She gasped as I sat in the armchair next to the easel, holding her hand over her heart. “Luca, you scared me.”
Alex glanced down at her lack of clothing and attempted to cover herself with her hands.
“No. Don’t hide from me.” I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my thighs. “I love this gorgeous view, but why are you painting in your underwear?”
She pointed at a black sleeveless dress draped over the chair. “I didn’t want to ruin the dress you got me.”
I picked out her clothes when she was in Devil’s Creek. Every morning, I had my assistant send her gift-wrapped boxes. Alex was jeans and a T-shirt kind of girl, but I loved when she dressed up for me. She never refused my packages, so I kept sending them like clockwork each day.
“What are you working on?”
She tucked her feet under her butt, twirling the brush in her hand. “Something for you.”
I appraised her tits in the black La Perla bra I’d sent over this morning. Her long, blonde curls spilled over her sun-kissed shoulders, stopping at the tops of her breasts. I licked my lips, my cock jerking at the sight of her perfection. Even if our families hadn’t fixed us up, I would have a chosen a woman like Alex. Pale skin, delicious curves, pouty pink lips, high cheekbones, and sparkling blue eyes.
Absolute perfection.
“Wanna help me?” Alex asked.
“Depends.” I ran the pad of my thumb across my bottom lip, and her eyes landed on my mouth. “What do I get?”
She frowned. “Do you need a reward for every good deed?”
I rolled my shoulders against the soft fabric of my mother’s favorite chair. “I don’t make a habit of performing many good deeds.”
“No, I guess you don’t.”
Sensing her irritation, I swiped the palate from the floor. “Which colors do you need?”
Her face brightened. “More red, orange, black, and white.” She pointed at the exact bottles on the floor beside my foot.
“How come you’re using acrylic paint?” I filled the circles in the palette with paint as she grabbed three more synthetic brushes.
Alex groaned. “Don’t get all snobby with me about oil versus acrylic. Andy Warhol used acrylic.”
“He also painted pop art,” I shot back.
It was a hotly debated topic in the art world. Some artists believed oil was the only way to go, but more recent prominent artists were getting into acrylics.
“I’m not,” I assured her. “Just wondering why you’re deviating from your usual.”
“I’ve been getting headaches from the oil fumes.” She peeked up at me and sighed. “I thought I’d try something new since this is a new series.”
My mother preferred oil and also complained about the headaches from the chemicals. Toward the end, she dabbled with acrylics but never used them for her showcase pieces.
Alex organized the brushes in a row. “I hope you like this painting. It’s something I’ve been sketching for a few weeks.”
“I will love anything you paint for me.”
She smiled so wide it touched her eyes. My God, I loved when she looked at me this way. Like for once, she didn’t want to murder me. When her brother was around, he messed with all of my plans for Alex. He hated me, as he should have. I could understand his concern, but I would never allow him to get in my way.
Dipping a rigger brush into the black paint, Alex made a slow, steady line across the canvas. She continued making the same motion, each line ten inches apart, rounding out the uneven square at the canvas's center. I watched in awe for what felt like hours. And when she finished the last stroke, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. The rough slats on the top, bottom, and sides looked like shards of glass, mirrors that revealed the overall aesthetic pieces.
Bent forward, with her palms on the floor and her tits falling out of her lacy bra, she peeked up at me. Alex studied my face as if she were trying to commit every curve to memory.
“What are you doing?”
She gave me a sexy smile and pressed her finger to her lips. “You’re my muse. Be quiet. I'm thinking.”
I opened my mouth to protest.
“No, you can’t stop me,” she said in a defiant tone. “Don’t even try.”
“I can drag you out of this studio by your hair and send you back to Wellington Manor.”
“Luca, stop killing my vibe,” she whined. “You’re prettier when you’re quiet.”
“I’m not pretty.”
Her smile widened, reaching her pretty blue irises. “Yes, you are.”
“I have too many scars.”
She shook her head, her curls falling into her eyes. “They don’t define you.”
“No, they made me who I am.”
Alex pushed the hair behind her ears, pressing her lips together, deep in thought. “You can still be the man your mother thought you would become instead of the man your father forced you to be.”