“Hell yes,” I say, which makes him laugh.
“Don’t worry. I’m like a doctor. Purely clinical.”
I raise my brows.
“Okay, that’s not entirely true. But I appreciate beauty, and I get off on capturing it. It’s personal, but it’s not. Does that make sense?”
“It does,” I say, thinking of my photographs.
“We have to trust each other. Work for you?”
“I’ll try.”
“And just so you know, I signed Damien’s agreement.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, and my confusion must show on my face.
“The confidentiality agreement,” he clarifies. “I’m not allowed to talk about you or the sessions. And once it’s done, I’m not allowed to reveal who the model is.”
“Really?” I look to Damien, who nods. He turns and points to the wall opposite the ocean. It isn’t a full wall, in fact it’s not really a wall at all. There’s a huge fireplace, with a great expanse of stone rising above it, hiding the chimney, I presume.
“It will hang there,” he says. “You’ll be looking out on the ocean. You’ll see the sunset every night.”
I nod. “Where’s the canvas?” If it’s going to fill that space, it must be huge. But there’s nothing but an oversized sketchpad on the easel.
“Tomorrow,” Blaine says. “Today’s about getting us familiar with each other. I sketch your curves, you stand there and look fabulous.”
“I think you have the easier job,” I say dryly.
“Hell yeah, I do,” he says, and we both laugh.
“I’m still nervous,” I admit.
“Totally normal,” Blaine says.
I look desperately toward Damien. My skin is clammy and my pulse is pounding. Why on earth did I think this would be easy? I’m going to be standing naked in front of a stranger. Holy shit. “Do you have any wine?” I blurt.
He brushes a chaste kiss over my lips. “Of course.”
He disappears behind the fireplace, and returns quickly with three glasses and a bottle of Pinot Grigio. He passes me a glass first, and I drink half of it in one swallow. The men look at each other with amusement and I defiantly swallow the rest.
“Okay,” I say, then reach for the bedpost to steady myself. “Yeah. I think that’s better.” I hold out my glass, but Damien pours only a tiny bit.
“I want you standing, not passed out,” he says, but he’s smiling indulgently. He squeezes my hand. “The first moment is the hardest.”
“And you know this because of the many times you’ve posed naked?”
“Touché,” he says. “Take your time.”
“By the window,” Blaine says, and I’m grateful for the businesslike tone in his voice. “Close to the drapes. Damien, where’d you put that robe?”
There’s an antique trunk at the foot of the bed, and Damien opens it and pulls out a red silk robe.
“Just put it on the bed—the far side so it’s not in my composition. Yeah, that’s right. Okay, Nikki, right there. Do you want to put the robe on in the bathroom and then come in? Easier to just slip it off your shoulders.”
I run the drape through my fingers. “No,” I say. I take the hem of the tank top and pull it defiantly over my head. The cool air assaults my bare breasts, and my nipples feel hard and heavy. I don’t look at Damien. Instead, I look out at the ocean.
“Oh, man,” Blaine says. “That’s great. Your profile is amazing. And you have the most beautiful breasts. Stay like that,” he says as he starts to walk the room. “I just want to find the right place.”
After a few moments, he’s settled in and though I should be more relaxed all I can feel is the tension building inside me, getting tauter and tauter every time he says I’m beautiful. Every time he praises my soft, perfect skin.
I’m holding my eyes wide open, trying not to blink, trying to imagine I’m part of that ocean. That I am the tide, coming in and out, in and out.
“Can you do the jeans now?” Blaine asks, and his voice startles me so much that I jump.
“Nikki?” Damien’s voice is soft.
“I—sure.” I put my hands on the button and unclasp it, then start to ease the jeans down over my hips. My fingers are on my skin, and I feel the scars, raised and ugly.
I freeze, take a deep breath, and try again.
But I can’t do it. I open my mouth to say something—to ask for more time, a moment alone, something. But no words come out. Instead, I’m suddenly sobbing, my body shaking and my legs unable to hold me up. I sag to the floor and bury my face in the soft material of the drapes.
Damien is immediately at my side. “Shhh,” he whispers. “It’s okay. We’ll take it slow. It’s hard, I know. Revealing yourself like that. It takes courage, but you can do it.”
I shake my head and let him pull me into his arms. I press my face to his shoulder and he holds me close. My breasts are pressed tight against his chest, the cotton of his T-shirt soft against my nipples. His palm strokes my back. But there’s nothing sexual. He’s comforting me, holding me, and I feel warm and safe.
“I can’t do it,” I whisper when the sobs slow enough to let me speak. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
I pull away. My body is still shaking, and I have the hiccups. “I thought I could. I don’t know what I thought. That it would be revenge against you. Against the world. I don’t know.”