Raising Hell by Julie Kenner Read Free Book Online Page B

larger-than-life women who watched her from canvases propped this way and that, seeming to urge her on to … what?
    She wasn’t sure. She wanted something, but she didn’t know what. She felt itchy, as if she wasn’t quite herself, but at the same time was more herself than she’d ever been before.
    The gentle scratch of Nick’s charcoal against the canvas seemed to be an incantation, something pulling her toward him. Something beckoning. Something seeking a promise from her.
    She wanted to turn from the window and promise him anything he asked, just so long as he’d let her keep that feeling.
    She stayed there, watching his reflection in the window as he sketched, occasionally trading the pencil for a brush with just a dab or two of color on it. His face was intense, his jaw firm. And as he stroked the canvas, she could almost imagine he was stroking her. Her skin felt on fire, and if he did touch her right then, she had a feeling she would come so hard her body would melt right into the floor.
    She craved him. And by the time he put the brush down and walked to her side, it was all she could do not to rip open her shirt and thrust her body against his.
    “That’s all for now,” he said, his hand pressing lightly against her back. “We’re losing the light. More tomorrow.”
    “So we’re only going to do this when the sun’s going down?”
    His rich laughter caressed her. “No. You can pose here in the evenings. The rest of the time I’ll work on feature studies. And, who knows, I may do a few smaller canvases as well. But that,” he said, turning toward the large canvas by which he’d been standing, “that is the portrait that will change both of our lives.”
    She couldn’t help but grin. “Confident, aren’t you?”
    “Very.” He traced his fingertip on the back of her neck, pushing her hair aside as he did so. “You were wonderful, by the way. I know it must be boring to stand there with nothing to do but look out the window.”
    “I had a lot to think about,” she said. She turned, letting his finger trace her shoulder as she did. Then she took a deep breath for courage and met his eyes, gratified to see the silver-gray storm brewing there. A storm that seemed to rival the tempest now spinning through her body.
    “Secret thoughts?” he asked. “Or will you tell me?”
    “I might tell,” she said, teasing. “If you’ll show me.” She cast a quick glance toward the canvas.
    “Show you mine, you’ll show me yours?” he retorted with a grin.
    “Something like that.”
    “Then by all means.” He took her hand, leading her across the studio to the canvas. “It doesn’t look like much yet.”
    How wrong he was, she thought when she laid eyes on the canvas. “On the contrary,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful.”
    He looked more closely at the emerging image. “Do you think so?”
    “Oh yes,” she said, unable to take her eyes away from the orange and purple of the setting sun. Just a hint. A color study, really, but enough to give the painting a warmth. The rough outline of her hand, so delicate against the glass.
    For part of the time she’d stood there, she’d imagined his body beneath her fingers, and now, looking at the image and the tenderness with which he’d painted her hand, she couldn’t help but wonder if he somehow knew that.
    Her face, though, was the true masterpiece, even at this early stage, a mix of pencil and paint. Colors not yet alive or accurate. Lines unfinished. But none of that mattered. Her essence was there, spilling from the canvas, crying out to be completed and yet somehow whole even as it was.
    “Wow,” she said. “You make me look… I don’t know. Lit from within, I guess.”
    “That’s how you look to me,” he said, making the words sound like the truth and not a come-on.
    “That’s how you make me feel.” She licked her lips nervously. He was watching her, and she could feel the heat of desire radiating off of him, filling