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I can hear his quick intake of breath. Like he wasn’t expecting me to do that, and he pulls away. ‘We shouldn’t. We shouldn’t have kissed the other day either. We can’t.’
‘Says who? Pretty sure I can kiss whomever I please.’
‘It’s work. My work, your work. I wouldn’t want anything to happen...’ He doesn’t finish his sentence.
‘Happen? Jack, what would happen? We’re two consenting adults. They can’t do anything. I can—’
‘Yes, yes, kiss whomever you please.’
Not the sentence I was going to say. ‘Jack.’ I sigh, a long and exasperated breath. ‘I canfuckwhomever I please, too,’ I say ever so softly.
If he was conflicted before, I have no idea what to call this. He growls, like he’s fighting his inner demons and I’m determined that Satan is going to win here today. I don’t need him to confirm in words what I already know—because I can see his body responding, the giant bulge protruding from his trousers. He looks like a man who hasn’t eaten in weeks.
Let him have it his way. Poor, repressed Jack, who seems convinced that we need to follow some unspoken rule on workplace etiquette. ‘Jack, I can take care of myself.’ I grab his hand. ‘Listen, it’s fine. We don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. So... Shall I just take all my clothes off now while you stare, I mean,paintme?’ This is too easy.
But something in him has changed. He’s still repressed as fuck, but he’s grabbing the paints and setting up the easel. He moves a large wicker chair near to the wood-burning stove and places a warm, fluffy blanket on it. He points at me. ‘You, there.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I say, my voice dripping with honeyed acquiescence.
I down the rest of my glass of wine and set it on the gorgeous, dark, wooden worktop. I start undressing, throwing my clothes in a heap in the centre of the kitchen. His eyes widen dangerously, and he turns discreetly so he can’t see me undressing anymore. How adorable.
I walk gingerly across the cool floor tiles and position myself in the chair. Not just any position. I recline with the insolence of a model who’s had to deal with far too much bullshit her whole life. Show him what real art is. I prop one leg up on the arm of the wicker chair, spreading myself. And then I lean my head to one side. I am not going to make this easy on you, Professor. You think this is uncivil? I’ll give you uncivil, improper, and inappropriate all tied up in a nice little package with a bow on top.
He turns around and curses. ‘Jesus fuck, Leyna!’
I shoot him a foxy smile and he draws in a long, shaky breath.
You brought this on yourself. ‘Get painting, Picasso!’ I shout.
He hurls an exasperated look my way and I’m quiet after that. I watch him paint and work through his own emotions at the same time. Maybe he really is thinking about painting, maybe not. I give him about thirty or forty minutes from a quick glance at the clock hanging on the wall. I allow him to be lulled into a false sense of security.
‘Do you think I could have another glass of wine,’ I ask.
‘Yes, of course.’
He goes to set everything down, but I get up. ‘I can get it.’ I stretch when I stand, a completely exaggerated move designed to catch his eyes again. I see him watching out of the corner of his eye and my lips almost twitch. I walk over and pour myself another glass. ‘Can I pour you another?’ I offer. He nods, barely looking up from the canvas. ‘Can I have a look?’ I ask.
‘Err...’
I walk over to peek around and I’m genuinely shocked at just how quickly he is able to work in such a short period of time. ‘That’s beautiful. You always make me so beautiful.’ I’m telling the truth now. No games, just honest admiration for an artist at work.
‘You are beautiful, Leyna.’
His words cut me—so why aren’t your hands all over me?‘Can I ask you something?’ I’m standing close to him once again as we both look at the canvas portrait. ‘Why do you care so much?’
He looks angry and frustrated again. ‘Don’t you get it Leyna? I don’t give a shit about what anyone else thinks about me. It’s you. I’m worried because it would put you in the firing line of their taunts and their snide remarks. I don’t want that for you. It wouldn’t be fair.’
‘What if...’ I trail off.
‘What if,’ he urges me to continue.
‘What if, just for one night, we shared something. And it wouldn’t mean anything. And no one at work would ever know. They couldn’t accuse either one of us of anything, because it wouldn’t be true. It will have been just one night. Just a bit of fun, nothing more.’
He eyes me suspiciously.
‘Tell me, what were you thinking about as I sat over there, open to you? Completely open. You know that, right? There isn’t anything you could ask me that I wouldn’t do for you right now.’
‘You’re teasing me again, Leyna. You know it drives me up the fucking wall.’
