He doesn’t seem fazed either way. “Few of the women I’ve painted were models. I’m not interested in professionals.”
That still doesn’t explain why he would be interested in me. But he is. The current of heat arcing toward me from his hooded stare leaves little room for doubt.
I wonder if it’s obvious enough that even Daniel senses it now. He clears his throat. “I don’t think I like where this conversation is heading. Melanie’s not part of this, Jared.”
“One hundred and sixty-five thousand dollars,” Rush replies evenly. “She can make it all go away. I’ll clear both your debts personally, the one you incurred tonight and the one closing in on you from Las Vegas. In exchange, all I’m asking for is a few hours of Ms. Laurent’s time in front of my canvas.”
“Naked,” I point out, and just saying the word aloud in front of him makes me feel as if I’m already unclothed. A shiver dances down my spine, not chilled, but warm. Much too warm. Heat spirals through me, flushing me from my face to my toes. I fold my arms in front of me, the only shield I have against the unwanted heat this man is igniting in me.
Daniel makes a sound of discomfort in the back of his throat. “I’m familiar with some of your work, Jared. What kind of painting are we talking about where Melanie’s concerned?”
“The only kind I’m interested in creating.” Those dark eyes still hold on to me as he speaks. “I paint what’s real. Things I find beautiful, provocative. Raw. Anything less is a waste of my time, and, frankly, my talent.”
God, the arrogance. Not that he hasn’t earned the right to some of it. His ability and critical acclaim as an artist has made him an extremely wealthy man. His power and fame in this city isn’t in question, but neither is his reputation as a debauched manwhore. I’m not sure which of those traits bothers me the most.
Jared Rush wears his confidence as comfortably as he fills out his expensive suit and unbuttoned shirt. I’m sure he’s used to women fighting over his attention wherever he goes, which makes me wonder all over again why he would want to paint me.
I’m not sure I want to know. I sure as hell have no intention of finding out.
I glance at Daniel, expecting him to shut this whole ridiculous conversation down. Instead, he stands there in silence, a tendon twitching anxiously in the side of his cheek.
My pulse kicks. He can’t possibly think any of this sounds reasonable, can he? The fact that his tongue is apparently glued to the roof of his mouth doesn’t give me much reassurance.
As for Jared Rush, he remains unmoving on the large Chesterfield sofa, a force of nature even at rest. Of course, he is not at rest, not even close. He is a tiger about to pounce. He is the wild animal I sensed the moment I stepped inside the room with him.
The knowing look on his face tells me he’s aware of my reaction to him, then and now. Since I tend to wear my emotions on my face, he must also be aware of my outrage at his ballsy proposal.
My chin hikes up. “You’ve got a very high opinion of your own work, Mr. Rush. If you ask me, what you have is a sadistic eye, not to mention a disturbing concept of beauty.”
“Mel, don’t.” Daniel’s voice is a tight, strangled whisper next to me.
He’s terrified of Jared Rush. After tonight, he’s got good reason to be.
Seventy-five thousand reasons. Never mind about the rest he owes someone in Las Vegas.
Reminded of those enormous sums, my heart sinks. I grew up poor and struggling, the oldest of two girls with a hard-working single mom since the time I was thirteen. I don’t know what it’s like to gamble away that kind of money. Until tonight, I wouldn’t have guessed Daniel could be so reckless and stupid. I know how hard he works, the hours he devotes to his career. What the hell was he thinking, racking up gambling debts nearly the sum of my entire student loans?
I’ve never been so furious with him in the entire time we’ve known each other. Yet as upset as I am, I’m also scared for him because I care.
I don’t turn my back on people I care about, and as much as I may wish I could right now, I’m not going to start tonight.
While I don’t want to make things worse for Daniel, I can’t stand here and pretend I’m not taken aback by what Rush is suggesting. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to cower in front of the arrogant man.
No more than I’m going to stoop to posing for him.
“Tell me what else you think about my art, Ms. Laurent.” He leans forward, those elegant, powerful fingers lacing together between the wide sprawl of his knees. “I’m interested to hear your full, unvarnished assessment. It’s obvious you’d like nothing more than to let me have it.”
Daniel’s sharp inhalation beside me should be enough to keep my tongue in check. It probably would be, if not for the challenge sparking in the depths of Jared Rush’s stare.
I force myself not to blink. “Your paintings are masterpieces, no one can argue that. But they’re also cruel. I don’t see any beauty in them at all.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes. You peel your subjects to their bones with your paintbrush. You might as well use a scalpel. I can only imagine what it takes for someone to sit for you knowing you’ll expose every flaw and imperfection you can find—not only on their bodies, but in their souls.”
Have I shocked him? His brows quirk in response, but there is no humor in his schooled expression. “I paint the truth, Ms. Laurent. It can be difficult to look at,
