Figure Eight (Celtic Knot Book 2) (5 page)

I locked up the apartment and decided to drive my car the few short blocks to the studio because I didn’t feel like walking. It took all the energy I had just to put one foot in front of the other. I even circled the parking lot several times just to find a closer parking space so I didn’t have to walk far.

Everyone was seated at their stations when I arrived, so I hung my coat and purse up before I made my way toward my station. Just as I sat down, the bubbly voice of our instructor came bellowing through the studio. Genevieve Fuentes, or Ginny as she liked to be called, was a tall, all arms and legs middle-aged woman who was eclectic and larger than life. She always had her black curly hair tied up high on her head with some wacky colored or patterned scarf and never wore jeans; instead, she always wore long, flowing peasant skirts with a plain V-neck tee or tank top. I chuckled slightly as I noticed all the bracelets and bangles she had on her arms and wrists, and wondered how in the world she ever painted with all that jewelry in the way.

“Good morning, class.” She said brightly as she scanned everyone in the room. I kept my head low, careful not to look at her directly for fear that she would be able to see right through me and that I would break down in front of all my classmates.

“Boy, do I have a special treat for you guys today!” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “Since this week we will be focusing on using live subjects for our pieces, a good friend of mine has agreed to come in and volunteer to model for us,” she said and she bounced in place clapping her hands together. The door to the entrance of the studio opened and all heads turned to see who was coming through the door. The class was made up of mostly females, ten of us in fact, and two men all who gasped when they saw our model walk into the room. Ginny walked to the back of the room to greet the guest, and I kept my eyes pinned to the front of the room. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested in who it was, I just didn’t want to have to look anyone in the eyes because I feared they would be able to see right through me.

Keeping my eyes down, I watched out of my peripheral vision as Ginny and the model made their way to the front of the class. Everyone was whispering about how hot the model was and what they would like to do to him. I chuckled slightly at some of the snide comments the women were saying. My momentary comedic thoughts were soon interrupted when I heard a familiar British accent address the class.

“Hello, everyone.”

I lifted my eyes only to find mine locked with none other than the devilishly handsome Rownan Kleinfield.

His smile was still warm and pleasant and his beautiful blue eyes sparkled with delight momentarily when he saw me, only they switched to concern when he took in my appearance. No doubt, I was looking a little worse for wear with my already depressive and disheveled state as well as looking like Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer from my nasty cold.

I looked away, embarrassed by how disgusting I looked and even more so by how beautiful he was. We had only met once and spoke briefly while I was on break working at The Celtic Knot. He had told me a friend owned a studio and gave art lessons, but I had no idea that it would be the class that the art school would put me in.

“This week we are going to work on painting an abstract with acrylics using Rownan here as our subject. He has so graciously agreed to model for us. Now I must say if you are at all uncomfortable with painting a nude portrait, then please see me and we can make other arrangements for a different assignment.”

What? Did she just say nude?

My hacking cough barked out with so much force, I feared that I would drop a lung right there in the studio. My hands flew up to cover my mouth and the force of the cough had me squeezing my abdominals so tight, I nearly fell out of the stool I was sitting on. Rownan was at my side in an instant helping pat me on the back to see me through my coughing fit.

“Are you ill, love?” he asked with concern. My eyes were watering as my hacking fit finally started to subside. Rownan produced a white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me. I tentatively accepted the white cloth and thanked him for the gesture before using it to wipe away the tears from my eyes and cheeks. I stared at the monogrammed RMK on the handkerchief and laughed inwardly.

Seriously, who carried these anymore?

“I’m ok, thank you. Just a little cold, nothing to worry about,” I replied as confidently as I could. Yes, I felt like seven miles of beat up dickhead, but I didn’t want to be home right now, alone in my thoughts about Dominic and the devastation I caused.

“Well, ok, but promise me if it gets worse you will go to the doctor, yeah?” he said with genuine concern in his eyes. He was still as gorgeous as the night that Knox had introduced us at The Celtic Knot. His dark wash jeans hung nicely on his shapely hips that lead up to his torso and broad chest. I could visibly see his muscles peak through his soft grey t-shirt and I couldn’t help but stare. My mouth went dry and I had forgotten the question that he had even asked me. Shaking my head to regain my composure I finally replied to him.

“Y--yes, I promise,” I said as I sniffled. My head felt like a pressure cooker with the lid on it ready to explode at any moment, and I felt embarrassed that Rownan had to see me in the horrible condition I was in. Lifting my hand, I started to hand him back the handkerchief that he let me borrow, but he refused as his hands covered mine in a caring gesture.

“Keep it, love. You may need it again.” He paused briefly before a concerned look marred his face once more.

“I heard about the club and what happened with Knox and Dominic. I must say I am disappointed that the club is closed.”

I bowed my head in embarrassment and horror as I once again was reminded of my actions. Even though I knew that I destroyed Dominic in the process, I would do it all again, if it meant that he and my friends were safe.

“Hey,” Rownan said and his fingertip found my chin and tilted it up to where I was once again looking at him, “I am sure you had your reasons. I saw the look in your eyes right now and I can tell you are devastated, love. I will help you in any way I can. Remember that,” he offered before his finger left my chin and he walked back over to Ginny to start the class.

The man was certainly a walking contradiction to his dominant alter ego that he supposedly had. I had only seen kindness and generosity from that man ever since I met him at the club when he offered to get me into his friend’s art class.

“Since no one is opposed to working with a nude model, I think we should begin our class,” Ginny said as she addressed everyone. Rownan had disappeared into the small alcove at the back of the studio before emerging with nothing but a towel draped around his shapely waist. His bronze skin made the white towel look like a blanket of snow wrapped around his legs. Striding toward the center of the room where Ginny had placed a stool, he whipped off the towel to sit on the stool and I swear every person’s jaw in the room dropped, even mine.

“Shall we begin class?” Ginny asked.

Oh my.

Rownan’s body was like the statue of David—all hard cut and lean lines. Each feature from his strong jaw to the ripped pathway of his washboard abs was absolutely stunning. Even though my heart ached for Dominic, I couldn’t help but blush at the fact that my body responded to this beautiful man. Everyone around me was flabbergasted and leaning in to comment on their own appreciation for Rownan’s physique.

Ginny’s chuckle for the response to the class at Rownan’s nakedness, broke me from my reverie and I chastised myself for lusting after someone who was not Dominic.

“Okay class, clearly Rownan is beautiful,” Ginny stated and I saw a slight blush in Rownan’s cheeks. “You have your blank canvas before you as well as your acrylics. You may choose to use oils if you wish, just take into consideration the odor of them and also the drying time. Obviously, Mr. Kleinfield here is our subject. Try not to think about him as a drawing or a sketch, just dwell on the thought of him in general. How does your mind’s eye see him? Use your feelings and imagination to create what you feel onto the canvas before you.”

Everyone got busy mixing colors and preparing pallets to being their paintings. I sat there with my hands clasped in front of me with my eyes darting back and forth between the blank white canvas in front of me and Rownan positioned on the stool in the center of the room. Ginny walked up behind me and placed her hand on my shoulder.

“Having trouble getting started, Ashley?” she asked politely.

“Uh, er, yeah, I guess,” I stuttered as more heat flushed to my cheeks to match the redness of my nose.

“Look at Rownan, what do you see, what do you feel?” she asked.

Oh my Lord, I cannot tell this woman what I am thinking!
I felt turned on, hot and achy in places I had no right to. This man was making me experience all the things I felt with Dominic, and it had me feeling ashamed and miserable because I missed him so desperately.

“I uh…” I started to say.

“Want me to tell you what I see?” she asked with a smile when she seemed to notice my discomfort. I nodded my head. Anything to have to keep from revealing just exactly what it was I
was
feeling.

“I see beauty, strength, and merit. I see smooth firm lines, and I envision a God. I feel drawn to him, like a force field trying to pull me into his orbit. I feel sex, hot, and my mouth waters,” she admitted as she moistened her lips and winked at me. I gulped audibly and she gave me a reassuring smile. How the hell did she just describe the same kinds of things I was experiencing? Only she left out the loneliness, longing, and despair I felt by missing Dominic.

“Take your feelings and allow your brush to take over the canvas. Stop painting when your thoughts stop. But as long as they are flowing, keep painting,” she said before patting my shoulder and walking over to assist the other students.

I picked up my brush with an unsteady hand, found a dark brown, and began to put paint on the canvas with long, slow strokes. I focused my eyes back and forth between Rownan and my canvas, trying to see the beauty in his body and not the panty dropping sexiness that radiated off of him in waves. My brows furrowed together as I tried to concentrate on each line, curve, and stroke of my brush. I felt awful, downright horrible with this nasty cold. It was quite possible I was running a fever, but nothing could have broken my vision for my painting as I continued to work diligently, time passing by without me even realizing it.

“Alright, class, time to clean up for the day,” Ginny said as she clapped her hands together to gain our attention. “Great work. We will pick up again on Wednesday.”

Everyone busied themselves cleaning up their station, and I sat on my stool staring at my painting. I took in the strong jaw that held a slight carpet of stubble. The darks wisps of hair fanned just over his brow and came just short of his chocolate brown eyes. I was so caught up in the beautiful image in front of me that I didn’t hear someone approach me from behind.

“I didn’t know I had brown hair,” a soft British voice whispered in my ear. I nearly fell off the stool from the surprise and my paint palette fell from my hands to splatter brown acrylic all over the studio floor.

“Oh no,” I exclaimed as I bend down to try to wipe up the mess with the only other thing I held in my hands...Rownan’s handkerchief.

“Shit!” I blurted out when I realized that I had now ruined the monogrammed piece of fabric. Large hands clamped over mine, stilling my ferocity to clean up the mess and the embarrassment I felt from my clumsiness. Tears pricked my eyes and I found it hard to see through the blurriness as I willed them not to spill over onto my cheeks.