Naked Canvas (An Alpha Billionaire Romance)

by Grey, Sadie

  It was my perfect little secret. And quite the secret it was. The more I stared at the image of me, the more I thought that Dominic had uncovered a part of me that I never knew existed. A part that hadn’t existed until I had moved to the city.

  There was something in my expression, something in my posture. I couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but I could see hints of it, like a dark figure emerging from the mist.

  I needed more. I was sure that if I allowed him to draw me again, I could solve the puzzle of myself. The mists would part and I could figure out who I really was and who I was supposed to be.

  I also felt the urge to pose again. To experience that shivering mix of fear and excitement, and that feeling of being exposed both physically and emotionally. I wanted to reveal myself to him again. He liked what he saw, and I liked what he saw when he looked at me. I also wanted to see him again.

  Screw it.

  I flipped the drawing over and jabbed his phone number into my cell. He answered on the third ring.

  “Hello.”

  At the sound of his deep voice, my courage fled, leaving me unsure and stammering.

  “Uh, hi, is this Dominic?”

  “It is. Who is this?”

  “Um, Angela.”

  “Angela, what a lovely surprise.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Have you reconsidered my offer?”

  “Umm, yes. I mean, maybe.”

  “Hmm. I want to hear more yes and less maybe.”

  “Well, the thing is. I could use the work, but I’m not really comfortable in front of so many people. It’s a little overwhelming.”

  “Oh,” he said, sounding relieved. “Well, that’s not a problem. I actually wanted to hire you for private sessions. Just you and me at my studio.”

  “You have your own studio?”

  “Well, it’s nothing impressive. Just a space downtown. But it’s mine. And private.”

  Private sessions, I thought. Just the two of us. I liked the sound of that. My love life was as bleak as my money problems, and even the possibility of spending time alone with Dominic was enticing.

  “I can pay you a hundred dollars for a two-hour session. Is that alright?”

  My brain reeled at the number. I could never make that much at any of the jobs I had seen in the paper or online.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Fine, two hundred a session. Say you’ll do it.”

  My head bobbed back and forth with indecision. It was an insane amount of money. It sounded too good to be true, which meant it probably was. Weren’t artists supposed to be poor? Then again, he had his own studio. Maybe he was more successful than I’d thought.

  I wanted to say yes. I mean, that was why I had called him. But a part of me was holding back. My lips opened to speak the word, but no sound came out. With an almost physical effort, I forced the air from my lungs.

  “Yes,” I said finally, feeling like I had just jumped off a cliff.

  “Fantastic! I promise you won’t regret this. When are you available?”

  “The rest of the week is pretty free, I guess.”

  “What are you doing right now?”

  The question shocked me.

  “Right now? Well, nothing, really, but it’s the middle of the night.”

  “The middle of the night is when interesting things happen.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “No. If we wait, you might change your mind. Come over now.”

  The tone of his voice sent a shiver marching down my spine. He didn’t sound angry. It was more like commanding. I knew I couldn’t say no.

  I took a deep breath. “Okay.”

  “Excellent. I’ll text you the address. Be there in an hour.”

  Chapter 3

  Less than an hour later, I stood in front of a wide five-story building in the heart of downtown. It looked like an old factory. The kind that had been closed for years until some real estate developer converted the space into condos.

  I assumed there would be some level of nudity involved in posing for Dominic so I had chosen clothing that I could slip off with ease. I wore a loose peasant blouse with a low cut neckline and a long flowing skirt that fit my hips just right. I figured even if I wouldn’t stay dressed for long, I could still look good until then.

  An imposing set of metal doors loomed over me as I located the intercom and punched in the number for his studio. The responding buzz trilled loudly in the darkness and I almost jumped out of my skin. The doors unlocked with a click and I pulled one open, trying to still my jagged nerves.

  I found the elevator in the entranceway just beyond the doors. I rode up to the fifth floor and emerged in a narrow hallway with pleasantly dim lighting. Two doors stood on either side of the hall. They were made of dark polished wood and looked positively medieval. The one on the right was Dominic’s studio.

  I knocked loudly. The pounding of my heart seemed louder than the sound of my knuckles on the door.

  It opened and Dominic’s face emerged into the hall.

  “You came,” he said, smiling. He wore paint spattered blue jeans and a blue plaid button shirt with the sleeves rolled up around his thick forearms.

  “You sound surprised.”

  He smiled. “Not surprised. Pleased. Come in.”

  He pulled the door open all the way and stood to the side, gesturing me in with his hand. I stepped in to the enormous studio and he locked the door behind us.

  The place looked like one massive room and must have taken up half the top floor of the building. Most of the cavernous space was blanketed in shadow. Exposed steel beams stretched from the floor to the ceiling at various intervals around the room. Strings of Christmas lights spiraled up the beams, looking like fireflies floating in twilight.

  The walls were raw, red brick where I could see them, but they were mostly hidden behind canvases and piles of art supplies I couldn’t identify in the gloom. The floor consisted of slats of wood so dark they were almost black.

  The scent of paint and incense lingered in the air. It smelled vibrant and alive. This was a place where creation happened. A place of discovery and passion.

  “This is a hell of a studio,” I said.

  “Thanks. I like it.”

  “How can you afford something so big? It must cost a fortune.”

  He smiled a little half-smile. “I manage.”

  He flipped a switch on the wall and lit up a space off to the right that looked like a kitchenette. A bottle of wine sat on the counter top next to two glasses.

  “Would you like some wine?” he asked.

  I waved my hand dismissively in front of me. “No, I better not.”

  “Come on. I can tell that you’re all wound up. It’ll help you relax.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m kind of a lightweight when it comes to drinking.”

  “It’s really good wine. Give it a try.” He held up the bottle invitingly.

  “Okay, sure,” I said. “But just the one glass.”

  “Absolutely.”

  He poured two glasses of wine and handed one to me. The liquid was a deep burgundy in the soft light.

  I took a sip. It was heavy and rich. An instant warmth spread through me. I reminded myself to only have one glass so I could keep my wits about me. I really wasn’t much of a drinker. At twenty years old, I couldn’t even buy liquor. A couple of glasses of wine was more than enough to knock me on my ass.

  We stood there in comfortable silence while I looked around the studio. The rest of the space was broken up into smaller segments by strategically placed tables and screens.

  One corner had a dark sheet hung up in it surrounded by standing lights. A camera on a tripod pointed at the sheet. I gestured at it.

  “So you’re a photographer, too?” I asked.

  He nodded and smiled. “Yes, I like to dabble in lots of different aspects of art. Drawing, painting, photography. Even a little pottery when I feel like getting my hands
dirty.”

  “Wow, a real renaissance man, huh?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not exactly Da Vinci or anything. I like to think I’ve made a lot of beautiful things in this studio, but I’ve made a lot of crap, too.”

  He laughed and I found myself smiling.

  “I’m sure you’re just being modest. Your sketch was amazing.”

  “I appreciate that, but trust me. I have boxes and boxes of embarrassing attempts. I should burn them, but every once in a while, I like to look at them to remind me of how far I’ve come. It’s all part of the process. Every not so good piece was a step towards my kind of good pieces. And those kind of good pieces will hopefully get me to some great pieces. Someday.”

  His eyes stared somberly into the darkness, not looking at anything in particular. It was almost like he was looking off into the future, trying to see the artist he one day hoped to become. At that moment, I caught a glimpse of the tortured artist inside him.

  I took a big sip of wine and groped around for something to say to wake him from his brooding contemplation. I noticed another screened in corner of the studio. Behind the screen appeared to be a bed covered in rumpled sheets with clothes strewn about it. A thought occurred to me.

  “Do you live here?” I asked, gesturing towards the bed.

  He blinked a couple of times, as if awakening from a trance. His eyes looked at the unkempt bed, and he smiled. It was good to see him smile. It lit up the whole studio and the mood lightened considerably.

  “Technically, no. But I spend most of my time here. When I’m working, time sort of slips away from me so I just end up sleeping here most nights.”

  In the very center of the loft, a ring of lights of various heights and sizes stood around an empty space. A lone easel sat on the edge of that space, facing in. I had a feeling that was where I was going to be posing.

  “So, should we get started?” I asked.

  He looked at me and shook his head. “All business, huh? There’s no rush. Tell me about yourself.”

  I shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. I grew up in a small, boring town. Left as soon as I could and came here to go to school.”

  “What are you studying?”

  “Business,” I said.

  He rolled his eyes.

  “What?” I asked defensively. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “It just seems so boring and safe. It doesn’t seem like something you’d be passionate about.”

  “Well, we all can’t be starving artists,” I said, the heat rising in my voice. For some reason, his eyes twinkled with amusement when I said it. “Some of us want to earn a decent living. Some of us want security in our lives.”

  “Security is important, yes, but I think choosing a career just because it’s safe is a bad idea. You should do something that interests you. Something you’re passionate about. Sure, it might be risky, but sometimes in life you have to take some risks.”

  “I take risks. I took a risk posing the other day. I took a big risk coming here.”

  “Yes, and I’m glad you did,” he said. “Look, I wasn’t trying to offend you. You just don’t strike me as the business type.”

  “Oh yeah? What type do I look like?”

  He looked me up and down. I felt small under that gaze.

  “Sexy teacher. Maybe sexy lawyer. Possibly a sexy doctor.”

  “Do all my jobs have to be sexy?”

  “No, the jobs are all normal. You bring the sexy part with you.” He winked at me.

  Before I could say anything, he continued.

  “You said you’d never modeled before?”

  “Yeah. This is all new to me.”

  “So what made you do it?”

  “I wish I could tell you it was for the love of art or to try out new things, but the truth is I lost my job and I need work. I need a lot of work if I want to afford school next year.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Actually, no, I’m not sorry.”

  “Oh?” I asked, bristling again.

  “If you still had that job, you’d have never walked into that studio the other day, and I would have never had the chance to draw you.”

  “Oh, stop,” I said, but I couldn’t hold back a grin. “I bet you say that to all the naked girls.”

  He smiled. “Not all of them. But sometimes, yes, there’s a connection. An unspoken dialogue between model and artist. Call it a muse, call it inspiration, call it whatever. But when it happens, I can’t ignore it. I go after it like I go after everything I want.”

  “And you think we have that connection?” I asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

  He rubbed the stubble on his chin with his hand. “Quite possibly. I’d very much like to find out.”

  He stared at me intently, studying my face. No man had ever looked at me like that before. He wasn’t just looking at me. His eyes consumed me.

  I shivered and felt my nipples harden against the fabric of my blouse. Those eyes made me feel things deep in my core that I had never felt before. If his gaze could make me feel that way, I wondered what his hands could do.

  I lifted the wine glass to my lips and discovered it was empty. Hmm, how did that happen?

  He flipped a switch and a soft white light flowed over me. He grabbed a camera off the counter beside him and snapped a picture of me. The light from the flash strobed in my eyes.

  I flinched and held up a hand over my face. “Hey, at least warn me before you do that.”

  “I wanted to catch a shot of you acting naturally.”

  “Well, still. I don’t really want you taking my picture. I thought you were going to sketch me.”

  “That’s still the plan. But this counts as posing, too. We’ll start with a few photos to capture the moment. Then, I’ll sketch you.”

  “So then we’re starting?”

  “We’re starting, but try not to go all stiff on me. Have fun with it.”

  I placed my empty glass on the counter and turned towards him. I tipped my head forward and a loose lock of hair fell across my cheek. The camera flashed again. I turned sideways and looked at him over my shoulder. Flash. I tilted my head back and laughed. Flash.

  He hung the camera around his neck by a leather strap and hurried to refill my glass of wine. “Here,” he said, handing it to me.

  I raised my palm and waved the glass away. “I better not.”

  “I just want to get a photo of you taking a sip. Here, stand like this.” He put his hands on my shoulders and gently turned my body so that the lamp bathed my face in cool light. He tilted my chin up with a finger, letting it trace over my jawline for just a moment before letting go. His touch left a trail of fire on my skin, awakening all of the nerve endings in my body.

  He gazed down into my eyes and smiled. “Perfection.”

  I raised the glass to my lips and took a big, theatrical sip. He took more pictures.

  “Excellent,” he said. “Let’s try something different, if you’re okay with it. How about you take off your blouse?”

  I shook my head and grinned. “No, sir. How about you take off your blouse?”

  He laughed.

  “I’m serious,” I said, laughing with him. “It’s my turn to take your picture.”

  He seemed to consider it for a second, the smile still lingering on his face. “Alright, why not?”

  He took the camera strap from around his neck and stepped over in front of me. He stood at least a head taller than me and he looked down into my eyes. His face leaned in close to mine. I smelled that citrusy smell again.

  “Here,” he said, and slipped the camera strap over my head. I held my hair up with one hand. He adjusted the strap around my neck. His fingertips grazed my skin, sending jolts of sensation through my entire body.

  He stepped away from me and I was finally able to breathe. My muscles were tense and my mouth was dry.

  “Whenever you’re ready, madame photographer,” he said.

  “I’m ready,” I
said, almost whispering.

  He smiled and began unbuttoning his shirt. That smile was infectious, and I grinned at him despite my nervousness. I lifted the camera to my eye and took a picture.

  He peeled the shirt off to reveal a black sleeveless undershirt beneath. It stretched taut over his firm chest. The sinews in his broad shoulders rippled as he balled the shirt up and threw it over my head. I snapped another few pictures.