pussy caressed him, and he nearly growled, his heart machine-gunning his chest.

“Touch yourself.” He struggled to steady his voice. She kept riding him, only now she was going slow, forcing him to feel every luxurious glide. “Do it the way you do it when you’re alone.”

She moved her hand, and he could tell that she was rubbing her clit. He couldn’t wait to bring her deeper in his realm, to seduce her even more.

“Turn around,” he said. “I want to see.”

They made the switch, with her sitting forward on his lap, stroking her sex.

He watched her come, thinking how incredible she was. She smiled when she was done. Her lashes fluttered, too. How pretty could she be? Warm and soft in the barely there light.

“Is that what you wanted to see?” she asked.

He wasn’t about to respond, not now, not in the wake of wanting her so badly. Desperate for more, he pushed her down and opened her legs until they were almost straight in the air. She gasped, and he thrust full hilt, pumping hard and fast.

She had another orgasm, poised like an acrobat. Her stomach quivered, and she reached out and clawed the back of the sofa.

When she wrapped her legs around him, the familiarity of being this close to her shattered his mind. Jared tunneled his hands in her hair, heat surging through his blood and burning his loins. He went off like a geyser, coming deep inside her.

In the minutes that followed, she clung to him, breathing softy against his neck. He wanted to be gentle for her, to hold her close, but he didn’t know how to pull it off, not without getting out of his comfort zone. So he settled on a quick kiss, got dressed and went downstairs ahead of her.

Once he hit the party, he didn’t have another drink or wait for Mandy to reappear. He left the museum, and on his way out, he frowned at Atacar, knowing the other man would’ve stayed.