All the Pretty Lies (Pretty #1)(28)
Author: M. Leighton

As gracefully as I can, I slide onto the table, aware of the chills that pop up on my arms when my skin meets the cold surface. I try not to think of how hard my ni**les must be. The last thing I need is to carry a blush the entire time.

I shift until I’m comfortable on my backside then I grab the apple and ease down into position. I let my head fall back and release the breath I was holding.

I feel Mrs. Shuler’s cool hands as she adjusts my limbs. She maneuvers my bent leg, pulling it a little farther forward, then she moves the apple lower on my throat, almost onto my chest. Lastly, she raises my head a little, which I can already tell will be much more comfortable for the duration. Now, if I do happen to open my eyes, which I’m instructed not to do very often, all I see is the door across from me. The one with the black felt over the window. If I can just focus on that…

I sense her backing away and then I hear her voice somewhere over my left shoulder. “Begin.”

It’s with that word, with that one small word, that I feel true relief. The hard part is over. I did it. I took off my clothes and climbed onto a table to pose naked for a room full of artists. Now I just have to wait.

Just wait.

The minutes drag on like they’re hours and I start to think about how I must look sitting up here. With thoughts like that, my nerves return. Then I remember what Ms. Shuler said.

The song.

Although there are at least a dozen songs that I can think of right off the top of my head that I not only love, but are relevant in today’s culture, only one comes to mind. Still Remains, the song I heard at the studio. The one that will likely forever remind me of Hemi. Sexy, beautiful, elusive Hemi.

I don’t know how much time has passed. I don’t know how many times I’ve played the song over in my head. I don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about Hemi, letting my thoughts drift in oceans of dreams and fantasies, all revolving around what I had hoped we’d share, what I had hoped we could be, but it seems like forever.

I have to admit to myself that I had hoped for more than just sex. I had hoped I could experience love at least once in my life. But with every passing day, I wonder if that’s possible. Time passes so fast, so unexpectedly. My mother thought she had forever. But she didn’t.

My eyelids flutter open and I realize my head has fallen back on my shoulders too far, farther than where Ms. Shuler had positioned me. I raise it, my eyes searching for the covered glass square that served as my landmark. But rather than seeing the blank wooden panel with black felt over the window, I see Hemi. Standing at the door across from me. Watching me.

My pulse flutters and my stomach flips over with some mixture of embarrassment, curiosity and excitement. I feel my breathing pick up, but I slow it on purpose, determined not to react in any perceptible manner. I don’t look away and I don’t close my eyes. I keep my head steady and my gaze trained on his.

His eyes are intense. They aren’t happy or angry, just intense. I can tell by the color that he’s not in a light, teasing mood. They…shine almost when he’s feeling playful. They’re a brighter blue. But not tonight. Tonight, they’re the color of deep, deep water, water that’s still on the surface and churning underneath.

Purposely, as though he’s daring me to try and stop him, he lets his eyes fall over my nude form. I feel warm as they rake their way down my throat, over the apple, to my br**sts. They linger there. I don’t think I’d have to see them stop to know that’s where he’s looking. If he were breathing, exhaling on my ni**les, I don’t think it would feel any more real than what I feel right now. His gaze is a touch. Not a physical touch, but a touch just the same.

Finally, when my ni**les are heavy with an ache that can’t be soothed, Hemi moves on. His eyes slide down my ribs, caress my stomach and tease my thighs. He narrows them on the place shielded by the way my leg is bent, but I feel his touch there, too, nonetheless.

Warmth floods me. I begin to flush and become short of breath despite my determination not to. I close my eyes, close them against what he’s doing to me. What he’s doing to me from all the way across the room. In front of a crowd of onlookers. I try to regain the calm I felt earlier, but it eludes me. I return to the song that was stuck in my head, but now it only worsens the effects of Hemi’s perusal.

Against my better judgment, because I can’t seem to help myself, I open my eyes again. This time, he’s gone. The doorway is empty.

I wonder for a few seconds if I simply imagined him there, but movement to my left catches my eye. For one instant, I turn my head. Hemi is skirting the room as, I assume, he heads over to speak to my instructor. Surely that’s how he got in tonight. This isn’t exactly a public event.

Quickly, before anyone can notice and before Hemi can catch me watching him, I return to my position. But whatever happens from here on, my peace is gone. My calm is over.

Hemi’s seen me naked.

And I loved every second of it.

CHAPTER TWENTY – Hemi

Damn it! Dammit, dammit, dammit!

I’m just as furious now, three hours later, as I was when I walked into that room and saw Sloane, lying naked, stretched out on a table. I should never have gone. I should’ve stayed the hell away from her. I got the information I needed. There was no reason to keep up this ruse, much less put things back on a personal level. But that’s exactly what I did.

All I could think about Thursday night after she left was what she’d be doing tonight. And all day today, all I could think about was her taking off her clothes and striking some pose for a bunch of salivating college ass**les to sketch. But I didn’t have to go see for myself. Why the hell did I do that?

And now…now I can’t get the image of her out of my mind. If I’d thought the lure of her sweet, sexy innocence was tempting before…

I slam shut the drawer in my table and glance up at the clock again. She should’ve been here by now.

“What the hell’s your problem?” Sasha asks from where she’s sitting on the other side of the room, inking some guy’s meaty arm.

“Mind your own business,” I snap back, not caring the least bit that she looks wounded. I’m not answering anybody’s questions. There’s no way I’m admitting that I’m waiting for Sloane, that I told her professor to have her stop by the shop tonight because I needed to discuss this preceptorship with her. No, I’d never admit to that. Or to the crazed way I feel right now because she hasn’t shown up.