“You mean when I paint?” I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah. I’d like to.”
She traces her fingers over the paper in a way that shouldn’t be as sexy as it is.
“What’s stopping you?”
I shrug. “Finding the right subject.” She’s giving me an opening to ask for a favor I’ve had on my mind for some time now. “Will you pose for me?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
Her eyebrows rise. “Me?”
“You don’t need to be nude, just posing, emoting, et cetera.” My throat tightens as I imagine putting her in different positions.
“Sure, whatever you need,” she says, leaning forward and dragging a new stack of frames closer to us. She passes me one, and I cock my head to the side as I admire the bright use of color.
“Jason has asked to take photos of me.” She nods to the sketchbook in my lap. “Kind of like those.”
It’s like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head.
Fuck Jason.
All I can think of is her naked and sprawled out, looking like living art, and him cheapening her by taking a picture with his phone so he can rub one out later.
“Of course he did,” I bite.
She furrows her brow. “What?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“No.” She rotates toward me and puts her hands on her hips. “Say it.”
“Fine. Imagine he takes your photograph. Do you think he’ll point his phone at your body and snap something he can show off to his buddies? Or will he actually capture you? Will he even understand what he has in front of him?” I jab my finger into the sketchbook, open to the stunning piece of her. “Likethis.”
Her throat bobs when she swallows.
“That’s the difference between him and me,” I snarl, sounding bitter—because fuck it, I am. I withdraw my finger from the page. “Iunderstand the distinction.”
She purses her lips. “He may not be as artistic as you, Logan, but not
everything has to be buried under layers of creative critique. Sometimes, it’s for fun, or maybe he just likes the way I look from behind.”
There it is.My jaw clicks as I clench harder.
She claps the cover shut on the sketchbook and sets it aside. “You’re being a dick.”
“You’re selling yourself short.” I inhale and scrub a palm down my face.
“Why?” Kelly scoffs and reaches for another painting. “Because I enjoy sex?”
My lip curls. “No, but maybe I don’t want to think about you having sex.”Lie. I have spent countless hours speculating that exact question, specificallyhowshe likes to be fucked—usually with my dick in my hand.
“Oh.” She winces and looks away from me, appearing almostinsulted—which piques my interest. “Sorry.”
I pick up a few small framed prints and sift through them. “For?”
She shrugs. “I didn’t know that bothered you.”
“It doesn’tbotherme.” I set the prints aside and look at her. “I just don’t like thinking about you with other men.”
We stare at each other; it’s the most I’ve ever revealed about my feelings—and I know she senses it this time because her face pinkens with a blush, making my heart hammer against my chest.
