A gifted artist, Genevieve Monaghan expresses the wonder and beauty of life on canvas. When millionaire philanthropist Alex Miller asks her to create a painting for the new children's wing of a major Boston hospital, she finds his high-handed ways exasperating and his stunning good looks distracting--but she cannot resist his proposal. She embraces the project, willing to suffer Alex's presence for the sake of her art. Yet soon Gen finds herself falling for Alex and his virile charm.
At the pinnacle of wealth and power, Alex Miller stands alone. Women flock to him, drawn by his standing and immense sex appeal. Nothing touches his heart--until he meets Gen. A natural beauty, she is a breath of fresh air in his life and has no interest in his riches or glamour. Although they couldn't be more different, the growing attraction between them is palpable, sizzling with intensity. Even as they fight to deny their feelings, Alex and Gen are losing themselves to the one thing more awe-inspiring than beauty: love.
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June 28, 2004
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Excerpt from In Your Eyes by Laura Moore
Her breathless moans filled the darkened room, answering his every thrust. Alex felt her fingers curl, her nails raking the width of his back as she urged him on. Accommodating her unspoken demands, he drove himself deeper, harder still. Abruptly, her moans were transformed, channeled into a single, suspended cry that echoed off the walls of the spacious bedroom. He felt her convulse then melt around him.
No sooner had she recovered than Sydney arched against his pelvis, pressing close. "More. Give me more," she panted as she wrapped her legs around his hips. Her hands shifted in a downward sweep, clutching feverishly.
His gaze swept over Sydney's flushed face. Her eyes were glazed, lost in a haze of passion. He flexed his hips, sheathing himself within her, then, in one fluid motion, slipped his arm beneath the small of her back and rolled, bringing her with him as they switched positions. He exhaled as her nails left his back, replaced by the smoothness of the bedsheets.
Clasping her hips, Alex guided her until she'd found the rhythm, a slow grind that left her gasping, her head thrown back in rapture. His broad hands roamed, sliding over her sweat-dampened skin, stroking as they traveled upward to cup her swaying breasts. He swept his thumbs back and forth over her nipples.
Shuddering, Sydney moved against his hands, her breath catching then rushing out, ragged and quick. She was almost there, damn close to the edge, Alex thought. He shifted, raising his torso so his mouth could reach her. His teeth closed over her turgid nipple, biting down gently. As if on cue, Sydney exploded. Her inner muscles clenched violently, milking him.
Alex's cock responded. He tensed, swelling and growing inside her, his hands grasping as he surged into her slick heat one last time and found his release. With a low groan, his mouth closed over hers, swallowing her shattered scream.
Like a curtain lowering, postcoital quiet descended. The silence was broken when Sydney rolled over onto her side to face him. "No one can make me come like you do, Alex," she purred, skimming her fingers over the muscled contours of his chest. His pecs twitched involuntarily at the sudden memory of her nails scoring his flesh.
Sydney snuggled closer so she could press her lips to the base of his throat. With a soft sigh, she dropped her head back onto the pillow, seeming not to notice that Alex had neither replied nor offered a casual caress in return. He felt her sated body relax against his, and grow heavy as sleep claimed her. Her breathing slowed and deepened, fanning dry the sweat on his skin.
When he was certain she was fast asleep, he swung his legs over the bed and padded into the adjacent bathroom. Dropping his condom into the wastebasket, he flicked on the bathroom lights then blinked, accustoming his eyes to the sudden brightness. He turned to the sink and was abruptly confronted with his reflection in the mirrored medicine cabinet.
He stared dispassionately, cataloging the details of his face: dark blond hair, pale blue eyes, squared chin . . .
Yeah, he looked the same as ever. So what had changed? Why was it that the sex he'd just experienced left him cold and empty, with nothing more memorable to show for it than an aching head and a lacerated back? Why did he suddenly wish he were anywhere else in the world than here in this Central Park South penthouse with a beautiful woman lying naked and replete in his bed, a woman who'd climaxed three times in his arms? He didn't know what had triggered the change in him, but he knew for certain that the act that Sydney Raines and he had just performed was precisely that: an act. Empty and meaningless.
Filled with a sudden impatience, Alex yanked open the cabinet door, banishing his blue-eyed reflection. He rummaged among the first-aid creams and sprays and boxes of Band-Aids and gauze pads he kept stocked for visits from Sophie and Jamie, his niece and nephew, before finding the aspirin. He opened the bottle and with a quick toss of his head downed two of them, then bent over the faucet for a long drink of cold water. Shutting the cabinet, he carefully kept his gaze averted from its mirrored front. He'd had enough soul-searching for one night.
He walked over to the shower stall and pulled the glass door open. Reaching in, he turned the water on full blast. It didn't take long for the marble cubicle to fill with clouds of steam. He stepped inside and let the soft grayness envelop him. Arms braced against the tiles, he emptied his mind of everything except the lashing sting of hot water beating on his scored flesh, welcoming the pain like an old, familiar friend.