Perspective
Jenna Hartley
Copyright © 2019 by Jenna Hartley.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations embodied in a book review and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental
Editing: Lisa A. Hollett
Cover Artwork © 2019 L.J. Anderson of Mayhem Cover Creations
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Note to Readers
What’s Next?
Excerpt
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
If I’d ever wondered what it was like to stand naked in front of a room full of strangers, I was about to find out.
Why am I doing this again? I asked myself as I climbed onto the dais, wrapped only in a thin, silk robe.
Oh, right. I glanced toward the ceiling—because I was trying to be more daring, less concerned with what other people thought.
People like my parents.
The only thing they cared about was appearances—attending the right schools, wearing the latest designers, dating the right guys.
All my life, I’d been the dutiful daughter, but I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t be who they wanted me to be, date who they wanted me to date. But I couldn’t tell them that. Just like I couldn’t tell them I’d dropped out of my premed program at UCLA to enroll in art school. That I was giving up their dreams for me of becoming a doctor to pursue my own.
People shifted, chatting among themselves as they set up for class. I tried not to look at all the students, male and female, who formed a circle around me. Instead, I attempted to focus on their materials. The canvases and easels, the paints and brushes. To them, I wasn’t a naked body to be objectified or even judged. I was a collection of shapes to be represented in two-dimensional form. An assignment to be completed.
I knew all this, knew it from my own experience of being on their side of the easel. But…yeah. Being the artist was a heck of a lot easier than being the model. Even though you were still baring a part of yourself through your art, it felt safer somehow, more controlled. As the artist, I decided what I shared—and what I didn’t.
I inched back toward the stool, nearly stumbling to the floor in the process. My cheeks heated, and I laughed nervously as I attempted to sit again. I crossed my legs and arms, feeling a bit naked despite my robe as we waited for the professor to arrive.
When I’d signed up to model, my decision to pose nude had seemed exciting, reckless. Rebellious. But now… I swallowed. Now, I thought I might be sick.
Faced with the reality of disrobing in front of fifteen or so of my peers plus a professor. A professor who had yet to arrive. Which meant… My eyes darted to the door, and I stood. I itched to run, yet my feet remained firmly planted on the ground.
I was seriously having second thoughts when the door swung open and a tall man strode into the room. His dark curly hair shone beneath the lights, and I sucked in a breath when our eyes met. His were the most piercing blue I’d ever seen. I stared, my mind churning with how I could recreate that color with paint. It was probably an impossible task—I’d never seen a color quite like it. But I knew I had to try.
For that brief moment when we stared at each other, I forgot about the fact that I was wearing nothing more than a flimsy scrap of fabric. I forgot about the fact that I was about to pose nude for a class. I forgot about everything but him.
“Good afternoon, class,” he rumbled. “I’m Xander Kline, and I’ll be subbing in for Professor Tate.”
All the air rushed from my lungs. He… I swallowed. He was the professor?
He couldn’t be more than ten years older than me, if that. Which also made him significantly younger than almost every other member of the faculty. Not to mention, one of the hottest guys I’d ever seen. My chest tightened. The hottest guy I’d ever seen was going to see me naked, have ample time to study my flaws.
Oh god.
“Did everyone sign in?” Everything after that was a blur as the room spun, and I tried to catch my breath.
“…introduce our model, Kate,” Xander said, and I snapped my eyes to his. I’d completely missed the past few minutes of instruction, and he was now addressing me.
“Yes?” I straightened, trying to portray a cool confidence I didn’t feel.
He cleared his throat. “When you’re ready, please disrobe and choose your first standing pose.”
When you’re ready… The words played on repeat. Would I ever be ready?
I remained rooted to the spot, and hushed whispers spread through the room. Xander stepped closer, and I swallowed. He was tall, taller than I’d realized. Even though the dais added nearly four inches to my height, I still had to lift my chin to meet his eyes.
I kept my gaze focused on his, attempting to block out everyone else. I wasn’t sure it was the best strategy, but it was either that or run. And I’d sworn to myself I wouldn’t run. I mean, I couldn’t run. Could I?
“Are you okay?” Xander asked.
I nodded, and a few strands of hair fell into my face. I tucked them behind my ear. “I’m… Yeah, I’m good.” His eyes searched mine—for what, I didn’t know.
I’d never stood naked before a man, let alone a room of people. But I was Kate Pruitt, and I didn’t back down from a challenge.
With shaking hands, I untied the belt of my robe, the beat of my heart blocking out all other sounds. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in.
It’s just him and me.
And out.
Xander held my gaze, his eyes piercing mine as I slid the robe down my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Goose bumps broke out along my skin, and I was intensely aware of my body. Of the sweat prickling the back of my neck, the tendrils of hair tickling my ear, the way my nipples pebbled.
Was I… Did this turn me on? Or did he turn me on? The idea of him watching me, more specifically.
I froze in place, tilting one hip as I placed both hands on the back of my head. It wasn’t the most original pose, but it would be easy enough to hold.
As Xander continued to stare at me, my skin flushed with heat, and I itched to rub my legs together to ease the ache. But I had to remain as still as possible. No wriggling. No talking. And certainly, no…rubbing.
“Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” His tone was filled with awe.
I tried to remember everything I knew about Professor Alexander Kline. He was new to the faculty, an adjunct professor. Everyone had been buzzing about his classes, which were impossible to get into. He was known for his work with oil paint and charcoal, but he liked to mix a variety of media, creating a distinctive style that presented a unique perspective on the world.
“I’ll be right there,” Xander said, only moving away when a student asked him a question.
I’d almost forgotten there
was anyone else in the room, that’s how powerful the pull was between us. And the longer I stood there, the more I realized I wasn’t intimidated like I’d feared. But rather, empowered.
I couldn’t turn my head, couldn’t so much as scratch my nose, but I could feel his eyes on me even as he shifted away.
I wondered if that was normal. I’d never paid much attention to what the professor was doing when I’d been in life drawing class. I was usually so intent on getting everything down in the short time before the next break that I was in the zone. But watching Xander was all I could focus on. Watching his long fingers as he gestured to a canvas. Watching the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.
I wanted to trade places with him and not just because I was standing in front of fifteen or so people, completely naked. No, I wanted ample time to gaze at him, all of him. Not stolen glances whenever he happened to pass in front of me. I wanted to study the structure of his jaw, to trace every muscle with my pencil, and to recreate the elegant lines and colors of the tattoos snaking out from beneath his shirt.
“All right,” he said, breaking my trance. “Stretch your legs. Grab a drink of water and be back in five.”
Already? I thought.
Sure, my body ached from holding the same pose for twenty minutes. But he’d been such a good distraction, the time had passed quickly. And I was grateful for all the yoga I’d done—it was certainly paying off.
Xander crouched to the floor, gathering my robe before handing it to me. Our fingers brushed in the process. I didn’t know whether it was because I was naked or because it was him, but his touch sent a fresh wave of goose bumps rippling up my arm.
“Thank you,” I whispered, not trusting my voice.
“Anything to keep my model comfortable.” He grinned, keeping his eyes trained on mine as I wrapped the silk robe around me. “Are you doing okay?”
I nodded, surprised by how true the answer felt. I was okay. I hadn’t died of embarrassment or shrunk under the weight of everyone’s scrutiny. If anything, I felt…beautiful. Like my body was being admired for the sake of art.
“You’re doing great.”
“Thanks,” I breathed. “That’s a relief, considering it’s my first time.”
He jerked his head back. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” I grinned, gratified by his stunned reaction. “I’m a virgin. I-I mean novice. I’ve never modeled like this. Before.” My cheeks filled with heat, and I glanced toward the floor.
Oh my god. I wanted to cover my face with my hands. Standing naked in front of the class wasn’t nearly as bad as what I’d just said. I’d basically admitted to him that I was a virgin. Which I was, but he didn’t need to know that.
He opened his mouth to say something when a girl called his name from across the room. He held my gaze a moment longer before excusing himself to speak with her. I released the breath I’d been holding. The rest of the break, he was occupied with the other students—evaluating their work and giving them pointers.
When the break ended, I resumed my position on the dais. It was a little easier this time, though the idea of disrobing still had my heart pounding. Again, I focused on Xander. And as I held the next pose, I tried to catalogue everything about him. The raven-colored waves of hair and bronzed skin. The blue eyes. And I was a sucker for a strong, square jaw, especially one lined with scruff.
Tattoos peeked out from beneath his fitted black T-shirt, making me wonder just how much of his body was covered in them. Judging from what I could see—a lot. I wanted to explore them, to know the story behind each and every one. It was ridiculous, really, but I couldn’t help but fixate on him.
I listened to his voice as he circled the room, circled me. It was easy to pick out—deeper than the rest, yet soothing. And it was even more beautiful than his body, if that were possible.
He was a good distraction from the way my arm ached from holding the pose. A good distraction from the fact that I was basically doing yoga—naked yoga—in front of a bunch of fully clothed people.
“That looks good,” he said to one of the students. “I really like the shading you’ve done. Even though it’s in black-and-white, you’ve given me a sense that her hair is blond. And I get a hint of the pink coming through, or at least that there’s another color.”
“Thank you,” the student said.
I watched him out of my peripheral vision, saw him move to the next student and her canvas. Xander crossed his arms over his chest, resting his chin in his hand. He seemed to stand there a long time before finally nodding. “Yes. Very good. Excellent shading on the breasts and stomach. Though, this one should be a bit fuller than you’ve drawn it. She’s perfectly proportioned.”
I swallowed hard, feeling my body heating from the inside out. Obviously, I knew he was looking at me, evaluating me. And he—like the students—had been nothing but professional. Even still, there was something there. Some…connection. I didn’t know how to describe it, just that it existed. Like I knew a Monet was a Monet and that General’s made my favorite charcoal pencils.
When Xander announced it was time for another break, my shoulders sagged with relief. We’d progressed through a series of standing and sitting poses, and I was eager to move on to the reclining positions. Eager to finish modeling so I could see the shocked look on Brie’s face when I told her what I’d done.
After I’d pulled on my robe, I walked from easel to easel during the break, admiring the students’ work. It was an odd sensation, to view my body through their eyes. And I liked seeing what each of them focused on. For some, it was my hands, for others, my hair. Everyone seemed to emphasize a different attribute, and it filled me with a sense of pride and ownership. Each artist had glorified parts of me that I didn’t necessarily find sexy or even beautiful. And it gave me a new perspective, a renewed sense of confidence.
“All right,” Xander said, interrupting the students’ quiet chatter. “Just one more pose, and then we’re done.”
Everyone made their way back to their places. The students to their easels and me to the massage table that had been draped with a sheet. I folded my arm behind my head, relaxing into a pose that was the most comfortable one so far.
I closed my eyes and went through one of my favorite meditation exercises—the body scan. I relaxed each and every part of my body from head to toe until I was overcome with a sense of calm, of peace. I could still hear the scratch of the charcoal against canvas, the shifting of people in the space surrounding me, but I was in my own world.
My own world where Xander ran his finger along my skin, tracing the lines of my curves. Where he pressed his lips to my collarbone before trailing his way down my breasts and over my stomach. My chest rose and fell, and I struggled to retain control. Especially when I imagined him climbing on top of me, sliding the tip of his erection over my—
I let out a small moan, and it felt like everyone stilled. Oh my god.
I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could disappear. Talk about mortifying. I didn’t know if farting would have been more or less embarrassing. And I still couldn’t move, not until Xander said so.
Waiting was agony, and it felt like years passed before he said, “That’s all for today. Great job, class.”
I bolted upright, wrapping the robe around me as I sped toward the changing area. The other students were too busy packing up their supplies or chatting to notice my freak-out. But I could feel Xander’s eyes on me as I crossed the room as quickly as I could without running.
“Kate,” Xander called when I emerged from the changing area. “Can I speak with you a moment?”
“Sorry.” I clutched my tote to my chest, feeling like I needed to shield myself. “I have to go.”
I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. And if I never saw Xander—or any of those students—again, it would be too soon.
Chapter One
A Few Days Earlier
I stared at the blank canvas, feeling as if I might explo
de. Every time I tried to pick up charcoal, a pencil, a paintbrush—nothing. I felt nothing. I wasn’t inspired; I was frozen.
My phone rang, and I was grateful for the distraction until I saw who was calling—Theo. My twin brother and manager. And, more often than not, a pain in my ass.
I considered sending it straight to voice mail, but I knew he’d just keep calling. Or worse, he’d decide to pop by. And I definitely didn’t want him stopping by unannounced and seeing all the work I hadn’t been doing.
I scrambled to answer the phone. “Hey.”
“How are the pieces coming for the new exhibition?” His voice echoed in my studio, bouncing off the concrete floors and high walls.
“Um—” I glanced around, faced with blank canvas after blank canvas. It was a good thing he’d called instead of coming over. “Good. Yeah. It’s going good.”
“Bullshit,” he coughed.
“Yeah, so, I may be a little behind.” Understatement of the fucking century. There had been instances in the past when I was a little behind. I hadn’t even started yet, well, unless you counted the pieces I’d completed before my accident. Which I didn’t.
He puffed out a breath. “Xander, we talked about this. The doctors say your wrist is fine. Your physical therapist cleared you to start painting again weeks ago.”
“I know,” I ground out, more frustrated with myself than anything else.
I’d spent months waiting for this, waiting to paint again. And now that I could, I couldn’t. Or at least, something in my brain was telling me I couldn’t.
“Then what’s going on?”
Perspective (Love in LA Book 1) Page 1