A few minutes later, Reed returns an empty crystal flute in each hand. “You ready to go see it?”
I watch as she takes a deep breath and nervously fidgets with her hair. But then something changes. A determination passes over her delicate features. If I wasn’t watching her so closely I probably wouldn’t have even seen it. But I catch it and it makes me smile. She’s tougher than she looks on the outside and it makes her even sexier to me, if that’s even possible.
Together the three of us walk through the gallery, stopping to view each picture in silence. As we move onto each successive painting, I find my pulse beginning to quicken, wondering if the next painting will be the one.
After a dozen paintings, I’m growing impatient. Anxious, although I have no idea why. I’ve seen plenty of naked women before, both in person and painted. Hell, I grew up around art, so why is each step making my heart thud louder in my chest with anticipation?
Turning the corner, a crowd mills around a large piece, the murmur of quiet discussions louder than anywhere else. I know before we reach the viewing area, it’s going to be her. As we approach, two tall men step to the next painting, leaving a small clearing in the lingering crowd…perfect for my line of vision. Frozen in mid step, my breathing becomes more labored as my eyes take in the most beautiful sight they’ve ever seen.
Sitting on a sparse bed with nothing but a white sheet that looks as if it was gently dropped from covering her radiant skin, her head slightly bowed, captivating blue eyes look up at the artist from underneath long thick eyelashes. She looks like an angel. I really can’t decide if the pose is innocent or alluring, but the sexual tension that radiates from the canvas is palpable. It’s the sexiest god damn thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Sweet, yet incredibly seductive. Sensual. Beautiful. Every curve of her body soft and inviting, yet hard and incredibly erotic at the same time. The pink swells of her perky ni**les jut from her lush pale skin, one hand rests casually on her slightly parted thighs, giving the illusion of seeing what lies between her perfectly posed legs, although nothing really shows.
My mouth unable to form words, I don’t answer as Lily looks up at me. Forcing my labored breath slower, I swallow hard, reaching for control of my thoughts. A nervous smile on her face, her voice so low I can barely hear it over the sound of my heart thumping against my chest wall, “What do you think?”
Struggling to direct my gaze to the woman that speaks and not the painting I can’t seem to take my eyes off, I respond, “I’m thinking I’m going to stand in front of it to block it, facing it.”
Lily smiles and elbows me in the ribs. “You’re impossible.”
“What? I’m a fan of the arts. I need to study the lines. And the curves. Definitely the curves,” I respond.
A man’s voice from behind me changes the tension I’m feeling from sexual to angry, taking me from the peaceful place the beautiful vision had brought me to fists balling up at my sides in just three words. I’d f**k her.
Unfortunately, I’m not the only one who hears it. Lily looks horrified, and the two classless ass**les are lucky I make the snap decision to move Lily away from their comment and not knock them both on their asses. As I usher Lily to the next painting, I catch Reed quietly grumbling something to the men through gritted teeth before they both scurry away swiftly with pale faces.
At the next painting I excuse myself for a few minutes. I meet back up with Reed and Lily just as they complete their viewing of the exhibit.
“I have to do the meet and greet thing. I know it will be torture, but would you mind hanging with Lily for a while?” Reed asks jokingly when I return. He turns. “And you…don’t let it go to your head, I made you that beautiful. You’re really an ugly wench.”
Leaning down to kiss her gently on the forehead, he squeezes both shoulders. I hear him speak quietly to her, “Your painting is gorgeous, just like you. Relax and enjoy.”
She rolls her eyes playfully.
Extending his hand to me with a wink that Lily doesn’t catch, “Take good care of my girl.”
I nod and smile. “Of course.”
We wander around for another hour, talking nonstop. Eventually the gallery moves from the early phase of serious viewers to the beginnings of an after party, Lily looks around uncomfortably.
“You want to get out of here?” I ask.
“Would you mind? It sort of freaks me out to be in the same room with that painting.” She motions in the direction of the corner her portrait hangs in. It’s still the busiest area of the room.
As we make our way to the door, I watch as the gallery owner places a cover over Lily’s painting, marking it as privately sold. Luckily, Lily doesn’t notice.
Chapter 6
Lily
The streets of New York are oddly quiet for midnight on a Friday. Together, Jax and I walk unhurriedly with conversation flowing easily.
“So why do you know so much about art? Who are you really Jackson Knight?” I tease, although I am really curious why every comment he made at the viewing tonight was so spot on. Relating parts of an artist’s work back to anyone but the well known masters such as Van Gogh, Chopin, Dali, Munich, usually takes a trained eye. But Jax was able to pull out understated qualities and relate them back to the lesser known artists.
“No one important.” I expect Jax’s typical witty and cocky response, but instead he smiles halfheartedly and shrugs his shoulders. “My mother just thought I should be well cultured. Art history was my minor in college.”
“Well cultured, huh? Are you a prep school brat?” Playfully, I bump my shoulder into his as we wait for the light to change.
Jax volleys the focus back to me. “Tell me about you. Did you ever consider being an artist as a profession or has it always been your dream to own a chain of gyms filled with testosterone flaring men?”
“Nope. When I was little I dreamed about being a ballerina,” I respond proudly.
“A ballerina, huh?”
“Yep.”
“So what happened?”
“You witnessed how graceful I am first hand the other day when I fell out of my chair. Need I explain more?”
“That wasn’t just a one time thing, huh?” Jax chuckles as he speaks.
“Unfortunately not.” I smile.
“How old were you when you figured out it wasn’t going to happen for you as a ballerina?” Jax asks with a smirk.
“Six.”
“And how, exactly, did you figure out that you weren’t suited for the role of ballerina?”