Page 49 of She’s Worth the Risk

My heart stumbles as his gaze bores into mine. I flashback to life-drawing class, when I removed my bra for the first time. When I watched Nick intensely, daring him to look at me. To see me. It was after he told me how much he loved this painting, after I’d first seen it. I was trying to be her. He wouldn’t let himself look at me, but he’d looked at her. She was his favorite.

And I wanted him to look at me like that.

“Who holds the power here?” Nick asks the class, gaze still locked on mine. “The one looking, or the one being looked at?”

My pulse surges. I remember the class that followed that one, too, where I wouldn’t even look at Nick because of how hurt I was after he shut me down on campus. I felt him watch me more than ever, as if he couldn’t stand me looking away, so much so that he knelt beside me and brushed my hair from my eyes, despite himself.

I held the power. I’ve held it all along.

And he knows it.

Nick finally drags his eyes from mine, exhaling heavily as he rakes a hand through his tousled waves. My gaze follows the motion, desire burning hot in my belly. God, I want him. I don’t care that he’s my professor, that I’m leaving soon. I’ve never wanted anyone as badly as I want Nick.

He forces his gaze to the class. “Your final assignment will be a comparative visual analysis. Choose one Venetian piece here, and compare it to a Florentine piece we studied earlier, addressing differences in line, color, and composition. This will account for 60% of your final grade.”

The students whisper among themselves, slowly dispersing to examine the paintings in more detail, but I’m rooted to the spot. When Nick notices, his brow knits, and he turns to study Venus. I step closer.

“She’s beautiful,” I murmur, low enough for only him to hear. “I can see why she’s your favorite.”

He sighs, saying nothing. I should probably move away, choose a painting for the assignment, but I can’t get my feet to work. Not when I already know I’m going to write about her.

Not when I need to be close to Nick.

“What do you love about her?” I ask.

His jaw tenses. For a second I think he won’t respond, but then he says, barely above a whisper, “Her boldness.”

I nod. She is bold, with that reclining pose, that challenging gaze. Then there’s her hand, resting at the apex of her thighs. Maybe I shouldn’t mention it, but her boldness inspires me, and I glance back at Nick.

“What about her hand? At first it looks like she’s covering herself for modesty, but the closer you get, the more it seems like she wants you to look there.”

A muscle flickers in Nick’s jaw. Maybe I’m pushing too much, but I can’t stop myself.

“I like it,” I say, tilting my head as I study her. “She’s confident, owning her body and her sensuality, but she also controls how much we see. She could choose to reveal herself completely, but she doesn’t. That feels powerful.”

Nick presses his eyes closed, as if he’s in pain. Gone is the composed professor, critically evaluating the painting through an art historian’s eyes. Instead, he’s a man on the edge, barely holding on. And as a group of students wander past discussing Venus, guilt trickles through me.

I shouldn’t do this to him. Not here. Not now.

Sucking in a steadying breath, I step away. Nick’s eyes meet mine, somehow both relieved and regretful, and I smile faintly as I leave the Venetian room. I know it’s not fair to push him, but it’s getting harder and harder to hold back. Not when all I can think about is what his mouth would taste like. What his hands would feel like on my skin. How fucking good it would be to finally see him let go.

I wander around the European Paintings section, thinking about Nick, forcing myself to keep my distance. It’s over an hour later when I finally step back into the Venetian room, and with Nick long gone, I sit in front of Venus and really take her in. I imagine him beside me on the bench, the way he’d describe her, his fingers brushing mine as we talk for hours. What would it be like to be with him, really be with him? Not just for a night or two, but longer? The thought hits me out of nowhere, taking me by surprise.

I don’t do longer. It’s not who I am.

But with Nick… it’s hard to imagine spending a night with him and walking away. Honestly, it’s hard to imagine walking away when class ends in a couple weeks.

Shaking the thought off, I rise from the bench, wandering absently through another wing. I don’t know what time it is as I make my way into a stairwell at one end of the museum, all I know is the growing ache in my chest. The longing I feel for Nick.

My feet fall softly on the marble steps, echoing as I descend the quiet stairwell. And when I round the corner to see a figure sitting on a step, I freeze.

Nick.

He glances up at my footsteps, brows lifting in surprise when he sees me. He straightens, wiping his hands on his pants, as I continue down the steps.

“You’re still here?”

“Yes.” I stop a few steps above, gazing down at him. “Looking at Venus. I like seeing her through your eyes. I like the way you look at things.” I pause, and in the hush of the stairwell, I can’t hold it in anymore. “The way you look at me.”