French Blue (15 page)

“That was in private and…and…”

“Yes?” He hitched an eyebrow, maddeningly cool in the face of her outrage.

“It wasn’t
me
. I was playing a role. It was a scene. Why the hell didn’t you ask me about this class first?”

“I knew what your reaction would be.”

She folded her arms. “I
cannot
believe you’ve done this.”

“Why not? You
did
give me permission to bare you publicly, but you can be masked if you wish. No one need know your real identity.”

“Masked? Great, so everyone can home in on my boobs and tush!”

He tsked. “You know very well that a life class has nothing to do with sex.”

Olivier tried to reach for her hand, but she snatched it away. “Really? Only for you?” Her voice rose an octave. She never sounded shrill, even in the most challenging work situations, which told her she was under extreme pressure now.

“As an artist, I appreciate an interesting form, whether it’s male or female, but no one in that class will be looking at you in those terms. If I am, it’s because I’m your lover and I worship your body.”

Lisa ignored his compliment, too angry to respect it. “Even if they’re not perving, I never wanted to be nude for real. That’s the aspect I hated about the fetish club I visited: the public nature of it.”

His brow creased in confusion, but Lisa sensed he knew exactly what he was doing. Pushing her, goading her. “And yet you admitted to me that one of your biggest fantasies is about being naked in public—naked against your will. This is a safe way of you exploring that fantasy and perhaps viewing it differently.”

“I can’t. The artists will be…well, focusing on every part of me. I’m not sure I can stand up to that sort of minute scrutiny.”

“Are you worried about your body? It’s beyond beautiful.” She glanced down at the breasts that had been exposed by the fallen sheet.

Maybe she was beautiful, in his eyes at least. She shivered with desire and fear, a heady combination that already made her sex tingle. “It’s not that… Oh, this is pointless. I just won’t do it. Don’t make me say the safe word.”

He sighed. “Okay. I can understand that you need time to accept this, so I’ll let you think about it overnight.”

He tried to take her in his arms, but she pushed him away. “No. E-mail everyone now and say it’s cancelled and show me the e-mail.”

“I can’t cancel now,” he said patiently. “The students will have made time in their schedules and transport arrangements, and I’ve booked catering staff to come over and provide a lunch. I can’t stop it now.”

“Take them out to paint a landscape, then!”

“They’re expecting a life class.”

“Then you’ll have to get another model or go out and paint the bloody fields. I’m not stripping for a bunch of strangers.” She snatched up the sheet over her breasts, and hot tears pricked her eyes. Shit. She knew she had a right to feel annoyed at him for booking the class, but why did this feel
so
bad? Was it because she’d been forced to come up against her biggest fear head-on? Was it because, deep down, she really wanted to have the courage to pose? Was she disappointed in herself, not Olivier?

“You’re upset and scared. You need a night’s rest, and then, if you really don’t want to, you can give me your safe word in the morning, and I’ll make other arrangements.”

“I don’t need time to think. You can have my answer now. It’s Da Vinci. Da fucking Vinci.”

Olivier held up his hands and spoke soothingly. “Okay. You’ve made your feelings clear. I swear to you if you still feel this way tomorrow, I’ll find another model somehow. One of the students might do it; one or two have posed before.”

His words were soft, clearly, Lisa thought, he knew he’d crossed a line and was trying to mollify her.

“Good.”

“I’m sorry if this was a step too far for you, but I’m not going to force you to do anything you truly fear. Let’s have lunch and forget it for now.”

Forget it?

Later that night, Lisa stared at the ceiling as she heard the church clock in the nearby village striking two a.m. At the start of their relationship, she’d vowed she would not use her safe word and would rise to every challenge he set her. He’d also admitted that he’d consider it a failure on his own part if she had to use the word. Why had she reacted so strongly—overreacted, in fact, to a suggestion that really wasn’t that outrageous? Yes, she had body hang-ups, but they weren’t extreme. She was reasonably comfortable getting changed at the gym in front of other women and was happy to swim or even sunbathe in a bikini, but this was different.

She’d let Olivier down. She’d let herself down, but that was ridiculous. Did he want her to feel this bad? Was it all part of a Dom’s manipulative games?

She turned her head toward Olivier. The air was still and humid, and he’d cast off the sheet and lay naked on the bed. His chest rose and fell gently, his eyelashes fluttered against his olive cheek, and his hair still smelled shower-fresh. He looked as untainted and harmless as baby Bella, but then everyone looked innocent when they were asleep.

It didn’t matter, because she wouldn’t take off all her clothes in front of a room full of strangers no matter how much he wanted her to, or how therapeutic he claimed it would be.

“Lisa?”

She awoke to the smell of coffee, fresh baking and a naked Olivier sitting on the bed next to her. A dark gray robe lay discarded on the floor, and there was a tray next to it. “I brought breakfast again,” he said as Lisa rubbed sleep from her eyes. “As a peace offering.”

Her bubble of gratitude deflated as she remembered what was supposed to happen this morning.

Olivier must have seen the anxiety in her face. “You don’t have to worry. I’ve made other arrangements for the class.”

“Oh. Good.”

Lisa pushed herself against the pillows as Olivier poured coffee into two espresso cups.

He placed a cup on the nightstand and laid the tray of pastries in her lap. The scent of coffee filled her nose.

“Mmm. This looks and smells divine. Um…thanks for sorting out the class.” She threw him an olive branch.

Carefully, he climbed onto the bed next to her and picked up a plate and
pain au chocolat
. “Don’t think any more of it. It’s fine. Shall we eat breakfast?”

After all that sex, Lisa found herself ravenous and tucked into her second croissant as Olivier sipped his third café noir. It was a beautiful morning, with warm light spilling into the room through the French doors, a breeze billowing the toile curtains. Olivier must have opened the doors while she slept.

“I had an idea while I was fixing breakfast,” he said. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

“You can say no if you want to, but I wondered if you’d like to sit in and observe the life class?”

Lisa swallowed down her croissant in relief. “I hadn’t thought about doing that. Will I have to draw?”

“You don’t have to, but I’d be delighted if you wanted to try. Why not?”

“Why not? I can’t draw, for one thing.”

“Everyone says that,” he said breezily.

“No. I
really
can’t draw. I dropped art classes when I was thirteen.”

“Then that’s why you think you can’t draw, because you haven’t actually tried.” He climbed off the bed. “Now, enjoy your breakfast. I have to go and meet the students. I’ll see you in the studio at nine thirty.”

“Hi. Are you Lisa?”

A young woman with a purple bob and a Canadian accent met Lisa at the door of the art studio. It was so different from her last visit, the silence replaced by the buzz of creative energy, around a dozen easels being set up by students.

Lisa found herself caught up in the buzz. “Yes, that’s me.”

“I’m Daisy. Olivier said you’re here to join in the life class, so shall I sort you out with an easel and materials?”

“That would be great. I’m new to this, and it’s been so long since I did any drawing, I don’t think I could set up the easel.” She wondered if Olivier had told his students that she was his girlfriend or simply a potential student.

Daisy grinned. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite. All you have to do is enjoy yourself.”

While Daisy fetched an easel and stool, Lisa checked out her fellow students. They were an even mix of male and female, most at least a decade younger than her. One or two were in their early thirties like her, and one woman had to be in her sixties. They all seemed to know one another, chatting and joking while she stood around like a spare part. She attracted the odd curious glance or smile herself, but the atmosphere was friendly and relaxed. There was a bench on the dais, covered in a black cloth, for the model to sit on.

Could she have posed after all? Lisa wasn’t sure now. It did seem about as unthreatening and nonsexual a situation as you could have to get naked in public, but then again, she wasn’t sure she could have coped with having a dozen pairs of eyes trained on her body for the hour or so the class lasted.

“Here we are.” Daisy plonked an easel in front of her. “Do you want to get a stool and we’ll adjust it to the right height for you, or do you want to stand?”

“I’m not sure. I hadn’t really thought about it. Sorry I haven’t done any art since school and never done any life drawing.” She had to admit, she had actually enjoyed art lessons at school until they’d had a temporary old-school art teacher who’d made one careless remark about her drawing that had knocked her confidence completely. Besides, Lisa had been under pressure from the school and her parents to drop her nonacademic subjects to concentrate on the “serious ones”. Art, music, photography—none were considered worthy of studying for a straight-A student.

“That’s fine. Tell you what, let’s get you a stool so you can see what position suits you best.”

“Where’s Olivier?” asked Lisa as Daisy dragged a stool out from under the bench.

“Oh, I expect he’ll be along in a minute. We’re almost ready to begin.”

Daisy helped Lisa adjust the easel to a comfortable working height and provided a tin of pencils and charcoal. Lisa sat down, and the blank first page of the sketch pad on her easel stared back at her. The prospect of posing nude had been scary; now the prospect of having to draw under Olivier’s exacting and experienced eye was almost as intimidating.

Around her, students had finished adjusting their easels, and the low buzz of chat and clatter of pencils and charcoal had diminished as they prepared to focus. Lisa had to admit she was excited as well as apprehensive about putting her nonexistent creative skills to the test. Drawing a nude model didn’t faze her, although it would be a curious experience to concentrate on the female form so closely. After all, which bits did you draw first, and how much detail did you put in? She smiled to herself as she rooted in her box of drawing materials, wondering if she should use a pencil or charcoal. Which would give her the best chance of actually creating something that resembled a human being? Should she ask Daisy for advice or wait for Olivier?

“Okay, guys. Are we ready to start?”

A familiar voice, speaking in French, drew Lisa’s attention to the dais, and her jaw hit the floor.

Chapter Twelve

Lisa almost fell off her stool. The man had just shed his towel and was getting comfortable on the plinth. Oh yes, Olivier had managed to get another model. He’d simply neglected to tell her it was him.

No matter how many times she’d seen him naked, as a true “nude”, he literally took her breath away. Her fellow artists were either unimpressed or used to the sight of model-honed torsos. They focused on his body, glancing from him to their paper, the only expression of their faces intense concentration as they began their work.

“Okay, I know you weren’t expecting to see me up here today, but I hope that doesn’t ruin the class. I’ll do my best to teach from up here, and Daisy will also come round to help you. This may be a life class, but I’m the only one who’s going to stay still. The rest of you are going to keep on the move, and I’m going to work you hard, starting now.”

His body was sculptural, lean and honed by his runs around the Paris streets and visits to the gym. Lisa shrank behind the safety of her easel, literally not knowing where to look. If she caught his eye, she was afraid she might burst out laughing at the surprise he’d sprung. She could hardly focus on his lower regions, knowing that she’d knelt at his feet and taken that gorgeous cock in her mouth.

No drawing, however perfect, could ever capture him in the way she wanted to. He caught her eye and gave her a brief smile.

Lisa’s head shot down behind the easel, and there was a clatter as her pencil tin crashed onto the floor. Charcoal and pencils spilled out, and a few heads turned in her direction before instantly turning back to their work. Only a handful of people on the planet knew Olivier as intimately as she did now, and yet she felt—yes, shy and embarrassed at seeing him nude in this way. And also, if she was honest, a little bit jealous. That beautiful body was hers to enjoy, at least for a few more weeks. Oh God, was it only that long? Only that long to have him exclusively to herself?