by Suzie Nelson
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re funny and smart as hell.”
“I try.”
“You’re an artist,” I said.
“I am.”
“I wasn’t asking,” I grinned. “That was a statement. Only artists get that metaphor without arguing about the ridiculousness of it. Only writers revise the metaphor. What do you write?”
“You’re very perceptive.” She stirred at the question, but her eyes held confidence. “I do write and it’s very naughty things.”
“You write erotica?”
“Yes.”
At that statement, dirty visions twisted in my head. I studied her some more, imagining her playing a major role in some of those visions. My length stiffened in my pants and I had to calm myself down.
Business. Not pleasure. Chill out.
I pushed all sensual thoughts out of my head.
No. This is my muse.
Mixing pleasure with business was never a good idea. On one date, I could turn her off, or she me, and then we would be uncomfortable for the rest of the time we finished the project.
Once I’d had a fling with a model and found it to be the most self-sabotaging action of my career. I’d ended things with her, almost before they began. It was never fair to lead a woman on, if I was certain that I didn’t want a relationship. Dating led to sex and deeper emotions. Women always wanted more from me, but I hadn’t found the one that I craved. The one that made me as passionate as painting did.
But, there was something different about this woman. My heart didn’t warm, but my body was on fire. There was no doubt that I wanted her in my bed for several nights.
This could be a problem.
She let out a long breath. “How much is the job?”
“How much do you want?”
“That’s not an answer.”
I shrugged. “It is, when you have my bank account.”
“That’s pretty cocky.”
“I try not to be, but I’m desperate to paint you. This is my attempt at trying to swoon you.” I raised my eyebrows. “Should I go back to being humble?”
“I don’t remember the moment you were humble.”
“Hmmm. Then cocky it is.”
Her laughter drummed through my bones. Such a sexy sound of delight.
Could I keep my hands off her? Yes. I must.
She disrupted my thoughts. “What would the time commitment be?”
“At least three sessions, each lasting two hours.”
She tapped her finger against the notepad.
She’s close to saying yes.
I had to have her. I couldn’t half-step this. “I’ll pay you three thousand dollars for each session.”
She widened her eyes. “Three thousand?”
“I could go up.”
She held her hand out. “Oh no, I’m just shocked at the amount.”
She’s honest too. I would totally go up for her.
“Let’s make it four thousand,” I handed her my card. “This is the address to my studio. Do you think you could start tomorrow afternoon?”
She blinked. “Yes, I’m off, but…well…what do I need to bring? How…do I begin?”
“All you need to bring is yourself. I have a team that will do hair, make-up, wardrobe, and anything else.” I almost walked off, still holding the album and hungry as hell. After realizing that I had her, I was ready to run off to my studio and do some sketches. This feeling hadn’t surged in me in a long time.
“Wait,” I turned back to her. “What’s your name?”
She hadn’t moved and just watched me with that beautiful smile. “Melody.”
“Of course, it would be Melody. Your voice sounds like a song and your eyes make me want to dance.”
Another blush hit her face. “I’m loving your compliments.”
“I’m excited about our date.”
Shock hit her face. “Date?”
Get it together, man.
“I’m sorry. I meant session.”
“Okay,” she gestured to the menu. “Now that you’ve taught me how to climb through locked doors and hired me for a lot of money. Are you going to order something?”
I’m loving this smart, little mouth of hers.
“Yes. I probably should. I’m going to be preparing for our session the rest of the night. Tell the chef I want my special. He’ll know what it is.” While I would’ve loved to talk, and learn about her more, my fingers itched to draw her right in that moment. “Let’s make it carry out, please.”
“Okay.”
I extended my hand. “Thank you, Melody.”
She shook my hand, and chills went from my fingertips and through my spine.
Damn.
I licked my lips again.
Focus.
Chapter 2
Melody
I wish I had something better to wear to my first session with Hugo, but funds were low and fashion sense took a back seat to keeping the electricity on. I wore my best sun dress—a soft flowery material that flowed around my body in just the right ways. I always received compliments with this one and thought it would be the best.
During the day, I worked as a waitress.
At night, I typed away sensual scenes that aroused readers. I’d hoped to make a living off fulltime writing, but that dream hadn’t happened yet. Therefore, I started working at Spin to get extra cash. Royalties were unpredictable. Some months, money rained down from the heavens. Other times, my royalties resembled a no man’s land of desert and starvation.
The book industry was a crowded circus, full of thousands upon thousands of writers trying to outperform and climb to the top. I was determined to be a literary legend by staying true to my passion for words.
I dreamed about that moment constantly. I’d stand on a stage, accepting some literary award, and I’d say my speech as tears left my eyes and victory blazed on my face.
That day would come. Unfortunately, that day wasn’t coming soon enough. Which was why I’d eventually agreed to work for Hugo.
I hope this works out and thank God, I won’t be naked. My nipples would probably be hard the whole time.
I pushed other possibilities out of my head. Hugo’s face had danced in my mind all night. With that piercing gaze I could barely focus on waitressing at Spin. At night, I stumbled over scenes and ended up describing my hero with the same physical characteristics as Hugo.
This is about making money, not...making love.
I laughed at myself. Hugo had that rich man air about him. I bet he dated celebrities and women that spent hours planning their clothes and getting doted on in some high-end spa.
He just wants you to model. Nothing else.
Nervousness delivered butterflies through my body the whole day. By the time, I had to head over to Hugo’s house, I was a bundle of anxiety.
No big deal. Just stay in the pose and relax.
The amount of cash rose higher than any check I’d received all year. I didn’t want to mess this up, so I’d studied everything I could about modeling for artists.
There were two things I learned. First, I had to throw all my insecurities in the trash. If Hugo had a problem with my body or face, he wouldn’t have hired me. I had to be confidant in that and move on. Second, I should take the modeling seriously because I would be the very symbol of his creative process. I was helping him just as much as he was helping me.
When I arrived to the address he gave me, my heart stopped. The mansion must’ve been three floors, if such a thing existed. I had no knowledge of how the rich lived besides reality TV. My heart hammered in my chest. A lush green landscape surrounded the property—all manicured and glowing in the sun. Four sports cars sat in the driveway. Horses made noise in the stables on the right.
Okay. He’s much more successful than I thought.
It took everything in me to knock on his door. When I did, his butler showed me in. He wa
s a small man with graying hair and thick French accent.
Wow. A real butler. So cool.
We walked upstairs a winding staircase with intricate flower designs carved in the wood. First, he showed me into a bedroom where he politely asked me to take off my clothes and put on the fur coat in the closet.
“Which one?” I asked, when I opened the door. “There’s at least twenty in here.”
“Mr. Vale wants you to pick anyone that pleases you.”
“Okay.”
Ten minutes later, I wore a fur coat and nothing else. If I’d been scared at the front door, I was terrified half-naked and inside his mansion. There were no buttons, so I kept it closed in the front with my hands.
You’re a big girl. You can do this.
The butler opened the door. Jazz music flowed out to the hallway. It was this ballad of saxophones and trumpets, piano and the tender beat of drums.
“This is Mr. Vale’s studio,” the butler said. “Are you hungry? I can make you anything. Do you have any dietary limitations or allergies?”
“I’m actually not hungry and no, I don’t have allergies or any limits. I can eat anything.”
“Would you like a glass of wine?”
Hugo’s gorgeous face flashed in my mind. “No, thank you. I’ll have tea, if possible.”
“Hot or cold?”
“Cold.” Thinking of Hugo had already made me hot enough.
“Sure. I will bring your iced tea up shortly.” The butler did a half bow. “Mr. Vale is inside.”
Exhaling, I walked into the spacious room, following the path of jazz notes to the source. So big, his studio could’ve fit my whole one bedroom apartment. The space was bare, but the walls displayed many of his paintings. A few I recognized. Last night, I’d looked him up on the internet. Stacks of huge, blank canvases leaned against the wall.
“You’ve arrived.” Hugo stood in the center of the room, went to an old album player, and stopped the antique machine.
Satisfied, he turned back to me, and damn near took my breath away. His white shirt was open, exposing rock hard abs and tanned flesh. His jeans hung low on his waist, displaying more layer of muscle. Tiny drops of paint decorated the arms and bottom of his shirt. He wore no shoes and had the most gorgeous toes. Had our feet been side-by-side, he would’ve won a trophy of some kind.
He must have a hundred women begging him to have sex with them.
Hugo beckoned me to come closer. “For a few seconds this morning, I was scared you wouldn’t come.”
“No way. I’m up for the challenge.” I walked to him.
“You look amazing in the Giovanti.”
“Giovanti?” I asked.
“The fur you’re wearing.”
“Oh.”
“It suits you,” he nodded. “You should keep it.”
I almost choked on thin air. “I can?”
“I don’t know, if you noticed the large supply of coats in the dressing area, but designers love to give items that might be featured in my paintings. Why would I let an expensive coat like that gather dust in my closet, when it could drape your beautiful shoulders?”
I’d thought I had a way with words, but he commanded them. Every compliment set my skin on fire. I was sure I’d be burnt to ashes by the end of the session.
“Promise me,” he said. “That you’ll keep it.”
“I will.”
The whole time, Hugo followed me with his piercing green gaze like a hungry hunter tracked prey. Not dangerous, but sensually exciting. Not creepy, but hot as hell and making me horny. There should’ve been laws against how he stared at me. His attention made my body shiver in lust and my nipples stiffen in desire.
Stop it. Let’s pretend like we’ve been around a man before, Miss Lusty.
An easel stood in front of him. Various tubes of paint and different sized paint brushes sat on top of the table that was positioned on his right.
His deep voice danced along my body. “Today, I just want to create.”
“Okay.”
He gestured to a long black couch. “That’s where you’ll be posing. Choose any position that makes you comfortable. I’ll have you hold the pose for a five minutes and then we’ll switch to other positions. This is more of a warm up sketching session for today.”
“Should I wait for make up? I don’t usually wear any.”
“Good. I don’t want anything on your face. I just want you. This session is about getting used to drawing you, playing with the curve of your chin and the exotic shape of your eyes. Toying with different shades of paint to capture the porcelain look of your skin and then there’s…your curves, of course.”
“Of course,” I gave him a nervous smile. “My curves.”
“Usually, my models are very thin. You’re curvaceous and..” He licked his lips, sighed, and clapped his hand. “Never mind all of that. Let’s get started. Would you like anything to drink or eat?”
I was already surprised that I hadn’t vomited, as I walked naked around his place in nothing but an expensive fur. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
I lay on the couch, making sure the coat remained closed as much as possible. As I got into my first position, simply lying on my side, the bottom of the coat opened and exposed my legs and barely remained closed at the top of my thighs.
“Perfect,” he whispered.
I looked up at him. My heart stopped.
His gaze decorated my legs. “Are you nervous?’
“Very much.”
“I’m nervous too.”
“Is that typical for when you start a project.”
Sighing, he ran his fingers through his hair and picked up a piece of charcoal and a large sketch pad. “No, I’m never this nervous.”
Hugo began drawing me. After five minutes, he told me I could get into a new position. Last night, I’d practiced a few, after researching modeling and did my best to keep him drawing and inspired.
After twenty minutes, he continued to draw, but asked, “Are you less nervous?”
“A little.” I swallowed. “But, it doesn’t matter. I’ll be fine.”
“Feel free to talk.”
“Oh, you’re not sketching my lips?”
“No.” For a few seconds, he gripped the edge of his sketch pad with his hand, but didn’t look up. “I’ve already drawn those lips longer than I should have. At some point I had to get past the beauty of your face.”
“Yes,” I giggled. “I always have that problem with guys. Men are just falling over themselves, trying to draw my lips. It’s a gift and a curse.”
“You’re very funny too.”
“And you’re very poetic.”
“No, I just say exactly what I’m feeling. For example, If I could, wake up every day, and paint your face, I would. I’m that drunk off you.”
What do I say to that?
“No jokes this time?”
“No. Just silent nervousness.” I swallowed, suddenly the coat was too hot and I wanted take it off. “So. . .what are you sketching now?”
“I’m focused on the curve of your neck.”
As soon as he said it, shivers of pleasure slipped along that spot as if he was right in front of me, gripping a paint brush and caressing my flesh with the tip. My nipples stiffened under the fur. I became moist and needy in all the right places. I’d prepared for a lot of things with this session—doing the right poses to inspire an artist, staying positive and in the moment, getting enough sleep, and eating a healthy meal before the moment began.
What I hadn’t prepared on was my body reacting to him with such a hot intensity. And slowly, I started enjoying the session. Posing for him proved to be adventurous and utterly erotic.
“So, how naughty are your books, Melody?” He stopped drawing and looked at me. “Wait. Let me guess. Dark and dirty.” He nodded his head as if I’d confirmed it. “Yes. Very dark and dirty.”
“And why do say that?
”
“It’s in your eyes.”
