Forbidden Desires

by Jenna Hartley

  For that brief moment when we stared at each other, I forgot about the fact that I was wearing nothing more than a flimsy scrap of fabric. I forgot about the fact that I was about to pose nude for a class. I forgot about everything but him.

  “Good afternoon, class,” he rumbled. “I’m Xander Kline, and I’ll be subbing in for Professor Tate.”

  All the air rushed from my lungs. He… I swallowed. He was the professor?

  He couldn’t be more than ten years older than me, if that. Which also made him significantly younger than almost every other member of the faculty. Not to mention, one of the hottest guys I’d ever seen. My chest tightened. The hottest guy I’d ever seen was going to see me naked, have ample time to study my flaws.

  Oh god.

  “Did everyone sign in?” Everything after that was a blur as the room spun, and I tried to catch my breath.

  “…introduce our model, Kate,” Xander said, and I snapped my eyes to his. I’d completely missed the past few minutes of instruction, and he was now addressing me.

  “Yes?” I straightened, trying to portray a cool confidence I didn’t feel.

  He cleared his throat. “When you’re ready, please disrobe and choose your first standing pose.”

  When you’re ready… The words played on repeat. Would I ever be ready?

  I remained rooted to the spot, and hushed whispers spread through the room. Xander stepped closer, and I swallowed. He was tall, taller than I’d realized. Even though the dais added nearly four inches to my height, I still had to lift my chin to meet his eyes.

  I kept my gaze focused on his, attempting to block out everyone else. I wasn’t sure it was the best strategy, but it was either that or run. And I’d sworn to myself I wouldn’t run. I mean, I couldn’t run. Could I?

  “Are you okay?” Xander asked.

  I nodded, and a few strands of hair fell into my face. I tucked them behind my ear. “I’m… Yeah, I’m good.” His eyes searched mine—for what, I didn’t know.

  I’d never stood naked before a man, let alone a room of people. But I was Kate Pruitt, and I didn’t back down from a challenge.

  With shaking hands, I untied the belt of my robe, the beat of my heart blocking out all other sounds. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in.

  It’s just him and me.

  And out.

  Xander held my gaze, his eyes piercing mine as I slid the robe down my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Goose bumps broke out along my skin, and I was intensely aware of my body. Of the sweat prickling the back of my neck, the tendrils of hair tickling my ear, the way my nipples pebbled.

  Was I… Did this turn me on? Or did he turn me on? The idea of him watching me, more specifically.

  I froze in place, tilting one hip as I placed both hands on the back of my head. It wasn’t the most original pose, but it would be easy enough to hold.

  As Xander continued to stare at me, my skin flushed with heat, and I itched to rub my legs together to ease the ache. But I had to remain as still as possible. No wriggling. No talking. And certainly, no…rubbing.

  “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” His tone was filled with awe.

  I tried to remember everything I knew about Professor Alexander Kline. He was new to the faculty, an adjunct professor. Everyone had been buzzing about his classes, which were impossible to get into. He was known for his work with oil paint and charcoal, but he liked to mix a variety of media, creating a distinctive style that presented a unique perspective on the world.

  “I’ll be right there,” Xander said, only moving away when a student asked him a question.

  I’d almost forgotten there was anyone else in the room, that’s how powerful the pull was between us. And the longer I stood there, the more I realized I wasn’t intimidated like I’d feared. But rather, empowered.

  I couldn’t turn my head, couldn’t so much as scratch my nose, but I could feel his eyes on me even as he shifted away.

  I wondered if that was normal. I’d never paid much attention to what the professor was doing when I’d been in life drawing class. I was usually so intent on getting everything down in the short time before the next break that I was in the zone. But watching Xander was all I could focus on. Watching his long fingers as he gestured to a canvas. Watching the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.

  I wanted to trade places with him and not just because I was standing in front of fifteen or so people, completely naked. No, I wanted ample time to gaze at him, all of him. Not stolen glances whenever he happened to pass in front of me. I wanted to study the structure of his jaw, to trace every muscle with my pencil, and to recreate the elegant lines and colors of the tattoos snaking out from beneath his shirt.

  “All right,” he said, breaking my trance. “Stretch your legs. Grab a drink of water and be back in five.”

  Already? I thought.

  Sure, my body ached from holding the same pose for twenty minutes. But he’d been such a good distraction, the time had passed quickly. And I was grateful for all the yoga I’d done—it was certainly paying off.

  Xander crouched to the floor, gathering my robe before handing it to me. Our fingers brushed in the process. I didn’t know whether it was because I was naked or because it was him, but his touch sent a fresh wave of goose bumps rippling up my arm.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, not trusting my voice.

  “Anything to keep my model comfortable.” He grinned, keeping his eyes trained on mine as I wrapped the silk robe around me. “Are you doing okay?”

  I nodded, surprised by how true the answer felt. I was okay. I hadn’t died of embarrassment or shrunk under the weight of everyone’s scrutiny. If anything, I felt…beautiful. Like my body was being admired for the sake of art.

  “You’re doing great.”

  “Thanks,” I breathed. “That’s a relief, considering it’s my first time.”

  He jerked his head back. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.” I grinned, gratified by his stunned reaction. “I’m a virgin. I-I mean novice. I’ve never modeled like this. Before.” My cheeks filled with heat, and I glanced toward the floor.

  Oh my god. I wanted to cover my face with my hands. Standing naked in front of the class wasn’t nearly as bad as what I’d just said. I’d basically admitted to him that I was a virgin. Which I was, but he didn’t need to know that.

  He opened his mouth to say something when a girl called his name from across the room. He held my gaze a moment longer before excusing himself to speak with her. I released the breath I’d been holding. The rest of the break, he was occupied with the other students—evaluating their work and giving them pointers.

  When the break ended, I resumed my position on the dais. It was a little easier this time, though the idea of disrobing still had my heart pounding. Again, I focused on Xander. And as I held the next pose, I tried to catalogue everything about him. The raven-colored waves of hair and bronzed skin. The blue eyes. And I was a sucker for a strong, square jaw, especially one lined with scruff.

  Tattoos peeked out from beneath his fitted black T-shirt, making me wonder just how much of his body was covered in them. Judging from what I could see—a lot. I wanted to explore them, to know the story behind each and every one. It was ridiculous, really, but I couldn’t help but fixate on him.

  I listened to his voice as he circled the room, circled me. It was easy to pick out—deeper than the rest, yet soothing. And it was even more beautiful than his body, if that were possible.

  He was a good distraction from the way my arm ached from holding the pose. A good distraction from the fact that I was basically doing yoga—naked yoga—in front of a bunch of fully clothed people.

  “That looks good,” he said to one of the students. “I really like the shading you’ve done. Even though it’s in black-and-white, you’ve given me a sense that her hair is blond. And I get a hint of the pink coming through, or at least that there’s another color.”

  “Thank you,”
the student said.

  I watched him out of my peripheral vision, saw him move to the next student and her canvas. Xander crossed his arms over his chest, resting his chin in his hand. He seemed to stand there a long time before finally nodding. “Yes. Very good. Excellent shading on the breasts and stomach. Though, this one should be a bit fuller than you’ve drawn it. She’s perfectly proportioned.”

  I swallowed hard, feeling my body heating from the inside out. Obviously, I knew he was looking at me, evaluating me. And he—like the students—had been nothing but professional. Even still, there was something there. Some…connection. I didn’t know how to describe it, just that it existed. Like I knew a Monet was a Monet and that General’s made my favorite charcoal pencils.

  When Xander announced it was time for another break, my shoulders sagged with relief. We’d progressed through a series of standing and sitting poses, and I was eager to move on to the reclining positions. Eager to finish modeling so I could see the shocked look on Brie’s face when I told her what I’d done.

  After I’d pulled on my robe, I walked from easel to easel during the break, admiring the students’ work. It was an odd sensation, to view my body through their eyes. And I liked seeing what each of them focused on. For some, it was my hands, for others, my hair. Everyone seemed to emphasize a different attribute, and it filled me with a sense of pride and ownership. Each artist had glorified parts of me that I didn’t necessarily find sexy or even beautiful. And it gave me a new perspective, a renewed sense of confidence.

  “All right,” Xander said, interrupting the students’ quiet chatter. “Just one more pose, and then we’re done.”

  Everyone made their way back to their places. The students to their easels and me to the massage table that had been draped with a sheet. I folded my arm behind my head, relaxing into a pose that was the most comfortable one so far.

  I closed my eyes and went through one of my favorite meditation exercises—the body scan. I relaxed each and every part of my body from head to toe until I was overcome with a sense of calm, of peace. I could still hear the scratch of the charcoal against canvas, the shifting of people in the space surrounding me, but I was in my own world.

  My own world where Xander ran his finger along my skin, tracing the lines of my curves. Where he pressed his lips to my collarbone before trailing his way down my breasts and over my stomach. My chest rose and fell, and I struggled to retain control. Especially when I imagined him climbing on top of me, sliding the tip of his erection over my—

  I let out a small moan, and it felt like everyone stilled. Oh my god.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could disappear. Talk about mortifying. I didn’t know if farting would have been more or less embarrassing. And I still couldn’t move, not until Xander said so.

  Waiting was agony, and it felt like years passed before he said, “That’s all for today. Great job, class.”

  I bolted upright, wrapping the robe around me as I sped toward the changing area. The other students were too busy packing up their supplies or chatting to notice my freak-out. But I could feel Xander’s eyes on me as I crossed the room as quickly as I could without running.

  “Kate,” Xander called when I emerged from the changing area. “Can I speak with you a moment?”

  “Sorry.” I clutched my tote to my chest, feeling like I needed to shield myself. “I have to go.”

  I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. And if I never saw Xander—or any of those students—again, it would be too soon.

  Chapter 1

  Xander

  * * *

  A Few Days Earlier

  * * *

  I stared at the blank canvas, feeling as if I might explode. Every time I tried to pick up charcoal, a pencil, a paintbrush—nothing. I felt nothing. I wasn’t inspired; I was frozen.

  My phone rang, and I was grateful for the distraction until I saw who was calling—Theo. My twin brother and manager. And, more often than not, a pain in my ass.

  I considered sending it straight to voice mail, but I knew he’d just keep calling. Or worse, he’d decide to pop by. And I definitely didn’t want him stopping by unannounced and seeing all the work I hadn’t been doing.

  I scrambled to answer the phone. “Hey.”

  “How are the pieces coming for the new exhibition?” His voice echoed in my studio, bouncing off the concrete floors and high walls.

  “Um—” I glanced around, faced with blank canvas after blank canvas. It was a good thing he’d called instead of coming over. “Good. Yeah. It’s going good.”

  “Bullshit,” he coughed.

  “Yeah, so, I may be a little behind.” Understatement of the fucking century. There had been instances in the past when I was a little behind. I hadn’t even started yet, well, unless you counted the pieces I’d completed before my accident. Which I didn’t.

  He puffed out a breath. “Xander, we talked about this. The doctors say your wrist is fine. Your physical therapist cleared you to start painting again weeks ago.”

  “I know,” I ground out, more frustrated with myself than anything else.

  I’d spent months waiting for this, waiting to paint again. And now that I could, I couldn’t. Or at least, something in my brain was telling me I couldn’t.

  “Then what’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” I said, which was the truth. There was absolutely nothing churning in my mind. Nothing I felt inspired to create.

  “Why don’t you meditate or something? Go surfing. Try to find some way to channel your inner muse?”

  “Muse?” I barked out a laugh. “You know I don’t believe in muses.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Just…” I could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re running out of time. So, either do whatever you need to do to make it happen, or we’re going to have to pull out of the exhibit. Is that what you want?”

  “No.”

  What more was there to say? I didn’t want to pull out of the exhibit and admit complete and total failure. But if I didn’t start painting soon, that was exactly what would happen.

  My chest tightened, and it felt as if the walls of my studio were caving in on me. I felt trapped. Suffocated. Crushed by the weight of expectations.

  “Look—” His voice softened. “Maybe you should consider it. Maybe this is just too much to expect so soon after your accident.”

  I gnashed my teeth. “It’s been five months. But who’s counting.”

  “I know,” he sighed. “It’s been a long road, but you’re nearly at the end of it. Don’t give up now.”

  “I’m not.” I tightened my grip on the phone, even as I was losing touch with reality. “I just feel so uninspired.”

  Uninspired and out of control. I’d never felt more out of touch with my art, with myself. Which was why I’d finally agreed to take an adjunct teaching position with the Los Angeles College of Art and Design.

  Theo had thought it would be a good way to stay connected to art and earn some money. But it only served as a painful reminder of what I couldn’t do. What I’d been able to do up until the accident.

  I rubbed a hand over my face, wondering if I’d ever regain full range of motion in my wrist. The doctor said it was possible but highly unlikely. Which meant…I would never paint the same again.

  I hadn’t really admitted the truth of that to myself until recently. Until I’d actually tried picking up a brush or a pencil to draw again. My style was different, and precision work… I shook my head. Well, I could forget about it.

  Finally, Theo said, “Why don’t you call Martine? She always seems to inspire you.”

  I paced the concrete, enjoying the sensation of the cool, hard material beneath my bare feet. Martine had modeled for me many times in the past. And, yes, sometimes the modeling led to sex. When clothes were removed, lines blurred; it wasn’t uncommon. But I was always very clear about what women were getting into with me. I didn’t do relationships. I didn’t have the energy or desire
to fully devote myself to anything but art. Or at least, I hadn’t before. Now, I didn’t even have the energy for art.

  “Or Akira,” he suggested. She was beautiful, but I just wasn’t feeling it.

  “I’m not in the mood for Martine or Akira,” I sighed.

  “Then open up your little black book and call someone else.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t have a little black book. That’s so nineties.”

  “I don’t know what more to do,” he said, ignoring my comment. “Do you—” He hesitated, his voice quiet. “Do you want to talk to someone—a therapist?”

  I used my free hand to massage my temple. We’d already discussed this. “No. I’ll get it together. I’ll figure it out.”

  “Okay. Just remember, you don’t have to do this alone.”

  I chuckled darkly. “Are you going to paint for me?”

  My twin was talented at many things, but painting wasn’t one of them. It was actually one of the few things he wasn’t good at. Which was part of the reason I loved it, clung to it.

  He was silent for a moment. “You know what I mean, Xander.” I could hear the disappointment in his tone. “And, no. I’m not going to paint for you. I’m the left brain, you’re the right, remember?”

  Theo was organized, rational, caring. I was… I wasn’t sure what I was. At least, not without my art. I’d always defined myself in terms of it, feeling like it distinguished me from Theo. Set me apart, when he had everything else.

  “Yeah. Yeah.”

  I heard him talking to someone in the background before he returned his attention to me. “I have to go. Keep me updated.”

  I nodded before remembering he couldn’t see me.

  “Oh and, Xander?” he asked before I could disconnect the call.

  “Yeah?”

  “Try taking a shower, shaving, getting dressed. It will do wonders for your outlook.”