Free His Black Pearl by Colette Howard Page B

her. “You’ll do fine. I’ll make sure of it.”
    Watching him disappear into the next room, she sat back hard in the chair. He’d have plenty of opportunity to “make sure” of it. The contract required preliminary sketches he had approval over. Not only did she have to deliver him a final full length nude of herself in oil, now she had to show him concept drawing after drawing until she came up with the one he would ultimately choose to have her paint.

 
     
     
    Chapter Two
     
    Three weeks later, Hallie sat in the same chair. Ioannides stood before one of the library’s floor to ceiling paned windows. Sunlight haloed around him, the highlights in his black hair showing a burnished mahogany. His suit from the last meeting had been replaced by a thin, granite-colored sweater that hugged his sculpted back and arms while black dress slacks seemed as if they’d been painted on his tight, muscled ass.
    Hallie’s gaze flickered between his body and the sketchbook he held. He’d spent the last thirty minutes moving between the pages with no hint of approval on his face.
    She’d tried. Damned if she hadn’t. She’d bought two full length mirrors and spent hours in front of them, first in her best bra and panties, complete with garters and high heels, before she had shed every last bit of modesty and brought out the big lights.
    “Did you even look at your naked body, Miss Brandt?”
    Her cheeks flushed hot and she waited a second before offering a curt “Yes.”
    He flipped between the first few pages and then he tossed the sketchbook onto the table. It skidded to a stop in front of her.
    “Perhaps you did.” He turned and looked toward her, his gaze unfocused. “Perhaps that’s why you’re holding yourself so far from yourself…”
    “What do you m --”
    Crossing the room, he leaned across the table and pushed the pad closer to her. “It’s as simple as looking. Look at your arms, your legs… I didn’t commission a female Vitruvian.”
    She closed the cover to the sketchbook. “You’re exaggerating. It’s nothing like that.”
    “Right, there’s no square, no circle, no extra set of arms and legs.” He placed his palms flat against the table and stared down at her. “But does it look anything like a sensuous nude?”
    Hallie answered with a diagonal nod -- half “yes,” half “no.” She could smell his cologne this close, a gently enveloping aroma of clove and honey. She pushed her chair back from the table, reaching for the pad of paper at the same time. He turned quickly on his heels and crossed the distance to the windows.
    He looked over his shoulder at her, his gaze calculating. “Well, you made an attempt at performance. You could return the deposit and cancel the contract…”
    “Not after you went and announced the commission.” Her agent had sent her a copy of the Daily Star ’s art section folded to the announcement and a brief overview of her work to date. With one simple email to the newspaper, Ioannides had made sure she wouldn’t back out of the contract.
    Cheeks burning, she started shoving her material back into her portfolio case. “I’ll do another set --”
    “They’ll be just as bad.”
    Damned if he didn’t sound bored.
    She stood, grabbed her case and nailed him with her best “pissed bitch” glare. He just shrugged and turned back to his multi-million dollar view of the Tucson valley and the mountains beyond. “How can you paint what you’re afraid to look at, Hallie?”
    His use of her first name, so long denied and so intimately spoken, was like a slap upside the head. She sank back into the chair. “I’m not.”
    “Are, too.” He offered it sing-song, a schoolyard taunt. He turned back to face her, blinked once, like a cat watching a mouse before it pounced.
    She folded her arms across her chest, bit down before the obligatory “Am not!” could escape her lips.
    He laughed, the sound deep and rich like his scent. Heading toward the library