January (Calendar Girl #1) Anthology Anthology (26 page)

“We’re gonna be late to your own show,” I giggled.

He smiled. “With good reason.” he winked and indicated the large white box. “This is for you. To wear tonight.”

Excitedly, I jumped off him and stood at the side of the bed. He took care of the condom while I opened my present.

Inside the box, I found a champagne-colored cocktail dress. It had tiny crystals that shimmered and sparkled in the light. The neckline was loose fabric that draped over my breasts enticingly. The slight wisp of fabric that held it at the edge of my shoulder did so in a way that made the drape of the fabric look perfectly natural. The hem was just to the knee and the dress fit like it was painted on. Alec held out another box as I was straightening the dress. The shoes were Gucci originals. They were a shiny gold with a four-inch spiked heel and a touch of a platform. Utter perfection.

“Never met a woman that didn’t love shoes.”

“All women love fuck-me pumps. Especially, sexy, hot as hell ones. It’s written in our genetic code.” I shrugged. “We’re born that way.”

Alec freshened up his suit as I finished getting ready, then he led me down to the party. It was in full swing when we arrived. The second we walked through the entryway camera bulbs flashed and applause filled the room. A blonde in a tight white suit immediately took Alec away. His publicist. I hadn’t seen her since the first few days, but she had a lock on his arm that might have drawn blood if he attempted to escape. He looked over his shoulder at me. His downturned lips and narrowed brow proved he wasn’t happy. I waved and blew him a kiss.

A man with a tray of champagne offered me a drink. I took a glass of the pink bubbly and made my way over to the first painting. It was me. Of course. Yet, Alec had added so much more depth to it than the first time I’d seen it. Now it was as if I could grasp the tear sliding down my image’s cheek and smear the red lips pressed into the painting.

“No Love for Me,” was written underneath the image. I walked over about twenty feet and saw the same image only this one included the silk-screened image and the painting of me touching the heart of the original. “Love Thyself.” Reading the words was like sending a spear right through my heart to touch emotions not hidden far enough beneath the surface.

Incapable of looking at it any longer, I went over to the set of three paintings in a bundle where the most action was happening. The crowd was thick as the light shined down on the three giant canvas’s hanging side by side. Above the trio it said “Broken Love” but under each one I noticed they had their own individual names.

The first of Aiden pleasuring himself with my hand over his erection was labeled. “Forbidden Love.” Then the picture in the middle where Alec had caught a very harsh moment between Aiden and I was called “Love Hurts.” Then the last. There was a much larger crowd around this painting. Alec and I together, entwined in our passion. It was definitely the most stunning of the three. He’d added red sweeping swirls of paint all around the couple on the canvas, highlighting the fiery passion the couple shared. Below it, the name simply said, “Our love.”

And it was our love. Alec’s and mine. Beautiful, passionate, wild, yet still a love that had to be nurtured, and cared for. It’s purity captured perfectly on canvas.

I moved along the wall and watched people discuss the art. Not once did I hear any gasps, or see any scowls. That must have meant people were accepting of his vision.

This painting made me hot. Straight up wet between the thighs, and ready to jump Alec the moment I saw him again. “Selfish Love,” he’d called it. Me, pleasuring myself for the world to see. Something about it was righteous and powerful. At least it made me feel that way.

Alec’s arms wound around me as I stared at the painting.

“You like it?”

“I liked doing it more,” I said low, my words a veritable moan.

“Ah, I see. Later we shall revisit this scene, hmm?” I nodded quickly. “Let me show you the last. It is my best photograph to date.”

That was saying a lot. Alec Dubois was a truly amazing artist and photographer. His pictures could be found on everything from calendars to signed lithographs. He led me over to the one painting that had a giant white drape over it.

I stood still as a crowd of people surrounded us awaiting the reveal. “This portrait will be sold at twice the asking price. Half of that price will go to you,
ma
jolie
.”

That shocked me, and I shook my head no several times, but he just grinned and pulled the drape off. It was me. Only it really was me.
The real me.
Just Mia. I was standing at the space needle observation deck looking into the horizon. My hair was blowing like a black flag in the open breeze. I was serene, happy, elated, and taken with the beauty before me. I looked free in that moment. Not stuck in the confines of a job I didn’t want but was getting used to. Not bailing out my dad or struggling to make it as an actress in LA. Raw beauty. And for the first time, I saw myself as beautiful. Alec made me see that in this image.

Tears formed in my eyes as I stared at what he’d captured. My body felt swathed in heat, the center of my vision being a bright spot of light, the rest a dark cave. I scanned the title below the painting. Tears slipped down my cheeks, falling onto the skin of my breasts and the concrete below my feet. I locked gazes with Alec, his eyes were glassy, wet, though he didn’t let any tears fall. 

Beneath the most beautiful picture of me I’d ever seen, said it all.

“Goodbye, Love.”

Chapter 10

Last evening was amazing. I had felt like Cinderella at the King’s ball. Once the last picture was revealed, spectators starting connecting the dots. Newspapers, and other media professionals interviewed me, took pictures of Alec and me together, overall making a big fuss. It was fun. The glasses of champagne I’d consumed didn’t hurt my mood, either. When it was all over, there were bids for all his paintings. They would spend the next six months touring galleries. Then the buyers would have their one of a kind Dubois original. First though, Alec wanted the general public to have the opportunity to view his work. I understood that. It was his life’s passion and should be shared far and wide.

The window showed the sky was still dark, midnight in color. It had to be very close to sunrise. Before I’d gotten ready yesterday I’d packed everything up and had it hidden in a corner downstairs. My flight was early and I wanted to slip away unnoticed. As with Wes, I couldn’t bear the thought of having to say goodbye to Alec face-to-face. I scanned his sculpted face and body. Stunning, and completely dead to the world. He’d had quite a bit more of the bubbly than I’d had and chased it with some fancy French drink I’d never heard of before. Then, he’d taken me to bed, fucked me to within an inch of my life and passed out while still inside me.

It was crazy, fun, emotional love-making that symbolized the entire month. I wanted to leave with that as our last memory.

So, I slipped out of bed and tucked his t-shirt into my carryon. No reason I couldn’t have it as a keepsake. Besides, it smelled wonderfully of Alec. I grabbed the entire bag and took a shower in the bathroom below. When I made my way into the kitchen it was just before five a.m. The cab would be here in twenty minutes. I had a seven a.m. flight to Vegas.

I pulled out my special stationary and a pen. It was that time. 

Alec, my beloved Frenchman -

I’m sorry to leave you like this, but it’s best if your last memory is of us making love. Because that’s what it was, making love. I should have said it to you yesterday. I don’t know why I didn’t. I do, you know? Love you, Alec. In our way. The best way. As friends, as lovers, as two people who were destined to love one another for the time we had.

I’ll always remember our time together. You taught me about all kinds of love, and the way you see it is special. It will stay with me all the days of my life. Through you and your art, I was able to see how a loving relationship could be if both partners are completely honest. You never lied, never led me on, you always told the truth. And for that, I am so grateful.

This experience, being your muse, it is something I never dreamed would change me. But it did. You did. For the better.

Thank you, Alec, for showing me that it is okay to love, to give love freely and accept the love given to me, even if it’s for a short time.

Je t’aime. Au revoir.
 

~Mia

I kissed the page near my name and left the note by the coffee pot. Forcing myself to walk out the door and not rush up the stairs to have one last look. Instead, I pressed the button for the elevator and met my cab at the lobby door.

***

The airport was packed. Once I’d gotten through the security rigmarole I found my gate and just barely made my plane. I sat down and hefted my purse in my lap. My phone buzzed in the front pocket. I pulled it out and felt an envelope. My heart started thumping, pounding deep in my chest, thinking maybe the call was from Alec. I read the cell display.

From: Ginelle Harper

To: Mia Saunders

Can’t wait to see your ugly mug. Now Mads is yelling at me for calling you ugly. Sorry, skank. ;-)

I laughed, put the phone in airplane mode and then flipped over the envelope. Across the front was my name scrawled in an elegant slanted penmanship. Only it wasn’t my name, it was what he called me. “
Ma jolie
.” My pretty, in French. I miss it already. The phrase spilling from his bowed lips in the morning, his hair a messy tumble on the pillow.

Shaking my head took the pressure off the simmering emotions threatening to explode in a deluge of tears. I opened the envelope and pulled out a card. It was a replica of a painting, one of his actually. A town in France that he’d painted at some point and had been made into greeting cards. It was as funny as it was sweet. Egomaniac.

I opened the card and out spilled a handful of pictures. Photos of the paintings along with the one of us he’d taken himself. The selfie I’d made fun of him for. I was holding his face and kissing the daylights out of him. Strands of his hair had escaped the bun and mine were flowing wildly as we kissed. The sun shined down perfectly on us. I held the picture to my chest and let the tears fall. I would miss my Frenchie. Very much.

The last photo was a copy of me, the one he’d aptly named “Goodbye, love.” It was the perfect ending to a beautiful month. He didn’t write anything in the card. His pictures said all that needed to be said.

Like Wes, I’d never forget my time with Alec. I’d cherish those memories as a part of my life wherein I truly lived and loved.

I sifted through the emails about my new client sent from Aunt Millie. I clicked on the picture icon. Holy moly. Another hottie. This was one definitely Italian. As in, Italian stallion. Where does she come up with these guys, Hotties-R-Us? Anthony “Tony” Fasano was thirty-one, an ex-boxer, which was the picture I looked at. The man’s body looked like it had been cut from tanned marble. His skin was olive-toned, hair jet black like mine, but his eyes where a steely blue. He wasn’t as tall as I usually liked my men, only around five-foot eleven, but what he lacked in height he well made up for in raw male beauty.

Based on the picture of him standing and holding a boxing belt of some kind, he didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. How is that possible? He owned a giant chain of Italian restaurants. That food is not known for being low cal. Maybe it was an old picture? Like Millie said, it didn’t really matter why he needed me. He just did. And I’d pretend to be his fiancée. God only knows why. A man like that, women would drop at his feet and worship for a chance to marry a rich good looking guy. Could be the same type of issue Wes had or maybe it’s just too many hoochies, not enough girl next door types.

Oh well. A few days in Vegas and I’d be off to see Anthony Fasano of Chicago, Illinois.

Bring on the windy city.

Mia’s journey continues in
March (Calendar Girl).

Excerpt from March: Calendar Girl (Book 3)

The housekeeper that let me in brought me through the Penthouse apartment and beyond a set of double doors at the end of a spacious home on the fortieth floor. The elevator felt like an amusement park ride it took so long to get to the top. I’d bet good money the view was impressive.

Distractedly, the man set my bag on a padded bench in front of a monster sized bed, turned around and disappeared. That’s when I heard the sound of rushing water. Someone was taking a shower.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

That was the last thing I needed. To meet my new client when he was naked. I clenched a hand around the strap of my purse and planned to make a hasty exit when the door opened. A large form emerged from a wall of steam. The lighting around his silhouette created an ethereal picture that could feature very easily on the big screen. It stopped me dead in my tracks, held aback by the force of sheer wonder.

That’s when my client, entered the room, clad only in a small towel precariously dangling from his hips. Water droplets streamed down every scintillating inch of his muscular frame. My mouth went dry and my heart might have actually stopped beating. It was okay, for I decided right then and there it would have been a good way to go.  Basically, in my twenty four years, I’d finally seen perfection in all its naked glory.

“Holy mother of God.” I was quite certain that drool may have slid over my lip and down my chin. Wes and Alec were something to write home about. And I did. Often. To Ginelle, who poured over ever letter. Anthony Fasano on the other hand was beyond the realm of female comprehension. He was massive. A brick house. Based on what I could see of his thighs peeking from under the towel, they were the size of tree trunks. Square pecs and rectangular muscle cut like a graph along his chest and abdomen. And the arms...I couldn’t even think straight for how much I wanted to touch those arms. Have them hold me close, wrap around me. Make all the hurt of the last two months go away.