The Reluctant Nude - Meg Maguire [3]
“Why do I need to be here so much, though? It seems excessive.”
“It is all very dull and nonsensical, I’m afraid.” Max sounded as if he himself were bored by it. “I need your…energy, here with me. That is the best way I can explain it. You do not have to hold a pose every moment you’re here, but you do need to be here.”
“I was hoping you could take photos.” Fallon’s face warmed at the mere idea. “And work from those?”
He smiled, a glorified twitch of his lips. “I think you’ll agree you have three dimensions.”
“Well, could you…”
“Could I what?”
“Could you use another woman’s body? I’d pay you for the model’s time. I wanted to ask about that, anyway.”
Max’s eyes lit up. “What is wrong with yours?” He looked extremely eager to hear the answer.
“Nothing. I just…I’d prefer not to be naked in front of you.”
Another twitchy grin. “I very much doubt your fiancé is paying me a small fortune to play Frankenstein. Surely he wants your body, yes?”
Fallon bit her lip. “That he does.”
“Then you’ve got your answer.”
The cat jumped into Max’s lap.
Fallon saw the coffee in her mug quivering from her shaky grip and set it on the floor. Her host stroked the cat languidly—a Bond villain, complete with accent. She felt a powerful urge to run. In one corner a pair of eight-foot-tall hunks of white marble stood sentinel on wheeled dollies, looking as if they might stop her if she tried to make a break for it.
She wondered distractedly if Max lived here or if the bed and the kitchen trappings were just conveniences. Or if that bed was designed for dalliances with young models. She glanced at his hands. A couple of thick silver rings but none on that symbolic finger. He caught her scrutiny and returned it, staring pointedly at her own bare, third finger. He set the cat and then his empty mug on the ground and caught her again with those magnetic eyes.
“Are there any other points you would like me to disappoint you on?” he asked.
“I’m not sure.”
He laughed and his smile made Fallon wonder with disquiet if he wasn’t the sexiest man she’d ever seen this close up.
“Make no mistake,” Max said, “this is a very intimate process. And I don’t need your fiancé’s money, incidentally. If you do not want to do this, you’ll find the door is unlocked.”
“No—I want to do this. It’s very, very important.”
“To your fiancé?”
Fallon wished he’d stop using that word. She sat up straight and returned his stare. “No. To me.”
Max clapped his hands on his knees and stood. “All right then, Miss Frost. Let’s get started.”
Max watched his guest shift in her seat, hemorrhaging anxiety.
“What do you need me to do?” she asked.
“Are you prepared to take your clothes off today?” He caught her flinch from the question. She flinched from him, he suspected. Good. If she was going to change her mind, the sooner the better for both of them.
“Um…”
“I didn’t think so. How about down to a T-shirt, at least? Give me some sense of your body.” He studied her with his head cocked, doing his best impression of lechery.
“I’ve got a tank top on…but I’d like to keep my pants on, if that’s okay.”
“That will do.” Max stood and began gathering tools for the sitting—an easel and a second chair. He grabbed his leather tool belt from the workbench and strapped it around his hips. In place of drills and wrenches, it held pencils and carving tools. Fallon eyed it as though she feared he might draw a pistol on her.
“Feel free to use the loo.” He aimed a finger in the direction of the one enclosed space in the whole studio. She seemed eager to accept the offer, and Max bet she wanted more than a mere layer of clothing between them as a barrier.
He turned to the cat as the door closed.
“Oscar,” he hissed. It ran to him and he gathered it into his arms and pointed it toward the bathroom. “What do you think, eh? Do you think she’ll last