Still Life by Lush Jones Page B

though nothing was out of the ordinary and his life drawing model was not about to run away or have a heart attack. “If you step over here, I’ll arrange your pose.”
    Sara’s legs moved in spite of her brain, and she walked over to the boxes.
    “Now, let me take your robe.”
    She let him slide the terry cloth from her shoulders and with it, her dignity. She shivered, fighting the impulse to cover herself with her hands, but he didn’t notice, or pretended not to.
    “Just sit here—that’s it.” He patted one of the boxes. When she didn’t move, he put one hand very lightly on her shoulder. His fingers were warm, but the unexpected pressure made Sara flinch just a little before she sat down. He nodded, continuing, “Then put your arms like this…” he gently tugged one of her arms to a bent position at her side, his fingers brushing her rib cage as he did so. Sara’s skin tingled. He ran his hand along her other arm, elongating it atop one of the boxes, as though she were casually draped across the shoulders of a lover. “Right, now move your shoulder a little over here.” Again he touched her skin, and Sara tried not to think about how awkward this entire scenario was. A strange man touching her naked body was a little too surreal right now. Stop thinking, Sara, she scolded herself. And she did.
    “There—perfect. Think you can hold that for an hour?” Professor Roberts stood back, his dark eyes so friendly, and Sara felt a very slight sensation of relief.
    “Sure. No problem,” she answered with what remained of her ego.
    “Great. If you need to move, just let me know. We’re pretty easy on the new models, right?”
    He winked at Blondie who shrugged. “Professor, we’re just psyched to have a model at all.” Then his eyes met Sara’s for the briefest of moments before he turned his attention back to his easel.
    Several other students nodded, murmuring as they took out their charcoal. Sara took a shallow breath, trying not to move, and her breasts rose. Blondie watched, and he swallowed hard before picking up his charcoal.
    The minutes ticked by and Sara relaxed. The pose was relatively easy—she was half sitting with her back supported by a taller box, and she could almost imagine falling asleep. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she tried to stay awake by sneaking peeks around the room without moving. Eyes flitting from side to side, she saw Blondie squinting as he smudged a line of charcoal on his paper. On the other side, a muscular, dark-haired man in a tattered black T-shirt stared at her intently as he held the edge of his paper perfectly still.
    Ivy was right, Sara realized. They were all art students, simply concentrating on the task of representing the human form. She needn’t have worried at all. Still sleepy, she cast a look at the clock. Ten more minutes till break, she calculated, and tried to find something else to focus on before she drifted to sleep.
    Directly across the room, she spied Professor Roberts standing at the easel of a student she hadn’t noticed earlier. This was an older man, closer to her own age. In his late thirties, she estimated. He had dark blond hair and a navy button-down shirt. His hands were large and clutched a piece of charcoal as he laughed at something the professor said.
    Then both men looked up at Sara.
    Professor Roberts smiled at her, nodding toward the clock and mouthed, “Just a few more minutes.” But his gaze didn’t shift from her body. Probably planning his next pose, she thought, as his gaze traveled down from her neck, to her breasts, to her thighs.
    Embarrassed, she cast a glance toward the other man. He, too, was staring at her with pale blue eyes, appraising her. His full lips curved upward, and he winked. Her cheeks warmed, and then she blushed even more as she realized the flush was traveling down her neck and across her chest. Heat prickled down to her nipples, and she tried not to twitch.
    She shifted her glance back to Blondie, who