“We should go over the business details.” The contracts and modeling release forms trembled in her hands.
His firm lips pulled into a slow smile, revealing even white teeth. Uh-oh. He’d noticed her sexual interest and lost his self-conscious manner.
“You can put your briefs on.” It was a temporary attraction. Once she drew him for hours, his nakedness wouldn’t affect her so much.
He bent over to pick up his underwear. “I make it a rule never to discuss business when I’m naked. I prefer to reserve that for pleasure.” His eyes invited her to comment on his teasing statement.
“For me, naked men are only business,” she said, avoiding his glance. He was a few feet away, and his woodsy cologne teased her nostrils.
“Too bad.” He dangled the tiny black scrap of satin from his fingers, tempting her. “Maybe you haven’t found the right naked man.”
She gulped at his blatant offer, the hot flush rising on her skin.
His intense gaze dared her to look away from him. She couldn’t. Somehow she had lost the upper hand and was reacting to him as a woman instead of an artist. She wondered crazily if the painter Botticelli had lusted after the model for his Venus or if the sculptor Borghese had lusted after his Daphne.
His strong hands curled at his sides close to his erection. If he moved his hand slightly, he’d be able to cup himself. She wondered if his penis felt as magnificent as it looked—long, brown and hard. A thick vein throbbed along the shaft, making her clitoris throb in unison. As she watched, mesmerized by the blaze of lust filling her body, a shiny bead of fluid coated the tip of his penis. For one crazy moment she wanted to drop to her knees and taste the pearl droplet.
She had to force herself to turn to her papers, shuffling them unnecessarily. When she sneaked a glance at him, he’d pulled his briefs on, but his erection was still straining against the tight black satin.
She cleared her throat, trying to shift his attention to the modeling contract.
He smiled as if he saw through her tactic. “So what do you want to show me?” The gleam in his eyes gave away his true thoughts.
“The paperwork,” she emphasized. “Your hourly and daily rates are specified here.” She pointed to the money details. “I’ll cut your agent a check on each of the dates listed.”
“I got the job?” He sounded stunned.
“Yes. Don’t you want it?” She’d never had a model refuse a job before.
“Well, I, uh, thought you needed to see a couple more guys, then you’d take a while to decide.”
“No, I need you right away.” She blushed at her unfortunate turn of phrase. “I’m on a very tight time frame, and your agent assured me you were free for the next few weeks.”
He ran his fingers through his black curls. “I have some obligations they don’t know about.”
She was starting to lose her patience. “Are you taking the job or do I call your agency and tell them you turned me down and they should send someone else?”
“No.” He yanked on the black robe. “I’ll do it.”
“Sign here.” She shoved the papers at him.
He barely looked at the contract before signing it with a firm, slashing hand. “I hope this works out for both of us, Reina.”
He thought her name was Reina? Ha. No such luck.
“Actually, I go by Rey.” She gathered the papers. “Do you have any questions for me?”
“Why is such a beautiful woman using a man’s name?” he asked.
“What?” Big deal, he thought she was beautiful. She’d heard that before from men. What they meant was, Take off your clothes and have meaningless sex with me.
“In Spanish, Rey means ‘king’ or is short for Reynaldo.” He stared at her with his amber-flecked eyes. “Reina is a queen, a name for a royal beauty.”
She shrugged. “Rey is a nickname—and not for Reina.”
“What is it short for?”
She sighed. “I don’t really like my name. It’s Swedish and not very familiar to most people.”
He waited.
“Rey is short for Freya.” She dared him to make fun of her old-fashioned name.
“Freya.” The Scandinavian word rolled off his tongue with a definite Spanish accent. She kind of liked the way he said it. “And what does Freya mean?”
Heat crept into her cheeks again. What was it about this man that made her blush so much? “Freya was a Norse goddess.”
“Goddess of what?” He moved closer to her.
“Um, springtime.” And love and fertility, but he definitely didn’t need to know that. “And since it’s nowhere near springtime, you can go get dressed if you’re chilly.” It was a lame attempt at changing the subject, but she had to get her sexy model dressed so she could regain her equilibrium.
“We’re finished for today?” He looked disappointed.
“I have a meeting at my gallery in forty-five minutes, so we’ll start Monday.”
“I look forward to modeling for you,” he assured her, sticking out his hand to seal their deal.
Rey stared at Marco’s long brown fingers topped with neat square nails. She knew touching him would be a bad idea, but a handshake wouldn’t hurt, would it? It would be rude to ignore his outstretched hand.
She placed her hand in his. Rubbing his thumb across her wrist, he turned a businesslike handshake into a caress. Her breathing quickened. For one crazy second she thought he was going to bend over and kiss her knuckles, like a Spanish pirate in the old Saturday afternoon black-and-white movies. She’d always loved those Spanish pirates.
Rey pulled her hand away and looked for a pen, pencil, jumbo-size kid’s crayon—anything so she could start drawing and ignore that sensual glitter in his eye.
He grinned at her and ambled toward her tiny changing room, her black bathrobe slung over his arm. His buttocks flexed under the tight satin.
She found a soft charcoal stick and slashed blindly at a piece of scrap paper. She heard the curtain rattle closed and finally focused on her rough sketch. Oh, no. She’d drawn the thick, long lines of Marco’s penis. The tiny muscles in her vagina clenched in response.
She ripped the tattletale sketch into confetti. Working on this commission would either make her reputation or drive her insane with lust. And she wasn’t sure which outcome she wanted more.
TEN MINUTES LATER MARCO walked out of the cubicle, grimacing as his snow-damp pants stuck to his thighs. Although Rey had a few space heaters scattered around the loft, the high ceiling gobbled their small output. “Aren’t you cold?”
“No, I’m used to it.” She looked at his pitifully thin clothing. “Apparently you aren’t.”
“Not really.” He didn’t want to get into details of why he was in Chicago without a winter coat.
“I was born in Sweden and moved to Chicago when I was a kid, so I have a few tricks to get through a long, dark winter.” She grabbed a blank sheet of paper from her worktable and clipped it to her easel.
Marco had already thought of several ways and several positions in which to spend winter with Rey, starting as soon as possible. “If you’re not busy later, I’d like to take you to dinner. You can explain more about your project.”