I sat on the couch, crossing and uncrossing my legs as I struggled to find a comfortable position.
He busied himself behind the easel until, with one more deep breath, I said, “Ready.”
Xander’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “Did you forget something?”
I glanced around, trying to figure out what he was talking about, when he pointed at my—his—shirt.Oh, right.My cheeks and ears were impossibly hot.
I stood and put my back to him as I unbuttoned the shirt. I knew it was silly—knew he’d seen it all before and was about to see it all again, but I needed to maintain some sense of control over the situation. I heard his sharp intake of breath as the shirt fell from my shoulders, felt a stirring in my core as goose bumps covered every inch of my skin.
I turned, glancing at him from beneath my lashes. His eyes were hooded, dark, but then he disappeared behind the easel, and I wondered if I’d imagined it. Reading more into the situation because I was, well, naked. And he was hot.
While he stayed hidden, I took a seat on the couch, crossing my legs and drawing them to my chest. It was sort of cheating, since I was attempting to cover myself up. But Xander didn’t complain. In fact, he didn’t say, or do, anything. The room was silent apart from the music playing in the background and the occasional passing car. I wondered if he was still debating what to draw, but after a few more minutes passed, a knot formed in my stomach.
What is he doing?
I craned my neck, trying to catch a glimpse of him. “Is everything okay?”
He dropped a piece of charcoal to the floor and bent to pick it up, flashing me a sliver of toned skin at his back. “Yes.”
I wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure? I can change positions or move somewhere else or…”
“I said it’s fine. Don’t rush me.”
I jerked my head back at his abrupt tone. “I’m not trying to rush you. I was making sure you’re okay, and that I wasn’t doing something wrong.”
He dropped his head forward, his heavy sigh filling the space. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”
“Okay. It’s just…you weren’t drawing.”
He gripped the charcoal hard enough that it snapped. My body tensed, and my eyes darted to where my clothes were folded in a neat pile. I wasn’t afraid of him, but I certainly felt very vulnerable—naked and alone in a stranger’s studio, with a man much older than me—a professor.What the hell had I been thinking? What did I even know about him?
“You know what…” I stood, wrapping his button-down shirt around me. “This was a bad idea. I’m going to go.”
“No.” That one word, spoken with such anger, such frustration, sent my pulse racing. He raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said in a calmer tone. “What I meant to say was—please don’t go.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”
He didn’t deserve it, but for some reason, I felt compelled to know more about him. To help him. Maybe it was because of what Brie had told me about the accident. Maybe it was just him.
“Because I need your help.”
“Yet I only seem to provoke you to frustration,” I huffed.
I stood my ground, unwilling to be bullied by him or anyone else. I’d seen my mother get steamrolled by my father too many times, and I’d vowed I’d never let anyone talk down to me regardless of their position, their money, their…whatever.
Yet you let Mom and Dad do it all the time,a little voice in the back of my head whispered.
“It’s not you that provokes my frustration.” He stared back at me, and it was then I noticed the dark shadows beneath his eyes. He seemed tormented. By what, I didn’t know.
“Then what is it?” I softened, wanting to understand.
“I-I—” he stuttered. “You’re right. This was a bad idea. I’m sorry for wasting your time.” He turned his back to me, effectively dismissing me as he busied himself with some brushes.
I shook my head, feeling whiplash. Xander had practically begged me to pose for him, and now, after only a few minutes, he was dismissing me. It felt like a personal rejection, and I scrambled to gather my things, not even bothering to get dressed. I was done with his games, done with his temperamental attitude.
“This has nothing to do with you,” he said as I grabbed my tote and slung it over my shoulder. His words gave me pause. “You’re stunning. Perfect, actually.”
“Okay…” I said, dragging out the word, not quite sure how to react to that compliment.Perfect.Hah. I wanted to laugh, but I was too busy trying to keep up with his mood swings.
