Raising Hell by Julie Kenner Read Free Book Online

models near, of course. But he could have made do. Still, having her nearby made practical sense. After all, he had his father’s work to do, and the sooner he satisfied that, the sooner he’d obtain his prize.
    But that was all bullshit. He hadn’t brought her to his loft because of his father; he’d brought her because he wanted her near. Wanted her.
    Nick didn’t fear much in this world. But the course of desire that heated his veins when he looked at her had him trembling.
    “Nick?”
    “Follow me,” he said, his voice gruffer than he would have liked. He took her to the bed, waited while she crawled on. Then he stepped back until he was right beside that one canvas he’d had for so long. The canvas that had been waiting for her.
    As he sketched a few preliminary lines with a pencil, she knelt on the bed, her hands awkwardly placed on her knees. “Should I just sit here?”
    He shook his head, his mind now only on the canvas and the image of the woman he was trying to coax from the lead. “Something different. Lay down,” he said. “On your side, and look at me. Good. Good.”
    He stroked the canvas again, the faint gray line hinting at the outline of the portrait to come. Just a single gray line marring the clean, crisp canvas. But that was enough. It wasn’t right. In his mind, Nick could see how every stroke would fill the canvas, like a chess player planning the game through to the end. And at the end of his game, there was no masterpiece. Not yet, anyway.
    “No,” he said, stalking away from the canvas. He tossed more pillows onto the bed, then took her by the elbow, tugging her back gently among them. She wore a white button-down shirt, a single button at the collar unfastened. His fingers moved to the next button, this one modestly tight. As he started to undo the button, she slapped him away, her fingers closing over her chest.
    “If you’d like a wardrobe alteration, just tell me.”
    “Sorry,” he said, coming back to himself. “I get caught up.”
    “But you aren’t happy with it,” she said. “Not yet.”
    “No,” he agreed. “Not yet.”
    “Is it me?”
    Such an innocence filled her voice that he was compelled to kneel on the bed beside her. He stroked her face, wishing he could somehow make her understand the perfection that he saw in her. But there really weren’t words. The best he could do was render her beauty on canvas and hope that the portrait proved her worth.
    “It’s not you,” he said simply.
    She smiled, then leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
    “For what?”
    “For everything. For giving me this opportunity. And, I guess, for wanting me here. For wanting to paint me.”
    Nick nodded, but found himself not quite able to meet her eyes. Foolish emotion. He did want to paint her. And she wanted what he could give her. True, she probably didn’t want to lose what he intended to take, but this wasn’t about what the girl wanted. It was about proving himself to his father. And to do that, Nick had to see this through. Best to forget about the larger issue and simply focus on creating his masterpiece.
    “Like this,” he said, his fingers moving down to cup the still-fastened button. “The purity of a plain white shirt coupled with the invitation of several open buttons.”
    He started to work the buttons free, but her hands closed over his. He held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t fight him on this. He needed her open and vulnerable. He needed inside this woman because he couldn’t take what he couldn’t see.
    His fears, though, were unfounded. She closed her fingers over his, and the heat of her touch shot through him with a feeling of coming home. Her lips parted, and he had to force himself to wait for her words when all he wanted to do was lean in and capture her in a kiss. “I’ll do it,” she said, then undid the next two buttons.
    The crisp white cotton parted, revealing the swell of her breasts, trapped in a pale pink bra that