January (Calendar Girl #1) Anthology Anthology (104 page)

Once he reached me, he pulled me into his arms and carried me back up the stairs. “I see you found my robe,” he said with a mock stern voice. Then he set me on my good foot, his hands going to the tie. “That is not acceptable. I told you,
ma jolie
, I like to see your naked body.” I let him remove the robe then I crawled over the bed and got comfortable. He set the tray in front of us and handed me a glass of wine. The rich berry flavor drifted down my throat and settled nicely in my belly. The tray he brought had some salami, tiny blocks of cheddar cheese, green grapes and a bunch of strawberries.

My stomach growled while I scoured all my options then settled on a chunk of cheese. It paired well with my wine. “Thank you.” I pulled the sheet up into my chest.

“For what?”

I picked up a strawberry and held it close. “For this, for tonight, painting me, sharing your work with me. I’m really honored to be here with you.”

His hand came up and held my cheek. “You are my muse, Mia. You were meant to be here.”

Chapter 5

Once we finished our meal, we messed around a bit more, kissing, caressing each other, getting to know one another better. After a deep kiss, I leaned on his chest and hugged him.

“Do you realize you barely say anything in English when you’re fucking?”

Alec’s body tightened before he responded. “I do not fuck,
chérie
. I told you, I make love to you, to your body.” His tone was drop dead serious and I couldn’t grasp why. “And I speak in French because you make me so far gone, I lose myself in you, in your sexy body.”

I grinned saucily giving him my best smile. Then I thought about the fucking versus love making for a moment. “But doesn’t that get tricky, the love making? Doesn’t everyone fall in love with you when you do that?”

He held me tight and slid a hand up to my bicep and squeezed. “I would hope so.”

“Wait a minute; you
want
me to fall in love with you?” I lifted off his chest and looked hard into his eyes. They were so pretty.

“Of course, don’t you?” his face contorted into one of bafflement. 

I shook my head hard letting my hair fly. “No, not even. I want to have
fun
with you. Then after, I’m going to be with another client who I may or may not have sexual relations with.”

“As will I.” He looked utterly confused, which said a lot, because I was pretty sure I was going off the deep end without a paddle.

I pushed my hair out of my face and behind me. “Okay, let me get this straight. You want me to fall in love with you, yet you know I’m going to leave and be with someone else. Do I have this right so far?” He nodded and smiled innocently. “And you are going to fall in love with me, yet when I leave, you’re going to have this same awesome sex with another girl.”

“Awesome sex?” he grinned. Fucking pig. All men think with their dicks I swear. This proved it. I smacked him on the chest.

“Pay attention.”

“I cannot pay attention with you speaking of love and sex, two things I believe always go together beautifully, I might add. We should bring them together again right now.” He pulled my body over his. He was already hard. For a moment I balked. Hard again? Holy shit, this man was virile. He gripped my ass and pressed his hips to mine. “Are we done talking,
ma jolie
. I want to make love to you again.”

“No!” I sat up straddling his hips and crossed my hands over my chest. None of this made a lick of sense. “I don’t understand you.”

His eyes narrowed. “What is to understand? I make love to you. I fall in love with you a bit more each day.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, let’s continue with that. You fall in love with me more each day, yet you’re okay with letting me go?”

“If you would like to stay, I would be amicable,” he said deadpan. 

Arrrgggghh! “You would be amicable? I don’t understand you.” my hand flew into the air like a maniac swatting at flies that weren’t there.

He pulled me down to his chest then rolled us over so he was on top. With one leg he kicked out the good one of mine and pressed into my hips. His large erection rubbed enticingly along my moistening flesh. I took a deep breath trying not to let it get to me. It didn’t work.

He kissed me softly. “Let me make you understand,
oui
?”

“Please!”

“The French make love. I make love. I have to have some feeling for you in order to truly make love to you,
oui
?”

“
Oui,
” I repeated. That made sense. The part of us full on falling in love then willy-nilly bailing on one another, did not make sense. As a matter of fact, it’s what was so hard about me leaving Wes. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I had feelings for the guy, and now, Frenchie here wanted me to have feelings for him—love type feelings— which I didn’t want to have.

He started talking again. “Therefore, I must love you a little to want to be with you in such a way. Yet, I can still love you and set you free. But you will always carry my love with you when you go, and forever. That piece of my love is yours for as long as you live.”

Gotta admit, that was pretty beautiful. The way he thought of having sex and making love, how it tied to the woman and the relationship he had with each of them.

“So, we’re going to love one another forever, only we’re not committing to one another in the way a married couple or even a boyfriend and girlfriend do,” I confirmed.

“
Oui
. Exactly,
ma jolie
! You’ve got it. My commitment to you is to love you wholly for our time, and that will stay with you. And I will take your love with me. Then forever, we will both know that this time was built on trust, love, and friendship.” He paused then kissed me softly. “Nothing more in life is needed.”

My eyes misted over and a tear trickled down the side of my cheek at the truth of what he’d said. Alec wiped it away. “May I love you now?” His words were simple but struck deep.

“Yes, Alec. I’d very much like you to love me,” I said through the lump that formed in my throat. And that’s what he did, loved me, all through the night or at least until I passed out. It was exactly what I needed to get through what had happened earlier in the loft, as well as the guilt that was building about Wes.

Alec and I had a mutual agreement to love one another as friends, to treat each other with respect. We would enjoy one another’s bodies and minds for the time I was there, and when it was done, it was done. We’d still care for one another and have a love that was exclusively ours that we could keep in a box inside our memories and revisit if we needed to. There was something achingly perfect about that. Right then, I vowed that I wouldn’t try to prevent myself from caring for each client. I would allow myself to care in my own special way. Only it wouldn’t be the “I’m in love with you forever way.” Forever was sacred, something that would present itself when the time was right, with the right person.

I thought back to Wes and how much I missed him. This situation with Alec gave me new insight into my relationship with Wes. Showed me how I spent the entire month I was with Wes trying not to love him. Protecting myself and my heart from ever feeling those things. Except it didn’t work, because I do love Wes. In my own way. And I think he loves me too. Only with him, I’m not sure it wouldn’t be the forever kind of love. That thought cemented why it was important for me to leave when I did. I can safely say that we were both honest with one another, cared deeply, and if it’s meant to be a forever kind of love, we have time to cultivate that.
If it’s meant to be.
Until then, I would enjoy my Frenchman and all the experiences I was supposed to have while I was there and for the remainder of the year escorting.

***

The next day when I made my way down to the loft, it was once again silent. I was beginning to see a pattern here. He took pictures one day, and the next day, when he did the painting, he released his staff so he could work alone. As I made my way further into the loft, I heard a hauntingly beautiful piece of music. The lilting voice and intense piano notes echoed off the walls as a woman’s tentative lyrics weaved through the chords of the piano. She was almost speaking in a whisper yet still singing. It was utterly disturbing in its beauty. Then strings entered the mix. I closed my eyes taking it into my heart and soul. Remembering this moment for what it was. Graceful, vulnerable, everything I needed.

Click
I was startled and opened my eyes to see Alec standing in front of me a camera in his hand.

“I couldn’t help myself. You were too precious, soaking in the light of grace. I had to capture it.”

I tilted my head and grinned. “Did you get what you need?” I asked with a touch of sarcasm.

“Did you?” his eyebrow quirked. Always trying to teach me a lesson, my Frenchie.

I took a breath and scanned the floor choosing to leave it at that.

“Come, there is much to do.” Alec turned on a heel and strode over to our space in the loft.  

I hobbled over and took my seat. I gasped as I stared once more at my image. Only this time it was the wide canvas. One half had my picture silk screened, the other, he painted. He must have gotten up in the middle of the night after I passed out once round two of him “loving” me was finished.

“How...?” I was incapable of saying anything else as I looked at myself on the canvas. It was me facing the image he had photographed yesterday. My hand out, my forehead near the painting, only he painted my hand touching the heart on the photographed side. The way he mixed medias so uniquely was unlike anything I’d witnessed before. This is why he was a world-renowned artist and people paid obscene amounts of money for his art. And I was part of that, a big part. His muse.

“I don’t need much sleep. Once I was inspired by your body, I had to paint it.”

“Are you saying, we had sex and you were so taken by the experience you came down here and painted this?”

“
Oui
. Your naked body. Making love to you gave me all the energy I needed to create this beautiful image for the world to see. Now you can see,
oui
?”

I stared at the black and white painting. Just a hint of my naked breasts showed in the painting. I could also see the happiness in my form as my image touched the sad heart of the picture he’d taken the day before. It was as if my happy self was consoling my sad self. Shivers rippled down my spine and out my arms.

Once more, he filled a saucer with sticky paint, then walked over to me, brush in hand. He proceeded to paint my lips as I quietly admired the painting in front of me. It held me captive like there was a gnarled hand clutching my heart. My heart pounded and tears fell from my eyes. The music in the room changed. The notes were loud and sweeping in their sorrow as they pitched high then low. Trombones and trumpets blared. Alec gripped my hand, swept me into his arms and carried me over to the painting. This time he didn’t have me kiss my lips.

“Kiss here.” He pointed to the hand over the heart in the second image. I leaned forward and kissed the painted canvas. A perfect lip print shone bright red on the painted hand. He applied more paint to my lips.

He pointed to my elbow and I kissed it. More paint. The shoulder, the middle of the back in the image. More paint. For a long time he reapplied the paint, had me kiss an exposed portion of my body on his painting. We did this until there were red lip kisses all over the painting he’d done. It was odd, it didn’t take away from his art but added an entirely different element. The kiss marks were bright, stark against the black and white of the canvas and his drawing.

Once he was done, he helped me back into the seat. Methodically he wiped my lips with baby wipes removing any paint residue. Then he handed me some water and a lip balm. I swear the man thought of everything.

He walked across the room and left me to the music and the painting. I stared and stared at myself. The one I’d done the first day was hanging to the left, the red lips and tear streaking down my face in the image was startling in its sadness. The picture on the right was the same image photographed but with the addition of me facing it, hand on the heart, only there were kiss marks over every couple inches.

The lighting above the artwork shone bright and seemed to start in the middle of the images and burst out, accentuating the depth of the dark and light along with the texture of the red paint making it pop out as if 3D.

“Have you figured out what it means yet?” Alec asked while looking at the painting. I looked at him for long moments. Watching him as he appreciated what he created. He was the one that should have been the subject of the artwork. He was so big, strong, and masculine. The hair he’d pulled into a tiny bun at the back of his head seemed to shine gold in the lighting. His beard and mustache made slight rustling noise as he rubbed his knuckles across it. “Have you,
ma jolie
?”

I shook my head and focused on the art.  “I can see that it’s beautiful, that it moves me in a way.”

His gaze shot to mine. “It moves you?”

“Yeah,” I whispered focusing on the first image. “This one, I look sad, but it’s more than that. There’s a quiet devastation there. The sorrow so deep in the eyes you’ve painted makes me think I’ll never be happy. That she’ll never be happy.” I tried to take myself out of the image even though it was difficult. I had a feeling that was the last thing he intended. 

He nodded. “Yes when I captured you, it hurt me. That’s how I knew it was the right one. Art should make you feel something. Good, bad, happiness, sorrow, love, hate, cold, warmth. Everything we see correlates to a feeling within us. This particular one moved you the way it should.”

“Why? Why would you want someone to feel sorrow and a sadness so deep they may never recover?”

His gaze held mine. “Because that is what I want the viewer to see. The painting is called, “No Love for Me.”

Those words shot through my heart like an arrow. Tears spilled down both sides of my face “And the other?” I asked though afraid to hear the answer.