A Girl by Any Other Name (28 page)

* * * *

I made sure I was with her when I wasn’t teaching. I really didn’t like leaving her alone at all,

but she insisted. I would have gone straight to her place tonight, but I had to change into my suit for

Rome’s exhibition. When she opened the door, I had a hard time not insisting we stay in. She was

wearing a snug fitted maroon dress that hugged all her curves perfectly.

“Dayaaamn, girl, that’s a sexy dress,” I said, letting my eyes roam her luscious body.

“Thanks, you look handsome too,” she replied, adjusting my tie.

“Turn around for me.”

She backed away curiously.

“I just want the full view,” I added, twirling my finger in the air. She pivoted gracefully and I

had a hard time trying not to get hard. I thought the front of the dress was sexy, even with its high

neckline, but each angle revealed more skin and made me shift somewhat uncomfortably. There was a

deep slit on the side, showing off her shapely right leg, and it looked exceptional, especially in the

high black stilettos. It was also sleeveless, and…backless. I swallowed hard, wondering how she

could turn me on as much dressed as she did when she was naked. Her backside was framed

perfectly, like a work of art itself. I followed the curve of her spine as it declined into that sweet dip

at the small of her back, before jutting out in the plump perfection of her ass.

It was dangerously low where the dress started again, right above her ass. I placed my hand in

the area, rubbing small circles. A woman’s body was all peaks, valleys and curves…and Sylvie had

more than her fair share. I kissed the nape of her neck, inhaling her fresh scent. Her hair was up, but

soft curls draped around her face. I had an urge to release all the safety pins holding it in place. I

pressed into her body, running my hands down the length of each arm, and sucking on the soft,

delicious skin of her shoulder.

“We should go before I need to change my panties,” she said breathlessly.

“You’re killing me in this dress. I’m going to be hard all night,” I whispered against her ear.

“Let’s hope so,” she giggled. I smacked her bottom, playfully.

I led her out, placing my hand on the small of her back, occasionally letting it slip lower.

Before we entered the gallery, I took off my jacket and draped it around her shoulders. She

looked at me quizzically. “I thought you might be cold,” I replied, trying to feign innocence.

She shook her head, knowing exactly what I was thinking. She looked too damn delicious for me

to let her walk in there like that.

I got us some wine, and we walked through the exhibit. It was very modern art, and most of it

was abstract. There were several artists on display and the theme of this event was the female form. It

appeared as if the artists were taking something that was beautiful on its own and trying to make it

look conceptual bordering on erotic…to the point where it was just a cloaked cliché.

Rome stopped to chat with us when we reached Sylvie’s painting. “You look amazing, Sophie.

That’s a very nice dress.” Nice? It was damn sexy as hell, and I didn’t appreciate his eyes lingering

on the swell of her breasts. At least she had kept my jacket on. “Do you like the finished product?” he

asked only her. He was wearing a taut paisley shirt and jeans so tight that I almost winced in

sympathy pain.

“It turned out really well,” she replied.

I hesitated, finally looking at it, knowing it would piss me off no end to see her naked body on

display. I blinked in confusion, perplexed by the large canvas. She had told me it was abstract, but I

wasn’t prepared for this. It looked more like a landscape scene than the gorgeous girl beside me. I

had just thought about how a woman’s body was all peaks, valleys and curves, and that was literally

what Rome had painted without any clear perspective. Well, at least I didn’t have to worry about

anyone else seeing this.

“How many hours did she pose for you, Rome?” I asked him.

“About six in total,” he replied, not taking his eyes off Sylvie.

“It’s very…interpretational, isn’t it?”

“It’s modern abstract, so yes.” He turned his attention back to Sylvie. “I have to walk around, but

have a drink with me later, okay?”

“’Kay. Congratulations, Rome.” She smiled at him and somehow this jackass took that as a sign

to hug her. My hands twitched, but I let it pass. She was a beautiful girl and if I went around punching

every guy who developed a crush on her, I’d be a pretty busy man.

I stared back at the painting, putting my arm around her. “So, what do you think?” she asked.

“Six hours, eh?”

“Yeah, it would have been less, but he kept getting the lines wrong and had to start over a few

times.”

I felt the grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. I bit my lip to keep her from seeing it, but I

failed miserably.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded. I choked on a laugh. She narrowed her eyes at me, “What?”

I couldn’t control it anymore. I full-out laughed so hard, people turned to look.

“I’m glad you find this so amusing.” She clenched her fists.

I bent down to whisper in her ear so we wouldn’t be overheard. “Baby, isn’t it obvious to you?

That guy just wanted an excuse to see you naked.”

She released my hold. “No, that’s not true. This is his interpretation of me. Jesus, Tex, that’s

very petty of you to say.” She hissed the words in my direction, managing to keep her voice to a very

low level, although she was shaking mad.

I pulled her back against my chest and put my arms around her so I could have full access to her

ear and she could clearly see the painting while I explained myself. “I know you’re an artist, and you

know art much better than I do, but I’m a guy, and I know the male head—both of them—much better

than you. Right now, I’m struggling whether to kick Florence’s ass or pat him on the back.”

“His name is Rome,” she replied, trying to keep her composure.

“Whatever. I’m not trying to be a jerk here. In fact, I think the idea was fucking genius as hell and

very creative, but then again, he is an artist. I’m just being honest with you when I tell you that this”—

I gestured to the painting—“has no resemblance to this.” I ran my hand down her neck, over the swell

of her breasts and down her trim waist. We were in a corner and the way I was hovering I knew we

wouldn’t be seen, not that I cared, but she would. Her breath hitched with my touch. “I know I’m way

too possessive of you, but it’s not something I’ll ever apologize for because I love you so damn much.

And the fact is, you are too free-spirited and look at the good in all people. It’s the thing I’ve always

loved most about you and the very thing that scares the hell out of me too. Do you understand?”

Her body was melting into mine, and I knew from the way she shivered it wasn’t from the cold.

“Rome wouldn’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re afraid of. He wouldn’t try anything.”

“Did you ever date him?”

“Is this your way of asking if he was my first?” She knew me so well.

“Maybe.”

“No, we’re just colleagues and friends.”

I was hoping for more information, like maybe who the first guy was. The fact that it bothered

me made me a douchebag on some level, so I kept it to myself. But my curiosity and resulting jealousy

generated from the way her eyes softened when she talked about that man as if he was very special to

her. “I’ll let it go, especially since you agreed not to pose again. You can’t blame me for asking,

though, since you’ve always liked artistic types. Isn’t that why you went out with Matt Sampson in

high school?”

She cocked her head, grinning at me. “I can understand why you might be upset about Rome, but

you really never had a reason to be pissed about Matt Sampson.”

“Why is that, baby?”

“He’s gay.”

I released her and spun her around. “Are you serious?” She nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?

You knew I was crazy jealous.”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell. It was his and he trusted me with it, but I can tell you now since he’s

out of the closet.”

I pressed my mouth in a grim line, trying to make sense of what she’d told me. How did she

know that? She put her hand on my shoulder. “No, Tex, I haven’t talked to him. I just know it because

it’s on his website and Facebook. He lives in California now. I stalked him just like I stalked you and

Mandy.”

I nodded, chiding myself for thinking Sylvie would have revealed herself to someone else. I

relaxed and broke out into a smile, remembering my interactions with Matt. “You know, I threatened

him for asking you out. I wish I would have known.”

She turned toward me, with a sweet smile. “He told me. He thought it was cute you were so

jealous of him. He actually told me I could tell you if I wanted to.”

The conversation on the bench made so much more sense now. I’d always thought Matt had a

special bond with the girl I loved. In the beginning, it had made me jealous, but in the end, I’d actually

felt a kinship with him because of it. Like she tied us together. He saw her so clearly, like I did.

“Are you okay, Tex?” she asked, standing on her tiptoes to brush her fingers through my hair.

“Why would he agree to that? Prairie Marsh isn’t exactly the most open community. It’s better

now, but back then…” I shook my head, imagining how the boys in my class would have made his life

miserable if they’d known.

“He said you wouldn’t tell. You were so different from the other boys, Cal. An old soul, like I

said. Undeniably devoted and generous, like Mr Darcy.”

I quirked my eyebrow. “Mr Darcy?”

She fiddled with my tie. “Yes, you know, from—”

“Jane Austen’s
Pride and Prejudice
.”

“You’ve read it?” she asked in surprise.

“Did you forget what I do for a living?”

She laughed, leading me by my tie to a vacant wall. “I guess I did.”

“If you’re going to compare me to a character in a book, I’d prefer someone a little more

badass.”

“Like who?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know… Jack Reacher or Jack Ryan maybe. Any Jack.”

“Maybe you’re a bit of both. A roguish gentleman who as it turns out cannot appreciate fine art.”

I bowed slightly, taking her hand and kissing it. “‘So this is your opinion of me. Thank you for

explaining so fully. Perhaps these offenses might have been overlooked had not your pride been hurt

by my honesty.’”

She cupped her hand over her mouth. “Did you just quote Mr Darcy?”

“I did. You see I can appreciate art, but I prefer the written word to the visual experience. So

please allow me to paint a picture for you.” I cleared my throat. “‘I have faults enough, but they are

not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding—

certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so

soon as I ought, nor their offenses against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt

to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion, once lost, is lost

forever.'” I finished the Darcy monologue with another bow.

“Holy hell, that was hot.”

I stood, grinning at her, backing her farther against the wall, a hand on either side of her head, in

our own little world. “That turned you on, my love? Let me assure you, it’s just the tip of my

knowledge base. Would you prefer poetry? Maybe Keats, Wordsworth or Blake? How about the

female perspective? Emily Dickinson, perhaps? I know them all. I can sonnet you all night. And yes, I

use the term as a verb because the way I do it is an action.”

She waved her hand in front of her face, fanning herself. “All night?” she asked, arching her

brow, a sexy smile curling her lips.

“I have plenty of material. I hold a Master’s in literature, and words are my medium of choice.”

“I think you may have just mastered me, sir.”

I jerked my head toward the exit. “Shall we take our leave?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

We walked toward the exit. I took one more look around at all the various forms of femininity

around me. “Tell me, have you posed for any other paintings here?”

“No, this was my first and last foray as a model.”

“Good.”

“Relax, it could have been so much worse.”

“Worse than having a guy staring at your goddess-like body for six hours?”

She looked away shyly, a rose blush creeping up her cheek. “I’ll show you.” She took my hand

and led me to the far side of the room where we hadn’t been before.

A voluptuous blonde woman stood there next to what looked like a dressmaker’s frame, but

more detailed. It had a myriad of gold and silver wires forming the female upper body. “Caleb

Tanner, meet Jenna Stewart, the model for this sculpture.”

I shook her hand.

“This is Devon Bradley, the sculptor.”

He was a short man who walked with a cane and sunglasses. It took me a second to realize he

was blind.

“Nice to meet you both.” I stared at the woven wire form, wondering how he was able to create