Strangely Normal - By Tess Oliver Page 0,64
unnoticed.”
“I guess that’s what we needed in the back of the limo.”
“You’re not going to forgive me for that, are you?”
“Nope. I don’t forgive easily when a perfectly good make-out opportunity is squandered.” He walked over and started arranging his pencils on the tray.
The day I’d raced out of the pool house, insulted and hurt, I’d never actually looked at the drawing he’d started. Now I looked over his shoulder at the canvas..
My light brown eyes looked back at me. “Oh my god, that’s me,” my words floated out on an awed whisper. “It’s like looking in a mirror.” My neck and shoulders had been sketched in lightly, but even in the faint strokes of pencil, I could see the outline of my body. “Are my boobs really that big?”
“Yes, my tastily curved angel, they are.” He got up from the stool. “I’ll get the shirt, and you can change.”
I followed him to the hallway lined with clothing racks. “Are you sure I shouldn’t put on one of these nice, lacy dresses?” I ran my finger tips across the line of clothes.
“I’m sure.” I was just closing the door behind me when he issued another command. “And, Valley, this time, lose the jeans too.”
I froze and then turned and stuck my head back out. “What?”
The expression he shot me left no room for debate. “I’m the artist, remember?”
It was still more fabric than the bathing suit, and yet, I felt extremely exposed as I stepped out into the hallway. I yanked down on the men’s undershirt to cover my panties, but that only served to expose my breasts.
Jude glanced up from the wet bar, and for a second, it looked as if the breath had been knocked from him. He threw back a shot and then held up the glass. “A little fortification.” He slammed the glass down on the counter and seemed to avoid looking directly at me as he brushed past and took my hand. He led me to the stool and patted the top of it.
His calloused fingers pushed gently on my shoulders until he got me into the same position as before. He pushed my chin up so my face was lifted properly. Like a true artist, he stayed focused on my positioning. I was his object, his model, and nothing else, but it seemed to take all his strength to concentrate. It seemed one wrong move and the heated tension that was coming off of him in waves would splinter in every direction.
His rough fingers took hold of my bare knees, and now it was my turn to stay focused. Holding my upper torso and head steady as his hands drifted over my bare thighs, spreading them slightly apart, was nearly impossible. I sucked in a breath. It could not be helped. His hands slid down to my ankles, and he placed my feet in the same position on the rungs of the stool. His long lashes guarded his eyes, and he did not look at my face once. His fingers tugged on the hem of the shirt, and still without looking up at me, he took my hand and placed it on the fabric to hold down.
Then he leaned forward and whispered in to my ear. “Breathe, Eden.”
I nearly slipped out of position as I released the breath I’d been holding. Through the back of his t-shirt, the muscles in his shoulders and back looked solid and tight as he walked over to the music controls. He turned it on but lowered the volume. Then he walked back to his stool and sat down. He hadn’t lifted his face to look at me yet. As he stared down at his tray of pencils, he seemed to be steadying himself to look up, and when he finally did, I heard the same release of breath as I’d had moments before. He picked up the pencil and a serious, hard as steel gaze crossed his face as he dragged the lead across the canvas.
Cool air brushed the bare skin of my thighs and shoulders, but every time Jude looked at me, searing heat unfurled inside of me as if his gaze stroked me physically. I could feel him looking at me, memorizing every curve of my body before transferring it through his fingers onto canvas.
Several times he stopped from loss of concentration. He would put down his pencil and scrub his face with his hands as if trying to snap himself out of whatever had taken