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Nathan returns the gesture. “Thanks.”
Jax motions to some things he wants the class to note about the pose, the classic S-curve of my spine and the lighting. “There’s no need to pretend the collection of you would rather be drawing our regular male model, so I suggest we treat Miss. Hill as the serious artist she is—especially since not one of you have the nerve to sit where she sits now.” No one responds to that. How could they?
Chapter 9
Time passes slowly. Class goes on and on and on. Jax leaves the room with directions for Nathan to come by his office later. Thank God this pose doesn’t hurt although my foot is getting pins and needles. I wiggle my toes to make it go away.
Carter’s dark eyes flick up and meet mine over and over again, but he says nothing. Emily and everyone else look up from their desks, capturing each line carefully. Their eyes are all over my body. I knew this would be revealing, but I didn’t think about being stared at for so long. I zone out, thinking about the first time—strike that—the second time I met Nathan in the bar. My mind is at the point in the hotel room where his mouth is devouring me, when I hear a male voice laugh.
A few guys are whispering in the back row. Nathan kicks their chairs, one leg each, so they jerk forward. The pastels they’re holding jerk up and streak across their work. “Respect is required at all times, DeMarques. This is the only warning you’ll get. If I hear another word out of your mouth, you’ll be dropped from the class.”
All eyes are on DeMarques. His jaw is slack. He looks to his friend, who quickly looks away without offering any support, then back to Nathan. “I was kidding. Can’t you recognize a joke?”
“No. While we’re working, there’s no joking about shit like that. If I have to argue that point with you, you do not belong in this department. Are we clear?”
The silence is deafening. No one moves. They wait for DeMarques to respond, but he doesn’t. Finally, he grates his teeth and huffs. “You’re right. Sorry.”
Nathan stands up and walks around the room, talking. “The human figure is the most challenging subject for an artist to capture. Every aspect of our model’s pose is alluring, yet there is a haunted look in her eyes. Capture it. Capture her softness, the way she hides her sensuality. Capture the flow of her hair as if it’s a living thing. All these components are pieces of her, working together to reveal a glimpse of her soul. As an artist, it’s your job to combine all of this into a piece that reflects yourself. It’s a marriage, a merging of two souls into one canvas. This particular opportunity is rare for our class; I suggest you take advantage of it.” Nathan paces the floor without looking at me. His shoulders are squared, protective. It’s as if he can’t stand the thought of another man ogling me, even though the class is filled with men. Emily and I are the only women present tonight.
When I glance her way, Emily drops her gaze to her canvas, carefully avoiding mine. I wonder about her protest, if this was a mistake. No. I’m tired of second guessing myself. Wondering gets a person nowhere in life and I’m not going to remain broken to bits, mourning an ex-boyfriend who didn’t love me. I don’t know what to think about my mother. I’ll have to see her again, but after talking to Daddy, I want to put that off as long as possible. Fury burns within me. Why can’t I stop thinking about them? The smile on my Mom’s face haunts me. It was there every time Matt came over, especially the day I left. I was afraid they’d cry and I’d cry and it’d be a horrible day, but those two chipper people sent me off with a smile. They probably had sex in my bed right after I left. My fingers tangle in the drape, strangling it.
Blue Boy has his head dipped, concentrating on his work, when he says in that I-could-care-less voice of his, “Can she stop pulling the sheet? It’s moving.”
Nathan has avoided looking at me. Blue’s request makes Nathan turn. Those crystal blue eyes glance up from beneath dark lashes and our eyes lock. For a second, time stops. Something about him, about the intensity of that gaze, pins me in place, breathless. I can’t look away even though this isn’t the pose the class is drawing. My chin is turned toward Nathan, mouth open, lips parted so that I’m barely aware of the flow of air over them. My gaze is locked with his and it’s everything I can manage to look away. It’s not soon enough, though. The movement of Emily’s black head of hair breaks the spell over us.
She looks at Nathan and then back at me, her dark brows drawing tighter. Everyone else has their eyes on their work, drawing. When they look up, it’s no more than a glance, but Emily’s gaze isn’t like that. She’s watching us, and I think she knows he’s the one who left me in the hotel room. It’s impossible, but still, in that moment I swear she knows.
Resuming my pose, I drop the sheet, and turn my gaze back to the arm that’s resting on my thigh. I turn my mind to wondering what the finished paintings will look like.
Nathan finds his voice, “Thanks, Scott. Remember it’s difficult to hold a pose for the full three-hour class. The body wants to move. Any thought can make the resting lines of her face rise or fall. A breeze can make her shiver and tense. Part of capturing a live model is dealing with these changes and treating the model like a human being. With that said, we will address the model directly and kindly, if we notice she has moved.”
Carter clears his throat and speaks up, though his eyes remain on his drawing. “How will she be able to resume this pose next week? Won’t it change, at least a little bit? I mean they come and clean and our easels get moved. That alone is enough to change things. How are we supposed to do this week after week with any consistency?”
Nathan replies, “Good question. You all will be responsible for finding your location and moving your easel if required. I’ll take care of the pose and make sure it remains the same for the duration of this project.” Carter makes a noise in the back of his throat. He’s watching me, his hand still on his paper. His dark eyes have something to say, but he remains silent.
Nathan notices. He walks over to Carter’s desk and looks down at his work and then over at me. An eyebrow lifts like he’s impressed. “This is interesting. Tell me what you’re doing.”
Carter’s lips part but he doesn’t speak. He just watches me with an expression I can’t read. He mumbles, “Nothing, just trying something new.”
“Tell me.” Nathan is so demanding. It’s weird. Most of the TAs I met while on tour of the campus were wallflowers, but he’s not. He’s the farthest thing from it.
Carter doesn’t have to tell him crap, but he does. Clearing his throat, he points at parts of his work. “I’m drawing what I see, what I know. There are dark patches that have become a shadow across her soul. I’m drawing that—just the shadows.” Carter’s gaze drops to his work and he won’t look up. He doesn’t wait for Nathan’s reply, he just begins working again as if it didn’t matter.
Nathan glances my way, his blue gaze darkens. He knows Carter likes me. He senses it. That’s not the painting of an artist who doesn’t know the model. Nathan’s hand is on his chin, rubbing it slowly, watching over Carter’s shoulder. “Interesting.” The words fall on the floor like the clattering of pots and pans.
Emily looks over her shoulder at Carter, her gaze narrowed like he’s an idiot. That’s when Nathan approaches her desk. “Emily.”
“Nathan.” She sounds defiant, like she’s not changed her mind about what she said earlier.
He stares at her work for a few moments and sighs. “Come with me.” Emily isn’t happy, but she gets up. “Take your things. Class is almost over.”
“Fine.” She ducks down and packs up her work, finally tossing a blank canvas into her slot on the side of the room.
She wouldn’t draw me. What does that mean?
“Finish what you’re working on and pack up. Carter, please stay behind until I return to strike the set so the next class can use the space. I need to mark where all the furniture is positioned on the floor before Kerry moves. So, please, hang back a few moments. Kerry, I’ll grab your check while I’m at it. Be right back.” Nathan hurries out the door and down the hall until I can’t hear his footfalls.
That’s when things take a turn.
