If You Stay (Beautifully Broken, #1)(34)

“Oh, you know you want to,” he teases, as he pulls off his shirt. “Go ahead. Take a peek. You’re going to have to eventually anyway.”

I swallow hard as I stare at his chest. He’s got a tattoo on each pec, and one on each bicep. I notice that he’s also got words on his right side. All of it is perfectly show-cased by his amazingly sculpted body. Holy hell.

I fight not to look below his waist. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction right now and he’s certainly waiting. I smile.

“All in good time, Mr. Tate. Why don’t you go up there and stand under the light?”

I motion toward the front of my studio, a safe and respectable distance from my easel. He confidently strides naked into place. I inhale. His backside is as sculpted and perfect as his front. How is that even possible?

“How do you want me?” he asks as he stands facing me, his hands dangling at his sides. What a loaded question.

I can’t help but look below his waist now and am sufficiently impressed, yanking my eyes back up to find that he is staring at me in amusement. My cheeks immediately flush, hot and quick.

“Um. Why don’t you turn a bit and look into the distance?”

“Your wish is my command,” he drawls, turning. The muscles of his back ripple and I stare at the words on his side. They are bold and black, scrawling across his ribcage. I read it aloud.

“Go placidly against the noise and haste.”

I stare at him in disbelief.

“Isn’t that from the poem Desiderata?”

He nods and I’m stunned. I must look it because he laughs.

“What? You think I’m illiterate?”

He cocks an eyebrow and I laugh.

“No. It’s just not how I think of you. Placid. Or calm. Isn’t the next line something about peace?”

He nods. “It’s And remember what peace there is in silence. I almost had that inked on me, too, but decided against it. It’s enough that I know. Pax means peace in Latin, you know. So it’s fitting.”

I pull the canvas toward me and begin to paint his silhouette, deciding to do it in an abstract, like the painting of Madison.

“I guess I didn’t know that. That’s interesting. And your tattoo is beautiful. I just don’t picture it as something that you would choose. It says a lot about you.”

Pax stares at me thoughtfully. “Why? Because it’s deep? I’m deep. Sometimes. Although most of the time, I’m just trying to block out reality. I’ll give you that. But there’s peace in that, you know.”

I eye him, then paint the line of his butt and thigh.

“Maybe. But that’s not true peace. It’s a false sense of peace, brought on by oblivion and denial. That’s not real.”

I look up again and he seems to be considering that.

“You might be right,” he says quietly. “But it’s still a peace, nonetheless. It’s better than nothing.”

“I think you set the bar too low,” I tell him. “You need to aim higher.”

I paint the edge of his pec, then flow downward to his rib.

“I have,” he says seriously. “With you.”

I look up and into his eyes and the intense look that I find there gives me goose bumps. His hazel eyes glitter and I can’t think straight.

“Anyway,” he drawls with a grin, lightening the mood again. “I think you’re handling this much better than I expected. Being exposed to all of this sexiness is usually disarming, but you’re one cool customer, Mila. I propose that we up the ante.”

I stare at him hesitantly, my hand frozen above the canvas.

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” I tell him. “What do you want to do now?”

He examines me as he stands tall and proud in his nudity.

“I want you to be naked while you paint me. It’s the least you can do to put me more at ease. I’m a basket case over here.”

I do a double-take and my jaw drops open. He’s the furthest I’ve ever seen from a basket-case right now. He’s proud of his nudity. Cocky, even. He laughs at my expression.

“Are you chicken, little Red?”

My heart pounds so loud that I can practically hear it.

He stares at me, a dare in his eyes and against my better judgment, I lay my paintbrush down and unbutton my jeans.

“Fine,” I tell him. “If you think you can handle it, I’ll paint naked. Even though this isn’t exactly normal second date behavior. But you need to focus on remaining still. Not a single part of you can move. Can you do that?”

He watches in utter fascination as my jeans fall to the floor and I step out of them, kicking them to the side. My black lace panties follow, and then my sweater and bra. He acts unfazed, as if it doesn’t matter to him in the slightest, but the movement below his waist reveals the truth.

I smirk.

“Can you handle it?” I ask saucily. “Because you’re moving.”

His lip twitches.

“Oh, Red. If you want to turn up the heat, you’ve got to be careful not to get burned by the fire.”

And as I stare into his hazel eyes, at the golden flames there, I have the distinct feeling that I could get very, very burned.





[page]Chapter Twelve


Pax