about.
“Really?”
In her alcohol fogged brain a little warning signal went off as Inara saw who was speaking-Sara Graeme.
Sara was an amazing artist. She’d sold out two showings at the prestigious Latham Gallery and was rumored to be about to stage a third. She’d been asking Inara to pose for months. Inara had no objection to being an artist’s model. With her mix of Swedish and Korean genes, her exotic looks had attracted many an artistic eye. Inara thought she looked weird-eyes too far set apart, chin too pointy, nose too freckled and her mouth duck bill wide- but artists saw something in her odd mish mash of features.
She’d posed several times before for both painters and photographers and was always happy to be paid scale, but there was something about Sara-a prickling feeling she felt whenever she was near-that kept her saying no.
“If Inara’s the best then she wouldn’t mind a wee bit of a challenge would she?”
Sara’s photographer husband Niall spoke, moving behind to cradle his wife against his broad chest. If Sara made her skin prickle, Niall made it smolder. Dark curly hair, classic black Irish looks-he had an aura of dangerous sensuality.
Around them the cries of, “Challenge! Challenge!” started up.
“She can. She’ll whip your butts!” Laney cried out over the crowd.
“I can. I can what?” No longer just nodding, Inara wanted to know exactly what was going on.
“Your friend here says you have the best photographic memory,” Sara said, nodding her head at Laney.
“I’m pretty good,” Inara countered, feeling herself to be in pretty safe territory.
“Would you be willing to wager on that?” Niall asked in the sing song tones of his luscious Irish brogue.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll go against you. Tell me what you want if you win,” Sara said, moving closer.
Her long blonde hair brushed against Inara’s arm, shooting wildfire goose pimples across her skin.
“If I win…Niall photographs my catalogue. For free.”
Inara was a knitting designer. The last collection of woolen work she’d photographed herself. It had sold well online and with the money she’d made she was hoping to expand. Her photography, while passable, was not up to a professional standard. With professional presentation she was sure she could get the interest of major department stores. Niall’s quote for photographing her collection was sitting in a depressing pile with all the others she couldn’t afford. If she won this bet it would be worth thousands of dollars of free work. No way would he agree.
Niall nodded and laughed. A reaction Inara hadn’t expected.
“All right then, my pretty, what would we want in return?” Niall tilted his head to ask his wife.
“Oh that’s easy. A no brainer. If I win then I get to paint her.”
“Do you agree?” Niall asked.
“Yes,” Inara said and the terms were set. The bar owner Michael Drury would choose the items. Fifteen items, thirty seconds viewing time. One minute to write the remembered items down.
Her photographic memory was a party trick she’d brought out on many a drunken occasion-a trick that had never before failed. The heat of the bar, the press of Niall against her side, the noise and how very much she wanted to win all combined to seize 197
her brain. When it came time for pen to hit paper Inara’s mind blanked at ten items.
Around her the crowd chanted down the time.
“Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…two…one!”
It was pens down and Inara had lost-lost the unloseable bet.
Now here she was, walking through the immaculate Japanese garden up to the front door of Sara and Niall’s brownstone.
The studio was like the rest of the house. High ceilings and white walls. It was a large room divided in two by painted Japanese screens. One side housed Sara’s easel and her paints and the other, large box lights and a multitude of other photographic equipment.
When she was led through the door by Sara, Inara started towards the side with the easel. She looked back in surprise when Sara pulled on her arm and tugged her towards Niall's side of the room.
“Umm…I thought you were going to paint me?”
“I am.” Sara’s smile was enigmatic. A prickle of unease snaked down Inara’s spine. Sara’s hair was pulled into a high pony tail that sharpened her perfect Nordic features. High cheekbones were dusted with pink and her blonde lashes darkened, but other than that her skin was bare. Standing this close to her Inara could see that her skin was flawless peaches and cream unmarred by even a freckle.
“Don’t you need me near the easel?”
“You’re my easel, “Sara said, “I’m going to paint you.”
“Paint me,” Inara repeated, sinking fast out of her depth.
“She’s going to paint you and I’ll photograph you.”
Inara jumped at the sound of Niall’s voice. She hadn’t expected him to be here and she hadn’t noticed him standing in the corner of the photography studio. She should have seen him. Dressed head to toe in black he stood out like a wraith against the stark white walls.
“That’s not what I agreed to,” Inara said, backing away from Sara, her shoulders bumping against the Japanese paper screens.
“I think you’ll find that you agreed to be painted. Didn’t she Sara?” Niall’s voice was hypnotically melodic.
“She did Niall. She agreed that I could paint
“Okay. So maybe I said that, but there was nothing about
“That’s true my love,” Niall said, black curls shaking as he nodded.
“Well then, if you don’t want to be photographed you’ll have to go…”
Inara let out a sigh of relief and just when her pulse had almost returned to normal Sara finished her sentence,”…and come back the day of the showing. I’d hoped to show photographs of you, but I’d be just as happy to display your body on the night.”
“Display me?”
“Yes. Naked and painted.”
“I like the idea my love. Imagine her on a pedestal. She could be your centerpiece.”
Inara felt a flush of hot and cold fear rush across her skin. From head to toe. She was painted into a corner. She agreed to be painted now and photographed by Niall or she appear naked on the night of Sara’s next showing-in front of thousands of people and the media. She had no choice, other than to forfeit the bet and if she did that she could never show her face at La Luna again.
“I’ll do it. I’ll be painted now and you can photograph me.”
“I don’t know. I really like the idea of showing you on the night instead.”
“No! Now! Please, now. Whatever you want. I’ll agree to whatever you want.”
Sara came towards her, stalking like a predator. Inara could move no further back without toppling over the screens. Pressed against the paper screen Inara shuddered as Sara trailed a finger up her bare arm and across the collar bone showing through the thin straps of her tank. “Whatever I want Inara. Is that right?”
“Yes. Whatever you want.”
“Strip down for me.”
Inara had expected this; knowing full well that Sara painted nudes, she’d come dressed for easy removal. She was bare underneath her top. The tank she wore had a shelf bra, not that with her little apple breasts she needed much support. For bottoms she’d chosen wide leg grey drawstring yoga pants. They pooled at her feet, slipping easily to the ground the moment she released the drawstring. Dressed only in brief, flesh-colored panties, she bent down and neatly folded her clothes. When she stood up, both Sara and Niall were watching her. Goose pimples shot across her skin and she fought the urge to cover her breasts. She was no nudity novice; she’d done this before.
She wouldn’t cover herself like some naive girl.
