Release Me
Page 51
“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.”
I’m babbling, and he’s looking at me with such concern and sympathy that I think my heart is going to break.
“I’m sorry, Damien,” I say. “I can’t take your money. And I can’t do this.”
20
I scramble out of his embrace and snatch my shirt off the floor. I pull it on, then stand up, brushing my tears away with the back of my hand.
I fasten my jeans and look around for my purse and camera bag. They’re on the floor by the foot of the bed, right where I left them.
I hurry that way and sling my purse over my shoulder. I briefly register that Blaine is gone. I’m grateful he didn’t make a show of leaving, even though I’m embarrassed I melted down in front of him.
“I—I can call a cab if you want. Or Edward can—” I cut myself off, closing my eyes. My entire body feels warm. I’m burning up with embarrassment.
Damien has risen to his feet and he’s standing by the bed, watching me. I can’t read his face, but I know he must be furious.
“I’m sorry, Damien. I’m so sorry.” How many times can I say it? Will it ever not sound hollow? “I’ll wait outside.”
I hurry toward the stairs, my head down.
“Nikki …” His voice caresses my name, and I hesitate, but then move on.
“Nikki.” This time, my name is a command. I stop, my back stiff, and turn to face him.
He is right there, and he brings his hands to my shoulders, his eyes on my face. His expression is dark. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I have to leave. I told you. I can’t do this.”
“We have a deal,” he says, his eyes burning into me. “You’re mine, Nikki.” His hand slides behind my neck, tugging me toward him. With his other hand, he lifts my tank top and cups my breast. “Mine,” he repeats.
The warmth of his hand fills me, and I gasp. I want him, but I can’t do this. I can’t …
I shake my head. “I’m breaking the deal.”
“I don’t accept that.”
Anger pierces my embarrassment and shatters my desire. “Fuck what you accept. I’m saying no.”
His thumb makes lazy circles on my nipple. “Stop it.”
He doesn’t. “What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid.” This, I think as desire knots through me. The way I feel. Where this will lead …
No, I’m not afraid. I’m fucking terrified.
“Bullshit.” He pulls me close and takes my mouth with his, kissing me roughly and then pushing me away. “I can taste the fear on you, baby. Tell me. Dammit, Nikki, let me make it better.”
“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.”
I’m babbling, and he’s looking at me with such concern and sympathy that I think my heart is going to break.
“I’m sorry, Damien,” I say. “I can’t take your money. And I can’t do this.”
20
I scramble out of his embrace and snatch my shirt off the floor. I pull it on, then stand up, brushing my tears away with the back of my hand.
I fasten my jeans and look around for my purse and camera bag. They’re on the floor by the foot of the bed, right where I left them.
I hurry that way and sling my purse over my shoulder. I briefly register that Blaine is gone. I’m grateful he didn’t make a show of leaving, even though I’m embarrassed I melted down in front of him.
“I—I can call a cab if you want. Or Edward can—” I cut myself off, closing my eyes. My entire body feels warm. I’m burning up with embarrassment.
Damien has risen to his feet and he’s standing by the bed, watching me. I can’t read his face, but I know he must be furious.
“I’m sorry, Damien. I’m so sorry.” How many times can I say it? Will it ever not sound hollow? “I’ll wait outside.”
I hurry toward the stairs, my head down.
“Nikki …” His voice caresses my name, and I hesitate, but then move on.
“Nikki.” This time, my name is a command. I stop, my back stiff, and turn to face him.
He is right there, and he brings his hands to my shoulders, his eyes on my face. His expression is dark. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I have to leave. I told you. I can’t do this.”
“We have a deal,” he says, his eyes burning into me. “You’re mine, Nikki.” His hand slides behind my neck, tugging me toward him. With his other hand, he lifts my tank top and cups my breast. “Mine,” he repeats.
The warmth of his hand fills me, and I gasp. I want him, but I can’t do this. I can’t …
I shake my head. “I’m breaking the deal.”
“I don’t accept that.”
Anger pierces my embarrassment and shatters my desire. “Fuck what you accept. I’m saying no.”
His thumb makes lazy circles on my nipple. “Stop it.”
He doesn’t. “What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid.” This, I think as desire knots through me. The way I feel. Where this will lead …
No, I’m not afraid. I’m fucking terrified.
“Bullshit.” He pulls me close and takes my mouth with his, kissing me roughly and then pushing me away. “I can taste the fear on you, baby. Tell me. Dammit, Nikki, let me make it better.”
