Dawn in Eclipse Bay

hesitated.
    “Gabe?”
    “Yeah?”
    “When you stated on the Private Arrangements questionnaire that you didn’t want any arty types, you were telling the truth, weren’t you?”
    “I thought we’d decided that I pretty much lied through my teeth on that questionnaire.”
    “I don’t think you lied on that issue. Did you make a point of not wanting to be matched with so-called arty types because of your parents? Everyone knows that they didn’t give you and Rafe what anyone could call a stable home life.”
    He was silent for a moment.
    “For years I blamed most of what wasn’t good in my childhood, including my parents’ deaths, on the fact that they were both involved in the world of art,” he said finally. “Maybe, in my kid brain, the mystique of the wild, uncontrolled, temperamental, artistic personality was convenient. Better than the alternative, at any rate.”
    “What was the alternative?”
    “That we Madisons were seriously flawed; that we couldn’t manage the self-control thing.”
    “But you’ve proved that theory wrong, haven’t you? I’ve never met anyone with more self-control.”
    He looked at her. “You don’t exactly fit the image of the temperamental, self-centered artist who has no room in her life for anything except her art, either.”
    “Okay. I think we’ve successfully established that neither of us fits whatever preconceptions we might have had.”
    “Why did you bring me here tonight, Lillian? I know it wasn’t because you needed to pick up some supplies.”
    She looked around at her paint-spattered studio. “Maybe I wanted to find out how you really felt about arty types.”
    He raised one hand and traced the cowl neckline of her black dress. His finger grazed her throat. “Let’s see where we stand here. We’ve established that you don’t think I’m a machine.”
    She caught her breath at his touch. “And you don’t think I’m typical of what you call the arty type.”
    “Where does that leave us?”
    “I don’t know,” she whispered.
    He lowered his head until his mouth hovered just above hers. “I think we ought to find out, don’t you?”
    “Sex is probably not the best way to explore that issue.”
    He kissed her slowly, lingeringly. When he raised his head she saw the hunger in him. She felt her blood heat.
    “Can you think of a better way to explore it?” he asked.
    She swallowed. “Not right at the moment.”
    He put one hand on her knee just beneath the hem of the little black dress. His smiled slowly and eased the skirt higher. She caught the ends of his silk tie in her hands and drew him closer.
    He took the invitation the way a shark takes prey; smoothly and swiftly, leaving her no time to consider the wisdom of moving back into shallower waters.
    Between one heartbeat and the next, he was between her knees, using his thighs to part her legs and open her to him. The black dress was up to her hips now, leaving only a scrap of midnight-colored lace as a barrier to his hand. It proved woefully inadequate to the task. She felt the silk grow damp at his touch.
    She gripped the ends of the necktie and hung on for the ride.

    He roused himself a long time later, sated and content. For the moment, at any rate. He sat up on the edge of the worktable. Beside him Lillian was curled amid scattered sheets of drawing paper, brushes, and tubes of paint. Her hair had come free from the sleek knot in which it had been arranged earlier in the evening. The little black dress that had looked so elegant and tasteful at the head table was now crumpled in an extremely interesting, very sexy and no doubt less-than-tasteful manner. But it looked terrific on her that way, he thought.
    His tie was now looped around her throat instead of his own. He grinned, remembering how it had gotten switched in the middle of the lovemaking.
    She stirred. “What are you staring at?”
    “A work of art.”
    “Hmm.” She nodded once in appreciation. “A work of art. That was pretty quick, Madison.”
    “Pretty quick, you mean for a man who is still recovering from a truly mind-blowing experience?”
    “Gosh. Was that your mind?” Her smile was very smug. “I didn’t realize.”
    He grinned. “I handed you that line on a platter. Admit it.”
    “I admit it. You’re good, you know that?”
    “At the moment, I’m a lot better than good.” He leaned down to kiss her bare hip. “I’m terrific. What about you?”
    “I think I’ll survive.” She hauled