Forbidden Desires

by Jenna Hartley

  “Mm-hmm.” I took a drink of my coffee to avoid giving more of a response.

  “Man, he is even hotter in person.”

  I nodded, unable to disagree.

  “So—” She nudged me with her elbow. “What did he want?”

  “Grab your coffee, and then we’ll talk,” I said in an attempt to stall. I was still trying to process the fact that he wanted me to model for him. I wasn’t sure I was ready to tell anyone, even my best friend.

  “Yeah, you bet we will,” she said with a knowing grin.

  She placed her order, and then we grabbed a table.

  “So, what’s new with you?” I asked.

  She shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “Spill.”

  I glanced around before lowering my voice. “What if I told you I modeled for a life drawing class the other day, and he was the professor?”

  “You did not,” she gasped. She leaned forward, pressing her palms to the table as she eyed me.

  I nodded, still not quite sure I could believe it myself. “I did. It was one of Professor Tate’s classes, but Xander subbed in.”

  “Xander, huh? You’re on a first-name—no, a nickname—basis?”

  “He’s seen me naked, B. I think I can call the man Xander,” I joked. “Everyone does.”

  “Wow.” She leaned back in her chair. “You’re surprisingly chill about all this.”

  I lifted a shoulder, sipping my chai latte. “What can I say? It was surprisingly empowering.”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

  She was silent a moment, but I could see the wheels turning. I cupped my mug with my hands, bracing myself for what she’d say next.

  “Does this mean you’re finally going to tell your parents about dropping out of UCLA?”

  “Whoa. Whoa.” I held up my hands. “Let’s not get crazy here.”

  “Kate.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “How much longer are you going to try to keep up this double life? You’re not attending the school they expect. You’re not even living in the apartment they think you are. It’s going to catch up with you at some point.”

  “I’m—” I sighed, my shoulders slumping. “I’m going to tell them.”

  “You’ve been saying that all summer. The longer you lie, the harder it will be when you finally tell the truth.”

  “I know. I know.” I hung my head.

  I knew she was right, but how could she understand? Her parents were supportive of her graphic design career. Mine…mine were too focused on my father’s political aspirations to care much about anything other than their image.

  “When are you going to send Cynthia Valentine your cover design?” I gave her a pointed look, needing to divert attention from my own cowardice.

  Brie was studying to be a graphic designer, and she was a voracious reader of romance novels. She’d taken on some freelance design projects during school—mostly small jobs. But her dream was to design covers for romance novels and to have some of them end up on the best-seller lists.

  She stared at the table as if the pattern of the wood grain were the Mona Lisa. “Never.”

  “B, if I can stand naked in front of a room full of classmates, you can send Cynthia Valentine an email with a cover design.” Never mind the fact that I couldn’t fess up to my parents, but I was working on it.

  She shook her head quickly. “No. I can’t.”

  “There’s nothing to lose. She’ll either open it or not. She’ll see it and pass on by, or maybe she’ll love it and respond.”

  Brie snorted a laugh. “Yeah. Right.” But then she narrowed her eyes at me. “Nice attempt to distract me, but we’re not done talking about you and Xander. What’s up with you two?”

  “Nothing.” I felt my cheeks heat, and I knew she knew I was lying. We’d been friends too long—she knew my tells.

  “You know…” She tapped a finger to her lips, glancing toward the door then back at me. “He wouldn’t be a bad choice for your first.”

  I stared at her, waiting for her to tell me she was joking. “He’s a professor. I’m a student.”

  “He’s not your professor, though. Is he?” She waggled her eyebrows.

  My mouth gaped open. “That’s exactly what he said.”

  “So, he did ask you to sleep with him… I knew it!” She pointed her finger at me. “I could tell when I walked in—he’s totally into you.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. This wasn’t helping. “This is not one of your romance novels, and he didn’t ask me to have sex with him. He asked me to pose for him,” I admitted before I could stop myself.

  Though, really, I wanted to know why she thought he was into me.

  “Pose?” She laughed. “Sure,” she said, drawing out the word. “That’s like asking someone to watch Netflix and chill.”

  I frowned. “Watch Netflix and chill?”

  “Yeah. You know…come over to my house, maybe we’ll watch some movies. But really, let’s have sex.”

  “You’re serious?” How did I not know this?

  She nodded, laughing. “Yeah. I’m serious.”

  “I really think he just meant posing, nothing more. He has an exhibition coming up, and he’s stuck. He practically begged me to do it. Can you believe that?” I laughed, feeling my cheeks flush at the memory of him speaking in a gruff tone, saying the words, “I want you.”

  I knew he meant nothing more than he wanted me to pose. But when he’d said those words, his blue eyes swirling with desire, it felt like he meant he wanted me.

  Her expression turned serious as she cupped her mug.

  “What’s that face about?” I asked, suddenly concerned.

  “You heard about his accident, right?”

  I shook my head. “No. What accident?”

  “I don’t remember the specifics, but I think he was skiing and broke his wrist.”

  “What?” I held my fingers to my lips, wondering how I hadn’t heard about it before.

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “The wrist of his dominant hand.”

  “But he’s okay, right?” I was almost too afraid to ask. “Like, his wrist is fine now?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “No one knows. He hasn’t shown any of his work publicly since.”

  I considered that for a moment, wondered if that was why he’d seemed so desperate for my help. Maybe he just needed a push to get his confidence back. I couldn’t imagine what being forced to take off months from art was like. I’d be like…like—

  “So, are you going to do it?” she asked.

  I lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know,” I hedged. “I just can’t imagine sitting there for hours on end—naked. While he paints me.”

  “Just think of the connections he has. Do you know how many girls would kill to be in your position—and not just for that reason?”

  I nodded, having seen the way some of the other students looked at him. Okay, not some—all.

  “He seemed pretty desperate. He offered to pay me or write me a letter of recommendation, whatever I wanted.”

  That got her attention. “Oh my god. Do it.” I shook my head, watching as she grew more animated. “You have to do it. You’re his muse.”

  I rested my chin in my palm. “Even if that’s true, I’m sure he’s had many ‘muses’ over the years.”

  “So?” She shrugged. “What’s wrong with that? I bet he’d be an amazing lover.” She waggled her eyebrows.

  I laughed, feeling my cheeks heat.

  “Maybe that’s what you should ask him for,” she said with a far-off gaze.

  “What?” I frowned, not entirely certain I followed. Surely she wasn’t suggesting—

  “Sex.”

  I started coughing, choking hard enough to warrant the attention of people sitting nearby. I smiled brightly and was tempted to hide my face behind my hands.

  “He did tell you he’d give you whatever you wanted—”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And you did say y
ou were trying to be more fearless,” she finished.

  I had said that, hadn’t I?

  The more I thought about it, the more I realized just how right Brie was. I wasn’t going to ask Xander to have sex with me, though I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d really follow through on his promise of “whatever you want.”

  Chapter 5

  Xander

  * * *

  “Hey, Ma,” I said as I crossed the backyard. She was crouched down in the grass, attempting to photograph some of her flowers.

  She lowered her camera and smiled up at me, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Alexander, sweetheart. How are you?”

  “Not too bad. You?”

  She pushed herself off the ground with a groan, her knees cracking in the process. “I’ve been better, and I’ve been worse. Tell me what’s been going on with you. How are your classes?”

  “Good,” I said, relieved she hadn’t asked about my exhibition or my art. Both of which were decidedly not “good.” “I like working with the students more than I expected. They give me a fresh perspective.”

  “That’s great. It’s always good to see things through a new lens.” Ma was a professional photographer. I always enjoyed talking about art with her, knowing that she’d introduced me to my first—and only—love.

  “How are you feeling? How are the pieces coming along? I’m so proud of you.” She squeezed my arm, and I shifted, hoping to ease the tightness in my chest.

  “I, um—”

  “Xander is being very secretive about these pieces,” Theo interjected, joining us. “He won’t even let me see them.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek.

  Probably because they don’t exist, I thought, though I appreciated the fact that he’d covered for me. If Ma found out I was struggling, she’d want to delve into my feelings and analyze my personality, and I wasn’t sure I could handle being dissected like that. Not when I already felt so raw.

  “I’m sure they’ll be amazing.” She grinned, then returned her attention to the flowers.

  “Can you give me a hand with dinner?” Theo asked me.

  It wasn’t until Theo and I were alone in the kitchen that he broached the subject of my exhibition. “Did you call Martine or another model?”

  Kate’s face came to mind. Those wide, innocent eyes. The dimple in her cheek. The way her flaxen hair swirled around her.

  “I have someone in mind.” I busied myself with removing ingredients from the fridge, unable to face him.

  “Don’t have someone in mind—have them posing in your studio. We don’t have time to mess around.”

  I wondered if he was trying to use the pressure of the looming deadline to spur me into action. I’d always worked well under pressure, at least before…before I’d nearly skied into a tree. Before I’d broken both bones in my wrist. Before I’d spent weeks in a cast and months after that in physical therapy all in an attempt to recover something I wasn’t sure could even be reclaimed.

  “I know. But she’s—”

  “Married? Younger? Whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll find some way to persuade her. You always do.”

  I wished I shared his confidence. If I’d asked almost any other woman on campus, I was pretty sure they would’ve leaped at the chance to model for me—experienced or not. But not Kate. No. She’d actually turned me down. It was something I wasn’t accustomed to—being told no. And the fact that she had only made her all the more appealing.

  I wondered what it would take to get her to agree. She didn’t seem to want money, nor did she bite when I’d offered to write her a letter of recommendation. I’d spent all afternoon wracking my brain for ideas of things I could offer her.

  I started on dinner, chopping the vegetables. I still sometimes struggled with simple tasks since my accident, my wrist refusing to bend like I wanted it to. I gripped the knife tighter at the reminder, trying to force my wrist down even though that was probably the last thing I should do.

  My phone rang from the other room, and Theo called out, “Want me to answer it?”

  “Sure.” I tossed some vegetables into the pan, and they hissed when they hit the hot olive oil.

  “Hello?” I heard him say. A moment later, he peeked his head in the doorway to the kitchen. “Some girl named Kate says she wants to speak with you.”

  “Kate?” My voice came out at an embarrassingly high pitch, and I cleared my throat. “Did you say Kate?”

  “Yeah.” He drew his brows together, one hand still covering the speaker on the phone. “Why? Who is she?”

  I wiped my hands on the towel and rushed across the kitchen. “Just give me the phone.” I grabbed it from him with a huff, walking down the hall for some privacy.

  “Kate?” I spoke into the phone, scared to get my hopes up. But why would she be calling other than to agree to my proposal?

  “Xander? Do you have a minute?” She sounded breathless or nervous or…something. I understood. I felt just as anxious, though perhaps for different reasons.

  “Does the fact that you’re calling mean you’re going to pose for me?” I held my breath, waiting for her answer.

  “I’m considering it, yes.”

  Okay, well, that wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no either. I wasn’t sure what to say. I wasn’t sure what she wanted from me. I didn’t even know what more to offer at this point.

  “I want to ask you for something,” she said. “But I’m not sure you’re going to like it.” Her voice was quiet.

  “Okay.” I swallowed. “You’re not going to ask me to be a hit man or something, are you?”

  “No.” She laughed, and the sound was musical—like wind chimes. “God, no. Nothing like that. Though, my parents may kill me if they find out about this.”

  This was good. It sounded like she was close to agreeing. Perhaps she just needed a little nudge. A little reassurance. “No one has to find out,” I said. “If it would make you more comfortable, I won’t exhibit any pieces where your face can be identified.”

  She let out a breath. “That…” She swallowed. “That would definitely help.”

  “Is there anything else?” I asked, wanting to get this nailed down.

  “I want you to pose for me.”

  I choked on air if that was possible. When I could finally breathe again, I said, “I’m sorry. I think I must have misheard you. Did you—” I glanced over my shoulder, walking farther down the hall as I cupped the speaker of the phone with my hand. “You want me to pose for you?”

  “Yes.” Her voice wobbled.

  I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or, well… I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. She’d completely blindsided me with her request. She wanted me to pose for her?

  She groaned, and the sound went straight to my dick. “God. I knew this was a terrible idea.”

  “What? No. I just… I’m surprised, that’s all,” I admitted.

  “Well, then you know how I felt when you asked me to pose for you,” she said, which made no sense. She was gorgeous. Surely she knew that, right?

  My heart was pounding. I wasn’t one to shy away from nudity, but I’d never posed before. This wasn’t supposed to be about me. It was supposed to be about her, but—

  “Look,” she huffed. “Just forget I said anything. I have to go.”

  “I’ll do it,” I blurted.

  There was silence, and I almost wondered if she’d hung up until her quiet voice asked, “You will?”

  “After we complete my pieces. Do we have a deal?”

  She was silent again. I didn’t want to push, but my heart was damn near ready to beat out of my chest. I wasn’t sure whether I was more excited or nervous—I had a feeling she could be the key to getting me unstuck. But what if I was wrong? What if, despite feeling inspired, I still couldn’t bring myself to create anything?

  “When do we start?” she asked, breaking me out of my thoughts.

  “Is tonight too soon?” I asked, forcing myself to move forward before I could lose my nerve.r />
  She laughed, though there was an edge to it. “No.”

  “Great. I’ll text you my address. See you at eight.”

  “Great. Eight. It’s a date. I mean, not a date.” I smiled to myself as she continued to ramble. I imagined the gorgeous flush that was likely spreading across her skin. “This is not a date. It’s an…arrangement.”

  “See you at eight,” I said before disconnecting the call.

  “Who was that?” Theo asked when I returned to the kitchen.

  I grinned and stirred the vegetables on the stove, feeling lighter already. “Kate.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his hip against the counter. “Please tell me she’s your new model.”

  “She is, and I’m seeing her tonight.”

  “Thank god,” Theo huffed, grabbing the plates of food I’d dished out and carrying them outside.

  I wished I shared his relief, but all I could picture was me standing at the easel, paintbrush in hand…completely frozen. I could only hope that wouldn’t happen in front of Kate.

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  I’d just finished setting up my supplies when the doorbell buzzed. I navigated to the security app on my phone, and the video feed confirmed it was Kate. She glanced around, wringing her hands, and I had a flashback to the day I’d subbed for Professor Tate’s class. I wondered now—like then—if she was going to bolt.

  I opened my music app, selecting a relaxed playlist with a sensual beat. I wanted her to feel comfortable, and I knew that, to some people, concrete floors and an industrial loft didn’t necessarily scream comfort.

  I straightened my shirt, running a hand through my hair before swinging open the heavy metal door. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” She shifted, and I scanned her body, the leggings, the sweater that hung off one shoulder—a shoulder I wanted to sink my teeth into.

  I squeezed my eyes shut briefly in an attempt to erase the image. What the hell was wrong with me?

  “Come in.” I opened the door wider, gesturing for her to come inside.