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She returns a few minutes later and I escort her down the stairs.
‘Same time next week?’ I ask.
‘Sure.’
She’s still standing in the doorway.
‘Wait—’ I nearly forget to hand her the payment for the session. I walk over to a nearby sideboard where I’ve already put the envelope and hand it to her. For a moment, we’re both holding the envelope, looking at one another and I think, I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking behind those dark eyes.
She takes the envelope and places it in her deep coat pocket. She turns to leave but then slowly turns back around to face me once more. She looks me up and down, pensive and contemplating, what, I don’t know, and then she says, ‘See you tomorrow, Jack.’
Chapter 21
Leyna
Is it normal to bemore nervous fully clothed and at work than when you’re completely naked in front of a room full of strangers? Something tells me it isn’t. It’s just one more indication of how far off of normal I am at the moment and I can feel myself sliding more and more into this new role I’ve carved out for myself, this new skin.
I keep reiterating that whatever I’m doing, it’s for my art gallery pie-in-the-sky dream.
But that’s not the only reason I’m stripping off my kit and sitting for Professor Jack Stanhope on a weekly basis. Maybe not even the primary one.
I love our amusingly twisted, perverse arrangement. It sets off little fires in my bloodstream that have ignited something deeper inside of me.
And I know he likes it too. I can see how his breathing changes, how his hand wobbles ever so slightly when he’s painting me. I imagine that happens when he’s painting my most intimate bits. He’s doing this for more than just a creative project too—he just hasn’t realised it yet.
I couldn’t help but toy with him on the way out of his house the other day. Normally he’s the one who toys with me. But now I’m waiting. I’m sitting at my desk, waiting for him to appear. What will he say? How will he act? How will I act? Am I really comfortable in this new skin? Or is it only when I’m bathed in candlelight in the Professor’s upstairs loft-cum-art studio?
‘Leyna?’ Lorna’s voice is testy, like she’s been saying my name over and over. I look over to where she sits. I don’t think Lorna’s ever liked me much, but she’s been even grumpier than normal and she’s becoming a nightmare to work with. I know she’s been here a lot longer than me, but she doesn’t have to be a bitch about it.
‘Earth to Leyna?’
‘Yes, Lorna?’
‘What’s with you today? I must have said your name half a dozen times.’
‘Sorry.’ God, I hate apologising, but I know it’s the easiest way to placate her. It’s not like I can tell her I was fantasising about a certain professor.
