Loving Grace by Eve Asbury Read Free Book Online Page A

his voice amplified in a way that spread
chills over her skin.
    “I’ll do it.”
    Grace lost her moment to protest. In
confusion, she found herself led to what she thought was a utility
sink with a sprayer. Mentally groaning at his nudge, her head bent.
He stood too close, touching her side, his groin at her hip. The
warm spray hit her scalp before his fingers were lathering the
shampoo.
    “This is really strange,” she had to say.
    “Mmm.” He sounded distracted.
    Grace made it through the rinse and having
the towel wrapped around her head. She looked into the mirror while
his front was lined against her back. He stood shoulders and head
taller behind her, eyeing her face too. He removed the towel. Grace
waited for that look of disappointment, but Noel seemed
preoccupied. He reached above her, took a comb out of a sanitized
wrap, and ran it through her hair. Her sweater was damp, itching
and beads of water ran into her cleavage.
    He combed her shoulder length hair, slicked
it back, and then dropped the comb into the sink. He rested his
hands on her shoulders a moment and their eyes met again.
    Grace wondered what her ordinary face was
doing here and when his thumbs hooked into the sweater collar and
pulled it wide, she let out a strangled cough. “I thought I was
modeling?”
    “You are.” He easily pulled the material down
her arms and the tulip cups and straps of the dark purple silk bra
showed. “Take this off.”
    She undid the buttons, glancing at them, then
back up to him, while he peeled it off. He’d stepped back from her.
She jumped when Noel touched the tattoo. Her mortification was
complete when he wet a cloth, and washed the thing off.
    “We’re ready.” He took her hand, leading her
back to the setting. His strong hand and long artistic fingers
flipped another switch, which cast the light first in yellow, then,
deeper amber. He switched colors until he was apparently satisfied
with soft saffron.
    “Where did you grow up?” He walked to
her.
    “Indiana for a while. Here mostly.” Grace let
him pass. He moved objects again. “You?”
    “All over the world. My father was a
diplomat, my mother an artist. Even after their divorce they were,
close.”
    “Unusual.”
    “Yes. Any siblings?”
    “A brother. Yourself?”
    “No.” He stood by the stump. “Can you balance
on this?”
    She cocked her brow.
    “Stand on it.”
    She climbed up on the stump, feeling pretty
stupid.
    “Bend over as if you were touching your toes.
Bend your knees slightly.”
    Grace bent double, bent her knees.
    “Let your fingertips touch the edge of the
stump and look at me.”
    She did, wondering if the blood was rushing
to her head.
    “Hold that.” He left and came back with
canvas, easel, and a palette and made some bold swipes. “Lift your
head more, as if you were sensing someone coming.”
    She did, her eyes on him. As stupid as she
felt, she loved hearing him speak.
    He painted silently for some time, and then
told her, “Come down, Jane.”
    She did, arching her back and muttering,
“That’s an odd pose to hold.”
    “Walk around. It works the kinks out.”
    She did, and came over when he signaled.
Grace sat on the stump, trying not to stare at his stomach while he
stood so close to her. She could smell his warm scent. She glanced
up to see what he was doing.
    “This is body paint. It will wash off.” He
dipped a brush in the metallic gold and began to paint her
face.
    “It tickles.”
    “Yes. Don’t scrunch.” He dipped another color
and kept painting.
    Grace found it was better to stare at his
focused face, to watch his expression as he painted her, than it
was to try and look left or right.
    “Arch your neck.”
    She did, feeling the brush sliding down it
and the paint drying on her.
    He painted to the top of her breast. “I must
paint your torso.”
    “Couldn’t I just—”
    “No,” he murmured.
    Grace brought her head back to its normal
position, looking at him, sensing that he was