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…forhim… 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.
“Maybe next time.” He kept his attention on the sheet, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle. “I figured I’d just let you get comfortable in the space, get comfortable with the idea of me drawing you.”
I didn’t acknowledge his comment, though I appreciated his consideration. I was just trying to make it through this session. I couldn’t even think about whether there would be a next time, even though he assumed there would be.
“Do you have a specific pose in mind?” I asked, partly in an effort to stall. But also, I’d rather figure this out—preferably while I was still clothed. Well, not so much clothed as covered.
“Nope. Model’s choice. Just pick something comfortable.” He took a large gulp of wine before topping off his glass.
