Her London Fling by Kris Jayne

Author:Kris Jayne [Jayne, Kris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781944460099
Publisher: Kris Jayne

Chapter 5

“You’re right on time.”

Adam brought one of my hands to his lips and then the other. The scent of spice wafted through his loft apartment. Whatever he had on the stove for dinner smelled heavenly.

I shrugged out of my coat, and Adam hung it on the rack in the short hallway by the door. The apartment consisted of one main room to the left of the entry way. He had a rustic dining room table with seating for six and a living area behind it with a black leather sectional, book shelves, and a flat screen TV. Behind the sofa was a half wall topped with a printed Japanese screen that looked like it hid his bedroom.

Straight ahead from the front door a windowed nook sat just off larger living area with a door to an outside patio. Adam had thrown down a canvas drop cloth under a couple of paint-splattered tables and an easel.

“So this is where you create your artistic magic?”

He grinned. “Sometimes. Sometimes it’s where a sit staring at a blank canvas and cursing.”

“I’m in awe of anyone who can create something out of nothing—whether it’s painting or a novel. I’m intensely uncreative.”

He waggled his finger at me. “Everyone is creative. You have to find your outlet. You teach aerobics, right? Do you have to create the routines or the movements? I have no idea what that’s called.”

“Choreography. Same as with dancing. I guess I do create workouts for people. Still I wish I could draw, sing, or write poetry or something.”

“Oh, singing. I do wish I could sing. I have the most horrific voice.”

“Let’s hear a little something.” I tugged at his sleeve.

“Trust me. That wouldn’t be good for anyone.”

A stack of canvases leaned against the wall. I flipped through them. They all featured a single model in a series of portraits—some of them nudes.

“Who is this?”

“An old friend of mine. She sits for me occasionally.”

“Does she model for anyone besides you?”

“No. She and I used to have a thing. That’s when I started painting her, but now we’re just friends. She still poses for me when I ask.”

“Nude?”

One corner of Adam’s mouth turned upward as he shrugged. “I think it falls under the category of nothing I haven’t already seen.”

“Interesting.”

I dated a photographer once. I modeled for him before and after our relationship, but not in the buff. Perhaps Adam’s artistic eye filtered the sexuality out of the situation.

One of the nude images stared back at me. The woman’s deep blue eyes were wide and round. Her plump lips pouted alluringly in a shade of rose that matched her pert nipples. Her expression was an invitation. No. Sexuality permeated the work.

I turned away from the completed paintings toward the canvas on his easel, hidden under a cloth.

“What are you working on now?”

“Oh, I’ve just started transferring a sketch to the canvas.”

“Like an outline?”

“Basically.” He lifted the cloth away from the easel. Swooping lines and curves intersected. It looked like a face, but I couldn’t be sure.

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