Seductive Shadows (19 page)

I crept over to his easel, stalling behind it for several seconds. Flutters began to tickle my chest, the tease of the anticipation becoming palpable. I took a step closer, then another, focusing on the ground as I walked.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said.

My eyes shot up and met his.

“Look at yourself.”

The air from my lungs got stuck in my throat as I followed his gaze. In the scene he had created, I was completely naked, my body literally cut off at the knees. I had been painted from a side angle, with my hand pressed against my hip and my chin resting on my shoulder. My exposed breast was firm, with just the right amount of bulge. The muscles in my stomach were tight, my ass high and rounded. Filling the space behind me were bursts of crimson, cadmium lemon, Prussian blue, and manganese violet; the blended clouds scattered in the sky generated warmth that practically emanated from the canvas. Finer details—the hardening of my nipple, the transition point where my stomach met my upper thigh—were slightly obscured…abstracted, even. And though I felt my true innocence had been lost, my green eyes, my sensuous lips, my entire expression portrayed tranquility, satisfaction, and wholeness.

I had never dropped the sheet lower than my stomach. He had asked me to cover my nipples with my hands, but he had painted the one that showed so perfectly. They tingled as I felt his stare upon me, and my breath got caught again. He had an edge of darkness that I hadn’t quite figured out.  He was the only man who had gotten me naked and hadn’t touched me or even tried to seduce me. During each of our sessions, he had proven that he genuinely cared about me. What did all of that really mean?

“It’s my turn,” he whispered.

When his eyes met mine again, they didn’t just graze; they dug in and pulled everything out of me, my thoughts and feelings. What if he wasn’t satisfied with what he found underneath—not the woman who could make him come alive with desire and orgasmic suffering, but the broken girl Dallas and the Doctor were trying to heal? The Charlie that he had portrayed on canvas was truly beautiful. But if he knew all of me, the deep dark malaise of my secret self, would he find
that
Charlie equally stunning?

I didn’t say anything; I just followed him to my easel. When he reached it, he jumped back as though he’d hit an imaginary wall. His lids squinted; his arms unfolded and dropped to his sides. “This is…”

In the dream that had inspired this painting, Cameron had been walking toward me, his lips parted, words ready to fall out. I woke before he got the chance to speak them, so I based his expression on the one he always wore when he was around me. The look of discovery I’d painted was as confusing to me as the signals he sent.

“It still needs some work, but I’ll finish it at home,” I said. “The leaves aren’t done, neither is your shirt, and the bark can be more detailed. I’ll probably add a bench—”

“Charlie, this is incredible.” My mouth fell open, but not because I had something to say.  “You captured it. All of it.”

“It is? I did?”

His face had been the most difficult element to paint; I tried to ensure the shading remained true to the red lighting, that his characteristics were genuine, that the natural setting of the background didn’t distract the eye but blended into the greater image of the portrait instead. I hadn’t expected him to approve of the tones I had used, or my darker style. And I definitely hadn’t expected
incredible
.

His fingers gripped the top of the easel and his face leaned closer to the piece. “My expression here…it matches yours.”

Our expressions weren’t the same. Not even close. His was more like he’d stumbled upon something elegant and touching, soul-changing. It reminded me of the first time Emma had taken me to the beach, the way I had cherished the ocean and stared at it for hours.

Emma…

She always found a way to creep up on me and enter my thoughts. Cameron had begun to have the same effect. The emotions weren’t as deep as they’d been with Emma, though. They were different…and definitely alive. Was it because he’d strengthened my ability and helped draw my inspiration to the surface? Or was it because of my growing affection for him…something beyond the admiration I held for his talent?

There was the stinging truth that came with it all: I had nothing to offer him. And so much of me was still empty…and I had to lie about my job.

About being a prostitute.

That word sent a shock through each of my muscles; its echo pulsated. I wasn’t even a possibility—not for him, for anyone, really. Not unless he wore a mask and paid in cash. But that wasn’t Cameron; he was real, he was scarred, and he deserved someone much less tarnished than me.

“Do you know why I look this way?” he asked.

I shook my head.

He took a step closer. He was in my space, the area around my body that someone entered only if they were going to kiss me. Cameron kept his hands to himself. But because of my height, the air he exhaled hit my forehead. It tickled…and the feeling began to spread. As the seconds passed, the puffs of breath seemed to come faster. They caused a stronger reaction within me. A wetness started to form; a dull, familiar ache followed that would soon begin to throb.

“To have been a part of your journey, your story, and your life these past few weeks…it makes me want more, Charlie. More of
you
.”

My heartbeat sped up; my hands clenched, released, and clenched again. My palms were covered in sweat. He was giving me an answer. Was it the one I truly desired, though? Did I feel the same about him, or was I confusing my feelings with how much I wanted his success, his talent, his quiet confidence? I knew what had pulled me to Dallas…but aside from his undeniable sexiness, what was attracting me to Cameron?

I felt my phone vibrate from my pocket, and I broke our connection to look at the text. Tonight’s pick up was about eight train stops from my apartment. I needed to go home first so I could drop off the painting. I didn’t have that much time.

“You have to go?” he asked.

“I have…to meet someone. For work. It has nothing to do with you. Please don’t think that’s why I’m leaving.” The lie made me ramble. It wasn’t like me at all. “I would so much rather stay here.” It was the only truth I could manage.

He rested his hand on my shoulders. My thoughts became even blurrier.

“You said you needed help getting ready for your exhibit. Is that still true?”

I nodded.

“I’m free tomorrow after class, if you want me to come over.”

“Come over? You mean, to
my
place?”

He nodded. “You said you didn’t have a studio, so I assumed that’s where your paintings are.”

“Yes, that’s where they are. It’s just…I don’t have a couch yet. I’m going to get one. I just moved.” My face turned hot. I was rambling again.

“Why would we need a couch?”

“To sit.”

“If I feel like sitting, I’ll use your bed.”

That was the problem right there: his studio was safe. It was where we created art, where I could busy my brain and my hands with paint and canvas and imagery. Nothing about my place was safe, least of all my bed…I knew the thoughts it would produce and the urges it would trigger. I couldn’t let my fantasies about him transfer to my sheets. Not yet, anyway.

Cameron was always so in control with his words and movements; there was never any anxiousness or fluff in his tone. I envied his calmness. And I was going to attempt to assume it, to replicate it in myself. But I didn’t have much time to practice.

I reached for my canvas just as he did, too. His hand landed on top of mine. “It’s still wet,” he said. “I’ll wrap it once it dries and I’ll bring it to class tomorrow.”

Instead of pulling my hand away nervously, I left it where it was, and I smiled.

With Cameron holding the door, I exited the art building and waited for him on the sidewalk. Several students passed through behind me. The women who bothered glancing in his direction to thank him for propping the door open all had similar reactions: eyes widened and lips smiled, some faces flushed. Either they recognized him, or they were simply turned on by his looks. And if they were art majors, I suspected both were true. I wondered if my expression was anything like theirs; did I blush, or smile foolishly? Did I appear as doe-eyed? As experienced as I had become with sex, Cameron’s grin had a profound effect on me.

I hadn’t become immune to his talent or his beauty; I was childishly mesmerized by his sexiness, that strong-yet-soft intensity that he possessed. His words almost had a hidden meaning that awakened the darkness living within me, and his darkness was equally enchanting, the pain I knew was there but hadn’t yet been revealed. I was drawn to him and his scars. Every second that I didn’t touch him was a milestone; every thought spent on the abstract was a much needed breath of space. Now that our projects were completed and he wanted to help with my exhibit, I didn’t know what was to come; the restraint that I needed to focus on the project was no longer necessary. It was one thing to be in class, or alone in his studio, with our work to focus on. But what waited for us inside my apartment both frightened and aroused a strong desire in me. The mystery of it was almost as tantalizing as his presence.

Once he joined me, the air between us turned even thicker than the fudge-like syrup I had eaten off Jay’s body last night. It didn’t seem to repel us; instead, it made me believe that we were being drawn side-by-side. Cameron gripped his case, though its leather strap was firmly resting on his shoulder. I gripped mine, too. I needed to relieve some of the intensity, the power that pulsed through me as we began to walk toward the train station. I felt the cracks in the concrete and counted the tiny imperfections that were worn into the ground. Each step caused my legs to tighten, my muscles contracting and exploding as I moved. I wanted to concentrate on anything except being in a familiar place with Cameron.

The subway wasn’t far from the art building and Ruggles Station was only two stops from my apartment. Sweat had already formed between my breasts. At night, I showed so much endurance. I only hoped I could endure this primal need that became more pronounced every hour that we spent together. Cameron hadn’t even asked where I lived, or how we were going to get there. Sometimes, silence was my ally; it allowed me time to compose my thoughts.

“Do you mind if we take the train?” I asked.

“Not at all. It’s how I usually get around the city.”

I didn’t know if someone like him took public transportation. I was happy to know this…and maybe even a bit relieved.

“My place is sort of empty.”

“You just moved. It’s to be expected.”

He had remembered.

“I just wanted to warn you,” I said.

“No need. I’ve been planted a lot longer than you and I’m just finally getting my place the way I want it.”

It was a casual answer that seemed to come with no expectations. I didn’t think of myself as a casual thinker, but I also tried not to set too many expectations. The accident had taught me this. It also taught me that, in spite of my best efforts, I had no real control over the outcome of any situation.

“Are you taking another class this summer?” he asked.

I stared at his hand shifting back and forth as he walked. His nails were trimmed short, different colors of paint had stained his cuticles; dark brown hairs sprouted between his knuckles. The sunlight caught on his fingers, revealing little white lines. They were thin and jagged…some were longer than others. They seemed to be scattered all over his skin. I hadn’t noticed them before, but now I couldn’t peel my eyes off of them.

More scars…

“Yes,” I said. “3D Tools, Forms Basics. But it’s just a three week class, like ours.”

“Who do you have?” he asked.

I looked toward him casually and noticed his other hand bore similar scars. “A grad student,” I told him.

We stayed on the outer rim of the sidewalk, the part that lined the street, as we moved farther from school. I shifted my stare dead ahead so I wouldn’t trip. The center was packed with students and faculty. Everyone rushed in both directions; the backpacks protruding from every body made the spaces between that much tighter. I had to balance along the sidewalk ledge. As tricky as it was for us to maneuver our way through, he never drifted from my side.

“I wish I had you,” I said.

His lids narrowed as he glanced toward me with a hint of mirth.

“As a teacher, I mean. You’ve already taught me so much, I think the other students could benefit from your talents as well.”

“The department requires a Master’s degree to teach.”

“You don’t have one?”

He shook his head. “I have more than enough credits, just not the right level of classes. I keep repeating the basics.”

I noticed the limo from the corner of my eye, though it kept its distance by several feet. The windows too tinted to see anyone inside. It had first caught my attention as it idled by the sidewalk when we left the art building. It maintained a steady pace behind us the entire time we walked. I thought there was no way it could have been for me. The mansion would never scoop me up in a public place; anonymity was too important to them. But it continued its slow pursuit, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that it actually was for me after all.

As Cameron discussed how many credits he needed to complete his Master’s, I snuck short glances over my shoulder. The light had turned green and the traffic had cleared; it still drove so slowly, stayed so near. The headlights flashed, but I continued walking. Several seconds later, the back window rolled down.

“Charlie…I need to speak to you.” The man in the backseat poked his head out, and we made eye contact. When I didn’t respond, he beckoned me over with his hand.

I didn’t recognize him, but he sounded familiar…familiar enough that I stopped walking. Until then, Cameron hadn’t noticed that my attention had shifted from him to the limo. “I’ll be right back.”

I crossed the few feet of space to the vehicle and gripped the edge of the window, pushing my stomach up against the door. “Who are you?” I glanced back to see Cameron standing in the spot where I had left him, facing the limo with his eyes darting between the window and me.