NOCTE (Nocte Trilogy #1)(41)

I roll my eyes at that, although my insides are leaping. He isn’t going to make me feel guilty for spending time with Dare? It’s like the Heavens are opening up and God is smiling upon me.

“I don’t know,” I answer. “I’m too young to worry about a bucket list.”

“Just go,” he tells me, pushing away from the table. “Dare was asking Dad how to get to Warrenton last night. You should take him yourself.”

The fact that I’ve been there a million times before doesn’t matter, because I’ve never been there with Dare.

“I’ll be back in time to eat dinner with you!” I call to him. He waves over his shoulder without looking.

I’ve been dismissed.

Suddenly I feel like I’ve broken out of jail, like I’m free and I have to hurry and make my getaway. I all but run for the Carriage House, and I’m still breathless as I knock on the door.

I’m even more breathless when Dare answers it.

Because he’s shirtless.

In fact, he looks like he just stepped from the shower because his hair is wet. And his chest is bare. I can’t help but stare at the bare skin, the muscled abdomen, the lithe torso, and the perfect, chiseled V that disappears into the top of his jeans. A silver belt buckle shaped like a skull is positioned perfectly-centered a few inches beneath his belly button.

I swallow hard, then swallow again.

The corner of Dare’s mouth twitches.

“Yes?” he asks, his lip curling at the corner. He has to know the effect he has on me. He probably has it on everyone.

I swear to God my intention is to ask him to go to Warrenton Beach. But my tongue has a mind of its own.

“Draw me,” I breathe, surprising me and surprising him. His eyes widen, and he stares at me.

“Draw you,” he repeats slowly, hesitantly, his eyes never leaving mine.

I nod. “You’ve drawn me from your imagination, but wouldn’t a real model be better?”

Without waiting for a reply and before I can think the better of it, I nudge past him and enter his little house. He stares at me, his eyes like black molten lava, and I can tell he’s trying to figure out how to handle me. So before he can say anything, I turn, forcing a confident grin.

“Where do you want me?”

Don’t reject me. That’s all I can think as I stare at his gorgeous face, and I must be crazy because there’s no way he’s going to do this.

“Calla,” he says huskily, his tongue darting out to lick his full bottom lip.

“Don’t,” I interrupt him before he can turn me away. “Draw me, Dare. I want you to.”

He stands as still as a statue, studying me, his body so long and lean.

“Please,” I add finally, my whisper husky. “Where do you want me?”

I count the beats as he stares at me, as he ponders me.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Fi--

“Just a minute,” he finally answers, interrupting my internal counting, his eyes black as night.

He crosses the room and pulls a chaise lounge to the middle of the living room.

“You can sit there.”

He sounds so professional. I do as he asks, and I perch on the edge of the seat, my nerves dancing along my skin, disbelief pulsing through me.

He’s going to do it. He’s going to do it.

“Close the blinds,” I tell him softly, as I unbutton my shirt.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

I can’t believe he’s letting me.

I watch him swallow hard, his Adam’s apple moving in his throat, while he does as I instruct. When the room has been darkened, he pulls a seat up in front of me, his sketchbook in his hand.

“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice level. He keeps his eyes on my face.

I shake my head.

“Not yet.”

And then I take off my bra.

Dare clears his throat and opens his sketchbook, the picture of a professional, and I swear I feel ten thousand flames lapping at my body as every inch of me flushes.

I stand up and shove my shorts to the floor.

Dare doesn’t move. It doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.

His eyes are frozen on me, appreciation flaring to life in them, and then he stares into my eyes, his gaze deep and dark.

“Calla,” he begins again, and he starts to move, to get up.

“Don’t,” I tell him sharply. “Please. I need this. I want to be…distracted.”

His eyes seem guarded now as he studies me, but he still stands up. He walks to his closet and comes back with one of his dress shirts. A white button-up. He hands it to me.

“Put this on,” he tells me. “Leave it unbuttoned.”

My heart pounds as I do what he asks.

He waits, then adjusts the opening of the shirt to fall just right against my skin, so that only the top curves of my breasts show. He buttons one button there, and then pulls the shirt open so that my belly button and hip are exposed.

He settles back into his chair.

“So I’m a distraction, then?” he asks simply, bringing his pencil to the page and drawing a flowing line. The beginning of my hip.

I flush. “You’re far more than a distraction. But today… I need distracted.” I swallow and his eyes meet mine, then he looks away.