She let out a breath. “That…” She swallowed. “That would definitely help.”
“Is there anything else?” I asked, wanting to get this nailed down.
“I want you to pose for me.”
I choked on air if that was possible. When I could finally breathe again, I said, “I’m sorry. I think I must have misheard you. Did you—” I glanced over my shoulder, walking farther down the hall as I cupped the speaker of the phone with my hand. “You want me to pose for you?”
“Yes.” Her voice wobbled.
I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or, well… I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. She’d completely blindsided me with her request. She wanted me to pose for her?
She groaned, and the sound went straight to my dick. “God. I knew this was a terrible idea.”
“What? No. I just… I’m surprised, that’s all,” I admitted.
“Well, then you know how I felt when you asked me to pose for you,” she said, which made no sense. She was gorgeous. Surely she knew that, right?
My heart was pounding. I wasn’t one to shy away from nudity, but I’d never posed before. This wasn’t supposed to be about me. It was supposed to be about her, but—
“Look,” she huffed. “Just forget I said anything. I have to go.”
“I’ll do it,” I blurted.
There was silence, and I almost wondered if she’d hung up until her quiet voice asked, “You will?”
“After we complete my pieces. Do we have a deal?”
She was silent again. I didn’t want to push, but my heart was damn near ready to beat out of my chest. I wasn’t sure whether I was more excited or nervous—I had a feeling she could be the key to getting me unstuck. But what if I was wrong? What if, despite feeling inspired, I still couldn’t bring myself to create anything?
“When do we start?” she asked, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“Is tonight too soon?” I asked, forcing myself to move forward before I could lose my nerve.
She laughed, though there was an edge to it. “No.”
“Great. I’ll text you my address. See you at eight.”
“Great. Eight. It’s a date. I mean, not a date.” I smiled to myself as she continued to ramble. I imagined the gorgeous flush that was likely spreading across her skin. “This is not a date. It’s an…arrangement.”
“See you at eight,” I said before disconnecting the call.
“Who was that?” Theo asked when I returned to the kitchen.
I grinned and stirred the vegetables on the stove, feeling lighter already. “Kate.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his hip against the counter. “Please tell me she’s your new model.”
“She is, and I’m seeing her tonight.”
“Thank god,” Theo huffed, grabbing the plates of food I’d dished out and carrying them outside.
I wished I shared his relief, but all I could picture was me standing at the easel, paintbrush in hand…completely frozen. I could only hope that wouldn’t happen in front of Kate.
I’d just finished setting up my supplies when the doorbell buzzed. I navigated to the security app on my phone, and the video feed confirmed it was Kate. She glanced around, wringing her hands, and I had a flashback to the day I’d subbed for Professor Tate’s class. I wondered now—like then—if she was going to bolt.
I opened my music app, selecting a relaxed playlist with a sensual beat. I wanted her to feel comfortable, and I knew that, to some people, concrete floors and an industrial loft didn’t necessarily scream comfort.
I straightened my shirt, running a hand through my hair before swinging open the heavy metal door. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She shifted, and I scanned her body, the leggings, the sweater that hung off one shoulder—a shoulder I wanted to sink my teeth into.
I squeezed my eyes shut briefly in an attempt to erase the image. What the hell was wrong with me?
“Come in.” I opened the door wider, gesturing for her to come inside.
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 lighte
r 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 Six
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.
Perspective (Love in LA Book 1) Page 5
