Одри Карлан: February (Calendar Girl #2)

I ate a banana and had a cup of coffee before making my way on the crutches to the elevator and down to the loft. Today was far busier than the previous day. Again, there were several men in black scurrying around doing this or that, taking pictures, probably those boring test stills. I was glad that Alec personally did the test shots with me. At least that way I had someone I could talk to. The men in black had an issue with the models speaking. Every few minutes I’d hear a shush or “still” or “quiet” from one side of the room or another. Even though it was all very strange, it was quite interesting to see the inner workings of a world-renowned artist as he perfected his art and managed the minions doing the grunt work.

“Finally, you’re here,” one of his men in black approached on a huff. He gripped my arm and tried to pull me along faster than my crutches would allow.

As I struggled to keep up, my crutch’s rubber end hit a wire trailing across the concrete floor. It hit it at a weird angle that caused me to tilt forward and nearly put all my weight onto my sprained ankle. I swayed precariously, but caught myself midair by balancing on the crutches. That was it! I’d had it. Thoroughly irritated, I yanked my arm out of his grasp. “Watch it, dude. You’re about to get a crutch up your ass if you don’t quit pulling on my arm. I’m not your dog on a leash.” I pointed the crutch at his face and swung it around. “Back off!”

“Q ue se passe-t-il ?” came an agitated voice behind us. Alec stood, hands on hips, a twisted, angry look marring his features. He looked lethal, like a lion ready to pounce on its prey. “What is the meaning of this?” he finally spoke in English.

“Mr. Dubois, your model was not being speedy and you were expecting her an hour ago,” the minion replied. An hour ago? Screw that! If he wanted me to get up early, he should have set an alarm, maybe even have found interesting ways to wake me. Since he didn’t, I was not taking the blame.

“ Imbécile ,” he murmured loud enough for the two of us to hear but not loud enough for the growing audience building around us. “Do you have poor sight?”

The man scrunched his nose and his head whipped back. “Sight? As in can I see?”

“Are you deaf too?”

This time the man took affront. “Look, Mr. Dubois, you said the models were to follow the rules and that included being on time. She was late, really late. A whole hour. I was just trying to move her along…”

“Enough. You,” he pointed to the waif of a man, “are an idiot. Do you not see she is injured and cannot run with crutches?”

“I was just trying…”

“ Assez!. No. Shut your mouth before you dig a hole so deep you’ll never find your way to the surface,” Alec grated. He looked around the room and held his arm out, scanning the space. “Now, to everyone listening, and I know you are...” A few people tried to look away as if that was going to hide the fact that everyone had been paying close attention. “This woman is Mia,” he pointed to me. “She is the entire muse for ‘Love on Canvas’. As far as you are concerned, she is as precious and priceless as any of my paintings. Treat her as such. Now, back to work.” He clapped his hands together twice before coming to my aide.

“Are you okay, ma jolie ?”

“Fine, he just annoyed me. Tugged on me too hard and I almost fell. It’s an honest mistake.”

“One he will not make again,” he bit out, then leaned forward and scooped me into a princess carry again. “How was your sleep?”

This was my chance so I took it. “Would have been better with a nice warm body lying next to me,” I finished boldly. He stopped and stood still, his gaze on mine, tawny eyes turning a shade darker, pupils dilating.

“Is that so?”

“I never lie,” which wasn’t exactly true. I lied all the time when it suited me or I was stuck in a bind. Even though this suited me, this was not one of those times.

Alec grinned. “I find that hard to believe, ma jolie .” He brought me over to the same place we were working yesterday and sat me in the chair I’d used.

Before he could let me go, I whispered, “Believe it Frenchie,” into his ear then kissed his cheek sweetly. Nothing more than a reminder of our heated kiss a couple days ago.

“It seems we’ll have to do something different with our sleeping accommodations posthaste. Don’t want you to be uncared for.”

“That would be a tragedy.” I smiled wide.

His response was a wink before he turned around and got out the paint again and a small brush.

“Painted lips again?”

He came toward me and lifted his chin in a silent request that I look behind me. I turned sideways in my chair, staying mindful of my sore foot. That’s when I saw it. Not it…me. Two of me. One was a black and white painted image of me. The other a combination photograph on one half of the canvas, the other half blank. Bright red lips were the only point of color on the second picture. The first painted image was so lifelike, even more so than the actual photographic image on the other canvas. I stood and hopped over to the painting. The brush strokes were miniscule and almost a perfect duplicate of the photographic image. You could even see the tear streaming down my face. The sadness in my eyes, the stance, slumped shoulders showed a tortured woman. Sad yet still…beautiful. A moment caught in time.

“It’s…I can’t believe…how?” I whispered and lifted a hand to touch the painting. Before I could, Alec gripped my wrist and pulled it back gently.

“No touching. It’s still wet. I worked on it through the night.”

My eyes went wide and I gasped. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize. That’s dumb. I mean, I should have known, it makes sense. Sorry,” I frowned.

Alec’s hand reached out and he caressed a lock of my hair, rubbing it together with his fingers before trailing one fingertip down from my temple, cheekbone and along the side of my chin. Goosebumps broke out against my arms and I shivered.

“Cold?” he asked with a hint of a smile. He knew what he was doing to me. How his touch ignited something inside.

“No,” I licked my lips and stared brazenly at his, wishing he would lean forward and put his lips on me. Anywhere. Everywhere.

“Well then, let’s get started.” He combed his fingers through my hair, pushing it over my shoulder. Then repeated the movement on the other side. Not what I was expecting, but it felt good, so I went with it. “Sit, I’m going to paint your lips.”

I groaned but hopped back over to the seat, plopped down and rolled my eyes before he came around and knelt in front of me. “Do you ever think about anything other than work?”

“Are you referring to the fact that I want to kiss you until I’ve stolen all your breath? Or the fact that if I could, I would shred your shirt, and suck on your pink tips until you begged for me to make love to you?”

“Make love?” I snickered even though his words made me hot and bothered; they were hot...and bothered me…a lot!

“Of course, chérie . the French make love. There are many forms of making love. Hard. Fast. Slow. Deliberate. I plan to do all those things to you, and for many, many hours. But not now. Now is the time for work. Later, we play.”

I nodded not able to speak any further. I wanted to know what ‘play’ meant to him. I had a pretty good idea it was the kind of play I hoped it was. God willing. Slowly Alec painted my lips with the goopy cherry red paint. When he was done he lifted me from the chair and carried me over to the painting of me he’d done.

“This is where it gets tricky. I want you to place your lips over those on the painting exactly where they are painted. I will guide you as best I can. You will get close and then slowly press them against the painting so that the paint transfers.”