“Turn to your left about forty-five degrees,” I instruct. She does as I ask, but it’s still not quite right. “Turn the same direction, but half that distance.”
Again, she listens, but now she’s facing away from me. I step closer, reaching for her shoulders and twisting her upper half.
“Can you manage this? Twisting this way? I’d really like to get your profile, but like you’re looking out over your shoulder.”
She listens well, dipping her right shoulder toward me and looking away.
“Perfect. Yes, just like that.” I hurry to the canvas, pre-drawing as fast as I can. “Brynn, you’re stunning.”
“I’m sure you say that to all the women you paint.”
I pause, my pencil poised. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t say more, but I can tell it pleases her.
The longer she sits, the more her body relaxes. The white strap of her sundress slips from its place, falling to her upper arm and dangling there. She reaches to fix it, but I stop her.
“Wait,” I say, studying her bare shoulder. It’s soft and womanly, her skin creamy. “Would you mind if we kept it off?”
Her eyes meet mine. “The strap?”
I nod. She watches me, and in her eyes I see her making a decision. “Would it be better if I lost the top half of the dress? I’m not facing you. It’s just a suggestion, I’m not the artist here, but—”
“Yes,” I blurt out. “It would make the painting more sensual, with your bare back.”
“I like that idea,” she says, her eyelashes fluttering as she looks down.
“Me too.” My voice is low, and I need to get a grip. I’m a professional. I can see Brynn’s bare back and survive.
I turn to the canvas, busying myself with absolutely nothing. Really I’m pretending to run my pencil over the lines I’ve already drawn. Brynn is in my peripheral vision, struggling with the zipper.
“Do you want help with that?”
“Yes,” she says, her voice small.
Swallowing my desire, I grab the zipper that is only a quarter of the way down and tug. Down it goes, revealing her smooth, pretty skin inch by inch. I want to run my fingers over it, find out if it feels as silky as it looks. I keep my hands to myself though, and when I’m finished, I step away. I need to put distance between us.
“Thank you,” Brynn murmurs. She slides the straps down her arms, pushing at the front of the dress until it bunches at her waist. “There,” she says, swiveling back into position. She moves too far forward, and the underside of her breast is visible between the inside of her upper arm and ribcage.
“Uh, Brynn, not that I have a problem with it, but a bit of your breast is visible,” I motion to the spot, and she quickly brings her arm into her side. The underside of her breast disappears, but now there’s whole new problem.
My eyes meet the ceiling and I squeeze them.I will never be able to unsee that. Brynn’s breasts are big and round, with exquisite rose pink nipples. I know this because trying to cover the underside of her breast makes the top of it visible in front of her arm. Her profile, with the incredible looking mound and pert, pebbled nipple will haunt me until the end of time.
“What’s wrong now?” There’s hurt in her voice. “Maybe you can position me? I’m sure I’m doing it wrong.”
I know better than to do what I want to do to her. Treading lightly is mandatory around Brynn. I don’t trust myself to speak right now, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings either.
I take a big, quiet breath and attempt to calm myself down. The front of my pants has grown incredibly tight in the last minute, and I hope she doesn’t notice.
Slipping on a mask of cool professionalism, I walk to her and stand behind her. I keep my eyes trained straight ahead, desperately trying not to see anything that will crumble my resolve.
With the palm of one hand, I press lightly on her shoulder, lowering it a fraction. Grasping her chin with two fingers, I move her jaw a couple inches closer to me and then push it down slightly. “Grip the side of the stool with one hand and let your elbow bend along your side body.”
She does as I ask, and I step back to the canvas. My insides celebrate, throwing confetti everywhere. I managed not to be swept under.
“Why won’t you look at me?” Brynn’s voice is thick. My eyes fly to her face, and in them, I see unshed tears.
I run my hands through my hair, grabbing fistfuls in my frustration.
