She shuffled forward, and I caught a whiff of her perfume—vanilla and orange? She smelled delicious, and she looked just as delectable. Her blond waves were wrapped in a loose knot on top of her head, a few tendrils hanging down by her face. Suddenly—despite my fears—I couldn’t wait to get started. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to share my excitement.
“So, um, about earlier,” she said, and I enjoyed the way her cheeks flushed with color. It was the perfect rosy blush, almost the same color as her lips and her… I swallowed. Hard. Nipples.
This woman. I didn’t think she had any idea how beautiful she was, which made her even more attractive. And her innocence was just as appealing.
She cleared her throat, her eyes pinging around the space, looking everywhere but at me. “I’m flattered, but I think this was a bad idea.” She hooked her thumb in the direction of the door. “I’m just… I think I’m just going to go.”
She turned and headed for the door, but I didn’t intend to let her go so easily. I crossed my arms over my chest, leaning my hip against the table in the entryway.
“So, you came all the way over here just to tell me it was a bad idea?” The corner of my mouth twitched, itching to smile.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“You could’ve just called.”
“I could’ve,” she agreed.
“Or—” I leaned forward, stepping closer. “Perhaps you came in person because you wanted me to talk you out of it.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know what I want,” she whispered.
I circled her, so tempted to touch her, but I wouldn’t. I respected her body and her boundaries. Besides, I needed her help—desperately. I hadn’t felt even remotely inspired in months, not until I saw her. And I didn’t want to fuck this up.
“I think you know exactly what you want,” I husked. My lips were a hairsbreadth from her ear, and I could hear the uptick in her breathing. “I think you’re just afraid to say it.”
“I…”
The pull I felt to this woman was…overwhelming. But this was about art. And I had ten pieces to paint in six weeks—a mammoth task. Despite the tension vibrating between us, I backed away.
“Come in. Make yourself comfortable,” I said, turning for the studio.
“Xander…” Her lips were pouty, her eyes wide and innocent. “I don’t think I can do this.”
My heart clenched. She had to do this. I needed her to do this.
“You did great the other day in class. Since you came all the way here, at least join me for some wine. We can talk about art or whatever you want. If you still don’t feel like posing, you can go. Okay?”
She nodded. “There’s just one problem.”
“What’s that?” I asked, walking forward so she’d be forced to follow.
“I’m not twenty-one.”
I halted and turned to face her. I hadn’t really considered her age. She was young, sure—but not even twenty-one? “You’re over eighteen, right?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. I’m twenty. Do you really think most parents would give consent for their minor daughter to pose nude for a life drawing class?” She laughed.
“Good point.” I grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses from the kitchen before butting her shoulder with mine. “Come on. I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“You’re trying to corrupt me,” she said, but I suspected it was in jest.
“Nah. Just trying to get you naked.”
She laughed, butting me back with her shoulder. I was surprised by how quickly she seemed to relax now that I’d told her there was no pressure to pose. It made me wonder what it would take to get her this relaxed while naked. A few ideas came to mind, but…yeah, those were probably off-limits. And again, this needed to stay professional.
“Hey!” I steadied the wine. “I almost spilled it. Do you know how difficult it is to keep these floors clean?”
She laughed again, the sound lighter somehow, and I felt something in my chest ease. “Yeah. I can see why you’re concerned, considering their immaculate state.”
There was paint splattered everywhere. That was one of the best things about my loft. I could paint anywhere, and if I made a mess, it only added to the character and charm of the building.
“I love this space, by the way.” She glanced around, taking a sip of her wine. “It’s beautiful. And perfect for an artist.”
I watched as she placed the glass to her lips, tipping her head back to sip her wine. Her long hair fell in a golden curtain, her face tilted upward. My fingers itched to sketch her, to pick up a pencil or paintbrush and attempt to capture her. But I wouldn’t push. Desperate as I was, I didn’t want to do this unless she was all in.
“What’s your preferred medium?” I asked, curious to know more about her.
“Charcoal. It’s messy, but I love the contrasts.”
I nodded. “Yes. It has such a different feel, doesn’t it?”
“And limiting yourself to such a strict color palette—” Her eyes were alight with happiness, excitement. Her passion for art was evident, and it sucked me in. “—can be a good challenge.”
“Perhaps that’s what I should do for this exhibit,” I mused, my blood singing with excitement.
“Go back to the basics,” she said, her eyes meeting mine.
“Exactly.” I nodded, walking over to an easel where a canvas was stretched out. I set it off to the side and grabbed a board for drawing. “It would be quicker.”
“And a good fit for your portfolio—a slight departure, but not entirely unexpected.”
I paused my movements, finally taking a moment to glance up at her. “You’re familiar with my work?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I saw an exhibit of yours a few years ago. I like your style. It’s so dynamic, so vibrant. So full of life.”
My chest warmed from the compliment, but then reality hit me as I replayed her words—a few years go. Before the accident. Before I’d stopped painting.
The blood in my veins turned to ice as I stood and turned away from her. What if I never painted at that level again? What if I’d never be as good as I was?
Chapter 6
Kate
* * *
With his back turned to me, I could see the tension he was holding in his shoulders. Crap. Did I say something wrong?
“I need to get to work,” he snapped, his words like a slap to the face. “So, are you in or what?”
What had happened to the congenial professor, the passionate artist? It was like a switch had been flipped, and Dr. Jekyll was gone, leaving surly and brooding Mr. Hyde in his place. His eyes were dark, dangerous. And tension and anger radiated from him.
I set my glass on the table. “I, um…”
I could understand why he might be stressed about his upcoming exhibit, but I sensed there was more to it than that. Still, that didn’t excuse his behavior. He was acting like a jerk, and I refused to be treated that way.
I straightened, lifting my chin. “If you want me to help you, you’re going to have to show me some respect. I’m not trying to waste your time. I’m just…” I faltered, some of my earlier bravado fading. “I’m nervous, okay?”
His expression softened. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. If anything, I’m nervous. And I’m sorry if I came across as gruff.”
I cocked my head. “Thank you. But why are you nervous?”
He was a famous artist, renowned for his work. And a professor at LA CAD. If anyone had reason to be nervous, it was me.
“I’m…” He glanced around as if searching the air for the right word. “I worry that I won’t do your figure justice.”
“Bah.” I huffed out a laugh. “First of all, with your talent, I’m sure you could make me look like a supermodel if you wanted.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but I continued talking.
“But more than that—art isn’t about drawing exactly what you see.”
“It’s
not?” His brows furrowed, but I was more focused on the fact that he’d stepped closer to me.
“No.” I shook my head. “Art is about conveying a sense of movement, making the viewer feel something. If everyone painted exactly what they saw, art would be boring.”
His shoulders relaxed, and the corner of his mouth tilted upward. “Maybe you should be the professor.”
“Nah. Academia is way too stuffy for me,” I teased, though it was partially true.
I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to do after graduation, but professor wasn’t high on the list. Art teacher or therapist, maybe. I honestly didn’t care what I did as long as I got to create every day.
He coughed, though I heard the laugh hidden there too. “Stuffy?” he asked with mock outrage. “Am I stuffy?”
“Stuffy isn’t quite the right fit. Maybe just uptight.” I bit back a grin.
“Uptight? Wow.” He ran his hand over his scruff, which was longer today. He looked even hotter if that were possible. “This coming from someone who’s too afraid to pose for me.”
“Can you honestly say that you’d have no problem posing for me right now?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Would it make you feel more comfortable if I were naked?”
More comfortable? I nearly choked on my wine. I got the distinct feeling I would feel less comfortable with him naked. In fact, I got the impression I’d be highly uncomfortable. Uncomfortable as in—I want you so badly I might explode. Though that didn’t stop me from wanting to draw him.
“Because I’ll do it. Right here. Right now.” He reached for the hem of his shirt, his eyes intent on mine.
Was he really calling my bluff? I could just imagine Brie’s eyes bugging out as she stood at my side, egging me on. And the thought gave me courage. This was what I’d wanted, right? To push my boundaries. To force myself out of my comfort zone. To finally get the courage to tell my parents the truth.
“No. It’s okay.” I stood, draining my glass of wine before setting it on the table. “I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure?” Xander lifted his hands as if to touch me before thinking better of it.
I forced myself to smile. “No, but I want to anyway.”
“I like your honesty.” He laughed, his rich voice sending vibrations to my core. “Why don’t you get changed?”
“I, um—” I glanced toward the floor, still shy despite the fact that he’d seen me naked before. The liquid courage was helping, but I was still nervous. “I didn’t bring a robe.”
“You can borrow one of my button-down shirts to wear during breaks. If that’s okay.”
I nodded, trying not to think too hard about what I was about to do. Posing in front of a class had seemed daunting enough, but for just one person…for him… The atmosphere here was different; the entire situation was different. And the way Xander looked at me both made me nervous and gave me courage.
“Let me grab a shirt for you. I’ll be right back.” He dashed up the stairs to a loft space, and I realized this must be his home as well as his studio.
During the day, I imagined the large windows let in a lot of natural light. At night, the space was moody, industrial, the light glinting off the concrete floors and whitewashed brick walls. Everything was a study in contrasts—the harshness of the dark metal railing on the stairs against the warmth of the wooden treads as you headed from studio to home.
“It must be nice to have such a short commute to work,” I said when he returned, shirt in hand.
“It is. Certainly much better than driving to campus and trying to find parking.”
I nodded. “Driving anywhere in LA is a nightmare.”
“Are you from here?” he asked.
I nodded, though I didn’t elaborate. Most people freaked out when they found out who I was related to. And I didn’t like to broadcast the fact that I was from Beverly Hills because people tended to judge you for having money. Or they tried to use you. It was a big reason I didn’t date—too many guys were more interested in my last name than me. But that was what happened when you were the offspring of a senator with his eyes on the White House and an heiress to one of the most popular luxury brands in the world.
Xander cleared his throat. “You can change in the bathroom just over there.” He gestured toward the stairs and a door I hadn’t noticed.
I shuffled over, closing the door behind me as the light flickered on. I placed my hands on the edge of the small sink and stared at my reflection as I began to strip out of my clothes. With each item I removed, I wondered if I was doing the right thing.
I stared at my breasts, my bikini line, my stomach, scrutinizing each of them in turn. I still didn’t understand why Xander wanted to draw me—I wasn’t entirely sure he did either. Yet here we were.
Still, the knot remained in the pit of my stomach. But when I slipped into Xander’s shirt, I caught a whiff of his leather scent, and a sense of calm washed over me. I’d posed for him the other day, and I’d felt empowered, beautiful. I tried to hold on to that feeling and ignore the shake of my hands as I buttoned up his shirt.
I took a deep breath before opening the door. Xander was smoothing a sheet over a couch where I’d be lying. With his back to me, I took the opportunity to study him. Those dark, luscious curls, the broad planes of his shoulders, his narrow waist. He’d commented on my perfect proportions, but if anyone was perfect, it was him.
He turned to face me and froze, blinking a few times before he cleared his throat. “Would you like some more wine?”
“No, thank you.” I knew I needed to keep a clear head. “Where do you want me?”
“Um.” He ran a hand through his curls, and—like the other day—I wondered if they were as soft as they looked. “Just over here. I think we’ll start with a seated pose.”
“You don’t want to have me stand first?” It was customary to start with the standing poses, progressing to easier ones as your model fatigued.
“Maybe next time.” He kept his attention on the sheet, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle. “I figured I’d just let you get comfortable in the space, get comfortable with the idea of me drawing you.”
I didn’t acknowledge his comment, though I appreciated his consideration. I was just trying to make it through this session. I couldn’t even think about whether there would be a next time, even though he assumed there would be.
“Do you have a specific pose in mind?” I asked, partly in an effort to stall. But also, I’d rather figure this out—preferably while I was still clothed. Well, not so much clothed as covered.
“Nope. Model’s choice. Just pick something comfortable.” He took a large gulp of wine before topping off his glass.
I sat on the couch, crossing and uncrossing my legs as I struggled to find a comfortable position.
He busied himself behind the easel until, with one more deep breath, I said, “Ready.”
Xander’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “Did you forget something?”
I glanced around, trying to figure out what he was talking about, when he pointed at my—his—shirt. Oh, right. My cheeks and ears were impossibly hot.
I stood and put my back to him as I unbuttoned the shirt. I knew it was silly—knew he’d seen it all before and was about to see it all again, but I needed to maintain some sense of control over the situation. I heard his sharp intake of breath as the shirt fell from my shoulders, felt a stirring in my core as goose bumps covered every inch of my skin.
I turned, glancing at him from beneath my lashes. His eyes were hooded, dark, but then he disappeared behind the easel, and I wondered if I’d imagined it. Reading more into the situation because I was, well, naked. And he was hot.
While he stayed hidden, I took a seat on the couch, crossing my legs and drawing them to my chest. It was sort of cheating, since I was attempting to cover myself up. But Xander didn’t complain. In fact, he didn’t say, or do, anything. The room was silent apart from the music playing in the background and the occasional passing
car. I wondered if he was still debating what to draw, but after a few more minutes passed, a knot formed in my stomach.
What is he doing?
I craned my neck, trying to catch a glimpse of him. “Is everything okay?”
He dropped a piece of charcoal to the floor and bent to pick it up, flashing me a sliver of toned skin at his back. “Yes.”
I wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure? I can change positions or move somewhere else or…”
“I said it’s fine. Don’t rush me.”
I jerked my head back at his abrupt tone. “I’m not trying to rush you. I was making sure you’re okay, and that I wasn’t doing something wrong.”
He dropped his head forward, his heavy sigh filling the space. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”
“Okay. It’s just…you weren’t drawing.”
He gripped the charcoal hard enough that it snapped. My body tensed, and my eyes darted to where my clothes were folded in a neat pile. I wasn’t afraid of him, but I certainly felt very vulnerable—naked and alone in a stranger’s studio, with a man much older than me—a professor. What the hell had I been thinking? What did I even know about him?
“You know what…” I stood, wrapping his button-down shirt around me. “This was a bad idea. I’m going to go.”
“No.” That one word, spoken with such anger, such frustration, sent my pulse racing. He raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said in a calmer tone. “What I meant to say was—please don’t go.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”
He didn’t deserve it, but for some reason, I felt compelled to know more about him. To help him. Maybe it was because of what Brie had told me about the accident. Maybe it was just him.
“Because I need your help.”
“Yet I only seem to provoke you to frustration,” I huffed.
I stood my ground, unwilling to be bullied by him or anyone else. I’d seen my mother get steamrolled by my father too many times, and I’d vowed I’d never let anyone talk down to me regardless of their position, their money, their…whatever.
Forbidden Desires Page 9
