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I keep staring at the blast of reds, and as I do, I can see the destruction of what appear to have been buildings. I sense anger.
I keep walking. Blues, whites and turquoises draw me in. Puzzled, I stop and stare. Was this supposed to be the sky, the ocean or something so abstract I cannot work it out? Despite my inability to see a definite design, it has a serene feeling.
I recall having read somewhere that blue is a calming color. I smile. So there was a calm and balanced side to Blake after all.
Further along the back wall are some nudes. I’m relieved to find I don’t recognize any of his models. As I stare at them, a sense of insecurity creeps through me.
These girls are gorgeous. There is not a flaw on them. Big boobs, slim waist, flat stomach, nice ass, and slender legs on each and every one of them.
Some seem a little vacant in the facial expression, but as far as their bodies went, they were perfect.
Aware of my own nakedness under the large t-shirt, I glance downward. Suddenly I get the distinct impression Blake had only told me he wanted to paint me so he could get me to have sex with him. Must have been a slow day for him.
I notice another feature these girls have and I don’t. I don’t have long blonde curls to drape over my shoulder, half my face, or half way down my back.
A half-finished sketch catches my attention. I hold my breath as I instantly recognize the face, the shoulders and the rest of the body.
In the sketch I’m lying on my side. I’m asleep. Just by looking at it, I feel how peaceful I am.
My hair, which I had only moments before wished to be long, looks just right. It accentuates my cheekbones. My lips are slightly drawn up, as if I’m smiling.
The longer I stare at myself, the more I sense the eroticism oozing from me. I’m lying on my side, hiding some of my nakedness, and that somehow just makes it more erotic.
Suddenly, my throat feels dry, and I’m a little dizzy.
He must have painted this while I slept.
Hands wrap around my waist. Warm, moist lips caress my neck, instantly setting off emotional shock waves all through my body.
“Like it?”
No sound escapes my lips. His touch threatens to drag me into the thralls of ecstasy once more. I nod.
“What do you think…?” His hands are drawing little circles on my back. I can’t think properly.
“About what?” I croak. I barely recognize my own voice. It sounds frog-like.
“About the painting, Kat. Do you like it?”
I open my mouth to speak, but I quickly realize that I don’t know what to say.
Chapter 19
Blake
Standing in the doorway of the studio I see Katherine across the room staring at the painting, and she’s not smiling. I can’t quite read her expression, and I think surely, she’d have some sort of reaction by now. Silly me, I was actually expecting euphoria, or at least pleasant surprise.
Anything but this seemingly blank look.
“So…?” I nearly spit out the word as I amble over to where she’s standing, “What do you think?”
Katherine is silent. She’s doing a slow pace in front of the canvas. Her arms folded in front of her chest in an almost protective stance. She’s wearing a pout, and it’s a far cry from the sexy one she gave when she was posing. I don't know what to think.
"So…?” I repeat, this time with an edge to my voice, “Come on Katherine, even doctors don’t take this long to give an opinion.”
She doesn’t look away from the canvas and her voice is a monotone when she finally utters, “I’m thinking.”
There’s more silence, and after a few minutes she finally speaks.
