Christy McKellen - Lessons in Rule-Breaking

Her frown deepened and she took a shaky step away. ‘Have you always been this arrogant?’

He grinned. He couldn’t help it. It was too tempting not to tease her, to see that passion flash in those amazing eyes again. ‘Yes.’

Shaking her head, she looked away from him, over his shoulder at the closed studio door. ‘No wonder everyone’s beginning to think you’re just some washed-up playboy. I’m not surprised your reputation’s on the rocks if that’s the way you treat people.’

Indignation trickled through him. That was a low blow. He couldn’t let her get to him, though; she had no idea what it was like living in his world. Perhaps she wouldn’t be quite so quick to judge if she did.

The immense pressure to continually produce better and better work had been a killer to his self-confidence, and more importantly to his self-control when it came to distractions.

Not that he was about to explain that to her.

She turned back to face him and he stared into her eyes for a moment, lost in their depths. Her little show of snappy rebellion intrigued him—in more ways than one.

She was properly saucy, in a hands-off-the-merchandise kind of way. Her face wasn’t classically beautiful: her nose was a little too big, her eyes set too far apart, but there was definitely something striking about her. He was pretty sure there was more going on behind that guarded expression, too, that wasn’t quite reaching surface level. The suit that hung so badly on her curvy frame looked like something a fifty-year-old woman might choose to wear and the long bob of dark hair she sported dragged her already long face down. She was all buttoned up—her youth and vitality clearly being repressed and controlled.

The thought of getting beneath that well-secured facade made him want things. Things he really shouldn’t be wanting right then, not when he ought to be swearing off women until he started producing some decent art for this long-overdue exhibition.

His gaze dropped to her small, cupid-lipped mouth and he wondered for a second what it would feel like to kiss her, how she would taste on his tongue, before dismissing the idea. He really needed to focus right now.

A flash of him sitting down to capture this intriguing contradiction of a woman in paint and pencils flitted through his head. He’d love to have her pose for him. He hadn’t felt this captivated by anyone or anything for such a long time it was as if he’d been given a shot of adrenaline to the heart. His fingers itched to pick up his pencil and start sketching her face.

She threw her hands up in exasperation when he failed to respond to her last jibe. ‘Okay, well, I guess I’d better leave you and your massive ego in peace so you can get back to work.’

Turning on her heel, she strode away from him, her shoulders pulled forward with tension and her hands balled at her sides.

‘Let me draw you.’ The words came out of his mouth before she reached the stairwell, stopping her abruptly in her tracks.

She turned round to face him and her look of utter confusion made him laugh out loud. She’d make a great comic actor.

‘What did you say?’ The words seemed to catch in her throat and she gave a little cough at the end as if to clear the blockage.

He walked over to where she was standing. ‘I’m in need of a portrait model and I think you’d make a fascinating subject.’

‘You want me to pose for you?’

‘Sure, why not?’

‘Firstly, because I have a job as a serious journalist, and secondly, because I’ve seen how you treat your models and, I have to say, I’m not champing at the bit to get the same treatment.’

He startled her by lifting a hand and running it vigorously over his face before snorting with laughter. ‘Okay, Lois Lane, but in my defence Sera was the one up for more than just modelling and I was being a gentleman for once by turning her down,’ he said, resting one arm against the wall behind her so it nearly touched her shoulders. ‘That’s why she was so mad at me.’

She seemed to bristle at his close proximity and readjusted her stance to lean away from him. He tried hard not to let her casual rebuttal bother him.

‘Okay, clearly I’m off my game and I apologise for being rude to you earlier,’ he said, tipping his head to one side in an attempt to mollify her. ‘Can we call a truce and start again?’

He stared at her hard, attempting to commit her face to memory in case she refused his offer and he never saw her again. The thought bothered him more than it should considering they’d only just met. What was it about her that he found so enticing?

‘Okay. Truce,’ she agreed, smoothing her hand down the front of her immaculate blouse.

‘How about this?’ he suggested, spurred on by her acceptance. ‘You come out to Italy for a few days and let me draw you and I’ll give you an exclusive interview.’

Her eyes widened at the—admittedly rather out of the blue—offer. ‘You want me to go all the way to Italy to interview you? Why can’t we do it here, now?’

‘Because I need to leave for the airport in a couple of hours and I want to be able to give you my full attention. It’s Italy or bust.’ He had to forcibly stop himself from dropping his gaze to her own rather impressive bust that nestled beneath her shapeless, overlarge jacket. He didn’t want her to think he was asking her to do more than pose for him. He didn’t need a complication like that right now, not when he’d finally started to feel the buzz of creativity that had been eluding him for so long.

She stared at him for another minute, clearly trying to process it all, twisting her hands together as she thought about it.

‘What’s the matter, Miss Prim, too wild for you? Perhaps I should offer an exclusive to one of your rivals instead. I’m sure it would help sell a truckload of their magazines.’

Her eyes widened at the challenge and he wondered for a moment whether she’d be brave enough to rise to it. He sensed from her earlier frustration that she was hungry for an interview with him, so perhaps this would push her to say yes.

He hoped so. He really wanted her to come now he’d suggested it.

She was twisting her fingers together as she thought about it, but when she caught him looking at her hands she crossed her arms defensively in front of her. ‘Okay. I’ll come to Italy and sit for a portrait, but I want an in-depth interview, not just the usual pat answers you reel out for everyone else.’

He raised an eyebrow. There was no way he was giving her anything deeply private, but he could break his no-discussing-anything-personal rule just this once. It would be worth it if it meant finally breaking his dry spell and getting this exhibition off the ground.

‘Deal.’ He went back into the studio and jotted down the address of the villa on the banks of Lake Garda, which he was borrowing from a friend for a few weeks while he worked on his exhibition in peace and isolation. A complete change of scene was exactly what he needed right now in order to get his head straight. He felt stifled here in London. He needed space and sunshine and fresh air.

Coming back out, he handed her the slip of paper and she took it with a shaking hand. Was she nervous? The idea of it surprised him. She seemed so put-together with her straight clothes and strident manner.

‘Maybe we should formally introduce ourselves,’ he said, flipping her a cheeky grin and smiling as a pink hue tipped her cheekbones. ‘Xander Heaton.’ He extended a hand and she put her own small, cold one into it. Her grip was firm, though, which surprised him. Usually women did that limp-handed press that left him feeling as if he were an overzealous brute when he shook hands with them.

‘Jessica LaFayette. My friends call me Jess,’ she said, giving him a tight smile.