Read Online Picture Me Naked (Stoddard Art School Series) by Lisa A. Olech - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa A. Olech
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at the very lip that was sending his testosterone levels through the roof.
Go easy. Leah’s words surfaced through the fog. Bugga. “Try George again?”
Zee slid into the driver’s seat. The engine sprang to life on the first try. Jagger lowered the hood and closed it with a short slam. “All fixed.” He leaned on the top of her open door.
“Thanks, Jagger. Really.” She looked up at him with soft gray eyes. “I’m sorry I was kind of a bitch before.”
He put up a hand to stop her. “You don’t owe me any explanation.”
“Just trying to be nice.”
Jagger smiled. “You could be extra nice and thank me by having lunch with me.”
“I’m not that nice.” The car door was between them. He watched her worry her bottom lip again. “I’m…busy today.”
He took Leah’s advice. He wouldn’t push. But he sure as hell wasn’t giving up. “Another time then?”
“Um, well. Maybe.”
“I like maybe.” Before she could come up with another excuse, he let her go. Jagger shut her door. “See ya, Zee.” He tapped the roof. “Take it easy, George.”
He moved back to his van and leaned against the side as she pulled away. Jagger smiled to himself and flipped the screwdriver catching it by its yellow plastic handle. Maybe wasn’t a no. He’d take that for now.
Chapter Nine
Sitting on her couch, tea in hand, Zee looked through the sketches spread across the coffee table. Page after page of Jagger’s naked image sat before her.
She thought about him in the parking lot the day before. Hell, she was having trouble thinking about anything else. She kept picturing his face over Ed’s shoulder. Jagger had to have heard them arguing. He’d looked furious. He obviously assumed she needed saving as if she were some timid damsel in distress.
Her imagination pictured the scene….her bound and tied to the railroad tracks with the distant sound of the train whistle. Ed standing over her twirling a black, bushy handlebar mustache, laughing maniacally. The train is coming. Agree to marry me, and I’ll set you free! Jagger riding up on his white horse…in a Canadian Mounted Police uniform. Wait, a Mountie with an Australian accent? Zee was tempted to sketch Jagger wearing jodhpurs and polished boots. In her mind, while the men were fighting, she’d untie the ropes herself, steal the horse, and leave both men gaping at her as she rode off into the sunset.
It was kind of nice to think of Jagger protecting her, though. Sweeping her into his arms. Carrying her away to— No! She had to stop thinking like that.
She needed to reclaim her perspective. She was an artist. He was her model. Period. Not that there wasn’t a long line of artists throughout history that fooled around with their models. The tragic tale of Rodin and Camille Claudel sprang to mind. But didn’t she end up insane and surrounded by cats? She gave Bella a wary glance. “This is how it starts.”
Focus, Zee. Jagger is just work. Gorgeous, fantasy-inspiring, hot as her roof in August work. Images of a sweat-bathed Jagger sunbathing on the roof smearing his body with coconut scented sunscreen filled her senses. His hand moving over his carved abs…then lower. She choked on her tea.
Zee blew out a breath. Work. She looked back over her sketches. Usually, she chose two or three to expand into paintings, but Zee was having trouble narrowing it down. She flipped the thin sheets of newsprint and came to the drawing of Jagger’s face. God, he was beautiful. If only she could recreate this one.
What made the piece special, however, was the fact she had been totally in the moment when she created it. She’d experienced that perfect combination of hand, heart, and soul, and placed them all upon the page. It was an alignment of the stars. A kiss of grace. It was enough that she stood in the magic for that sliver of time to produce this one drawing. It felt greedy asking for more.
Zee removed the sheet gingerly from the pad. She needed to fix
Go easy. Leah’s words surfaced through the fog. Bugga. “Try George again?”
Zee slid into the driver’s seat. The engine sprang to life on the first try. Jagger lowered the hood and closed it with a short slam. “All fixed.” He leaned on the top of her open door.
“Thanks, Jagger. Really.” She looked up at him with soft gray eyes. “I’m sorry I was kind of a bitch before.”
He put up a hand to stop her. “You don’t owe me any explanation.”
“Just trying to be nice.”
Jagger smiled. “You could be extra nice and thank me by having lunch with me.”
“I’m not that nice.” The car door was between them. He watched her worry her bottom lip again. “I’m…busy today.”
He took Leah’s advice. He wouldn’t push. But he sure as hell wasn’t giving up. “Another time then?”
“Um, well. Maybe.”
“I like maybe.” Before she could come up with another excuse, he let her go. Jagger shut her door. “See ya, Zee.” He tapped the roof. “Take it easy, George.”
He moved back to his van and leaned against the side as she pulled away. Jagger smiled to himself and flipped the screwdriver catching it by its yellow plastic handle. Maybe wasn’t a no. He’d take that for now.
Chapter Nine
Sitting on her couch, tea in hand, Zee looked through the sketches spread across the coffee table. Page after page of Jagger’s naked image sat before her.
She thought about him in the parking lot the day before. Hell, she was having trouble thinking about anything else. She kept picturing his face over Ed’s shoulder. Jagger had to have heard them arguing. He’d looked furious. He obviously assumed she needed saving as if she were some timid damsel in distress.
Her imagination pictured the scene….her bound and tied to the railroad tracks with the distant sound of the train whistle. Ed standing over her twirling a black, bushy handlebar mustache, laughing maniacally. The train is coming. Agree to marry me, and I’ll set you free! Jagger riding up on his white horse…in a Canadian Mounted Police uniform. Wait, a Mountie with an Australian accent? Zee was tempted to sketch Jagger wearing jodhpurs and polished boots. In her mind, while the men were fighting, she’d untie the ropes herself, steal the horse, and leave both men gaping at her as she rode off into the sunset.
It was kind of nice to think of Jagger protecting her, though. Sweeping her into his arms. Carrying her away to— No! She had to stop thinking like that.
She needed to reclaim her perspective. She was an artist. He was her model. Period. Not that there wasn’t a long line of artists throughout history that fooled around with their models. The tragic tale of Rodin and Camille Claudel sprang to mind. But didn’t she end up insane and surrounded by cats? She gave Bella a wary glance. “This is how it starts.”
Focus, Zee. Jagger is just work. Gorgeous, fantasy-inspiring, hot as her roof in August work. Images of a sweat-bathed Jagger sunbathing on the roof smearing his body with coconut scented sunscreen filled her senses. His hand moving over his carved abs…then lower. She choked on her tea.
Zee blew out a breath. Work. She looked back over her sketches. Usually, she chose two or three to expand into paintings, but Zee was having trouble narrowing it down. She flipped the thin sheets of newsprint and came to the drawing of Jagger’s face. God, he was beautiful. If only she could recreate this one.
What made the piece special, however, was the fact she had been totally in the moment when she created it. She’d experienced that perfect combination of hand, heart, and soul, and placed them all upon the page. It was an alignment of the stars. A kiss of grace. It was enough that she stood in the magic for that sliver of time to produce this one drawing. It felt greedy asking for more.
Zee removed the sheet gingerly from the pad. She needed to fix
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