Confess To Be Mine

by Suzie Nelson

  I checked her fingers. There was no ring. In fact, she wore no jewelry at all, not even earrings.

  It’s a sin that she’s not dripping in diamonds right now. That’s the first thing I’m going to do, drape her in a long chain of diamonds.

  “I’ve never modeled for anyone before,” she said.

  “Good. Then, you’ll have even more fun.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “I don’t think I’m the model type. I’m more the girl-that-eats-a-bowl-of-ice-cream-in-jogging-pants-on-the-couch type.”

  I shouldn’t have, but I had to ask, “Just jogging pants?”

  She widened her eyes. “What?”

  “You don’t wear anything else, while you’re eating ice cream on the couch? Just jogging pants?”

  She laughed. “You’re very naughty. No, I have a big sexy cotton shirt with holes that I wear too.”

  “Cute. And do you bring the sexy up a notch with some old, fuzzy slippers?”

  “Funny. You must watch me through my living room window.”

  “Not yet.”

  Laughing, she returned her attention to the notepad. “So, I’m going to say no to modeling. I’m so sorry, but—”

  “It’s just laying down in a pose. We can pick a comfortable position for you.” I tried something else. “Listen. It would be one thing, if I just needed any woman to pose for me. But this is different. Within seconds of looking at you, I had the urge to paint and I haven’t had that in a year.”

  She quirked her eyebrows. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmmm.” For whatever reason, that got her attention. “So, you were stuck? You had a painter’s form of writer’s block?”

  “Exactly.”

  She shifted her weight to her other foot.

  She’s close to saying yes.

  “You can’t over think this,” I said. “Sometimes, you just have to go for it. You have to lose your head.”

  “Lose my head?”

  “Have you ever heard the saying that, to get through a locked door, sometimes you must lose your head?”

  “No,” she grinned. “I’ve never heard that.”

  I raised my hands and formed a large, invisible door between us. “So, you’re standing in front of this locked door, and your destiny is on the other side.” I knock on the imaginary structure. “Everything that you want is right there, but how do you get it? The door is locked. You don’t have the key, but the keyhole is big enough to fit your body through it.”

  She chuckled. “Because this is a fantasy door?”

  “Yes.”

  She considered my theory. “If this is a fantasy, then I could just do a spell to make the door explode.”

  “No, there’s nothing around to make potions.” I returned to forming the invisible door between us, when she interrupted again.

  “Then, I could summon a demon—”

  “No. This is my door and my world and there’s no magic.”

  “Beside the magic door?” she murmured.

  Not used to being interrupted, I might’ve grumbled out a yes.

  “Sorry,” she tried to straighten her expression, but she couldn’t hide the fact that she found me amusing. “I won’t interrupt again. Please, go ahead with your metaphor.”

  “Okay,” I sighed. “On the other side of this door is your destiny, but the door is locked. So, you decide to stick your foot through the hole, and then your leg, and the other. You can slide your hips through and your shoulders, but for some reason, your head stops you.”

  “My brother always jokes that I have a big head. Maybe, that’s why.”

  I studied that beautiful face. “No. Tell your brother that I said to never pick at you or I’m coming for him. That’s a perfect sized head.”

  “Thank you, but I doubt he’ll stop. That’s the downside to brothers.”

  “Then, I’ll be coming for him.”

  “He’s a police officer so you better make sure you’re on your game, when you come.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’m always on my game.” I couldn’t help it. I licked my lips. I blamed it on those magnificent eyes. They lured me in and wouldn’t let me go. And then of course, it was her wit that kept me on my toes. Part of me wanted to flirt with her. The other part was ready to beg her all day to model.

  Focus!

  “What was I saying?” I asked.

  She gestured to my imaginary structure. “I think you were going to say that, if I want to get through the door and reach my destiny, I should cut off my head and slip through the keyhole. Hence, the statement, lose my head. Basically, live and let go. Don’t over think. Stay in the present moment. And all of the other sayings that mean that.” She tucked a few stray strands behind her ear. “However, in regards to the metaphor, I assume that I would mail my head to me eventually. Maybe leave a note to the finder with a fee. I don’t think one should go through their life without their head. Sometimes, it’s good to think things through.”

  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.r />
  “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 was 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 t
he 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.