Shades Of Her Read online

  The way he’s talking to me makes me realize why Ashley found him so intriguing. He means every word he just said. He’s not pretending – like I am. He really does believe there is something unique and special about her. About me.

  “Don’t you want to finish lunch?”

  He shakes his head. “We can get it to go. Come with me.” He extends his hand. “My studio is downtown.”

  I stare at his extended hand. Unlike the woman I am impersonating, I know what happens at his studio. I know the barriers that will be crossed. I know by taking his hand and leaving with him, I will experience something I never thought I’d be capable of with a complete stranger.

  I take a deep, hesitant breath. I lift my gaze from his hand and up to his face, at those serious and intense eyes.

  This is why he hired me. This is why he’s paying me $200,000. He wants to relive the memories he had with her. He wants to relive those memories through me.

  I can see by the expression on his face that I’m taking too long to accept his offer. She agreed to go with him much more quickly than I am. But like I said, she didn’t know what would happen at his studio once they arrived. Or maybe she had her suspicions and didn’t care. After all, Ashley was much more adventurous than I am.

  I hear him clearing his throat, waiting, growing more impatient.

  Then I think about my parents and how badly they need my help. I realize this isn’t about me anymore. This is about my mom and dad. I reach and grab hold of his hand as he helps me from my chair. I look at him and see a relieved look in his eyes. Holding my hand, he escorts me out of the restaurant.

  We take a car service downtown to his painting studio. Riding in the backseat of the car, I glance out the window, at the pedestrians walking around.

  Most people are trapped in their own reality. But as we head downtown, I realize I am about to step into another woman’s life.

  Chapter Three

  Jackson

  “Holy shit!” she exclaims when we enter my painting studio. She walks around in awe as she stares at all the paintings scattered around the room. “These are all so amazing!”

  As she admires my work, I continue to admire her body, her presence. “Thanks,” I reply. “Are you ready to begin?”

  She stops examining my paintings and looks at me. “Sure,” she says with a teasing smile. “Where do you want me?”

  I stare at her for a long, quiet moment. That slow simmer of desire I felt at the museum, and during lunch, is now growing into a fierce burning flame. I can sense that she’s attracted to me as well. But the most important thing I’ve learned in all my years as an artist is this: to serve the muse and not let wanton pleasure get in the way of your work.

  First do the work, then you can play. Although it’s going to be damn hard, I tell myself as the desire to kiss her intensifies the longer I stare at her. I can also feel my crotch stirring to life as my mind contemplates the million different ways I want to make love to her body. I shake my head, trying to drive the dirty thoughts away. I point to a chair situated near the large window at the end of the room. “Over there.”

  She walks past me slowly, shooting me a flirtatious look, and heads toward the chair waiting for her across the room. She takes a seat and crosses her legs. The afternoon sunlight is streaming through the large window behind her and shining the most incandescent, beautiful light onto her hair and shoulders.

  “Is this okay?” she asks. “Or do you want me to sit in a different position?”

  I calmly approach her. I start to realize my painting will never truly capture how beautiful she is. But I will try. God knows, I will try.

  When I step in front of her, I gently position my hands on her shoulders and turn her slightly, so the warm sunlight catches a little bit more of her cheek. She glances up at me. Our eyes remain locked in a long, seductive stare.

  “Perfect,” I whisper softly. “You look perfect.”

  Her face breaks into a naked, tender grin. It’s an honest moment. And as I stare into her eyes, I feel like I’m looking past her physical beauty and witnessing something much deeper, something more profound.

  “Thank you,” she replies. “Nobody’s ever told me I look perfect.”

  “Really?” I say with disbelief.

  She sighs. “Most of the time people just remind me of my imperfections. Casting directors say I’m either too fat, too short, sometimes even too ugly.”

  “They’re fools,” I reply.

  As we keep staring at each other, I can feel the sexual tension between us growing. I have to do everything in my power to fight back the urge to kiss her. I take a deep breath and take several steps back.

  “Stay just like that. Don’t move,” I instruct her. I hurry toward one of my blank canvases, grab it, and position it on my easel. I reach for my paints and brushes and get to work. But after throwing several brushstrokes onto the canvas, I sense something isn’t quite right. There’s more in this moment that wants to be expressed. There’s more truth I need to discover.

  “Is something wrong?” she inquires.

  I look at her and decide to speak honestly. “I think this would work better if you were naked.”

  The look of shock on her face surprises me, and she quickly gets up from her chair. She vehemently shakes her head. “That is so not happening,” she objects and walks away from the window toward the exit.

  “What’s wrong?” I grab her by the arm as she’s about to walk past me.

  She glares at me. “What’s wrong?! You just asked me to get naked? Is this some sick thing you do? Hang out at the museum, find some naïve girl, invite her back to your studio, offer to paint her, then get her naked? Please, let go of my arm.”

  I let go of her and sigh. “No, that’s not what I do,” I say with a shake of my head. “And if it bothers you that much, by all means, go. But like I already told you, I don’t pick up girls at museums. And I actually don’t paint a lot of nudes, but let me at least show you some of my work.”

  I take her to another section of my studio, where I store paintings of the nude portraits I have done. “As you can see,” I tell her, displaying several of the paintings. “From time to time, I do paint my models naked. Other times they are clothed. So, if you want me to paint you with your clothes on, that’s not a problem. But if you look at some of my nude paintings, you can tell that there’s more life to them. When someone is naked, they feel more exposed, it’s like a veneer has been stripped away. When you’re naked, you’re more vulnerable, more honest. And that’s what I’m after.”

  She quietly studies my paintings as I explain my reasons for wanting to get her naked.

  “You see the difference, don’t you?”

  She turns away from the paintings and looks at me. She nods slowly. “There’s more energy to them, more life,” she admits.

  “Exactly,” I confirm. “But if you’re uncomfortable getting naked, I totally understand. Or if you want to cancel this whole thing, I understand that too. I won’t lie to you, I’ll be terribly disappointed, but I’ll understand.”

  As I look at her, I sense her inner turmoil.

  “I’ve never done anything like this before,” she finally admits. “I’ve never even done a partial nude scene in a film or anything like that.”

  “If it makes you that uncomfortable, we won’t do it.”

  She grows quiet for a moment. Then she shakes her head. “No. Let’s do it,” she decides. “The paintings of these women are just so stunning and powerful. I’ve always wanted to picture myself like this, so fearless. But the truth is, I’ve always been really insecure about my body.”

  “Most people are,” I assure her.

  “Yeah, but most people don’t decide to become an actor.”

  She looks at the paintings again. “These really are beautiful. And doing something like this, posing nude, is a line I’m terrified to cross. But I also know I secretly want to. I want to be the type of woman who would do something like this,” she c
onfesses. “The kind of woman who wouldn’t be afraid.”

  She looks at me, then takes a deep breath. “Let’s do it, before I change my mind,” she says with a nervous smile.

  I’m impressed by her courage. “Okay. There’s a room in the back where you get can get undressed.”

  She pauses, then shoots me a very sexy and mischievous smirk.

  “If I’m going to get naked, I might as well just do it here – in front of you. Don’t you think, Jackson?”

  The sexy way she says it, makes me instantly hard. My desire for her is now white hot, and I haven’t even seen her naked yet.

  I slowly nod. “I guess you have a point.”

  Chapter Four

  Rebecca

  Here we go, I tell myself. It’s the moment when I get undressed in front of him. When I first read this part of the script, I couldn’t imagine myself actually doing it. But here I am, in his studio, his sexy eyes admiring me. I slowly remove my purple cardigan and then take off my t-shirt. I nervously unhook my bra and reveal my breasts. Then I unbutton my jeans, sliding them past my hips, and step out of them. As I notice the lust emerging in his eyes, I slip off my panties.

  I am now standing naked in front of him, nervous, but also thrilled. The one part of this experience I haven’t been faking is just how attracted I am to him. And now that I’m standing here naked, his sexy presence so close, my body eagerly anticipates what happens next.

  I have no idea how I’m going to remember all my lines when I’m feeling so exposed and horny.

  As directed by the script, I shoot him a sexy smile and walk back toward the large window and take a seat on the chair.

  I cross my legs again.

  He’s standing in the distance, watching me.

  As we stare at each other in silence, and I feel the sexual tension between us grow, my pussy starts to pulsate. He’s so fucking hot, it’s unbelievable.

  “I hope you’re not disappointed,” I say to him as he continues to observe me quietly with those intense, dark eyes.

  He slowly shakes his head and approaches me. The closer he gets, the more my pussy throbs.

  “You look incredible,” he says when he’s finally standing in front of me. “I only hope I’m able to capture just how beautiful you are. Believe me, you have nothing to be insecure about. Your exquisite body compliments your beautiful face. How a woman as stunning as you could go through life feeling insecure about her physical appearance is just tragic. Believe me, Ashley. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You’re lovely.”

  I know he’s saying these things to her, and not me, but it doesn’t matter. I enjoy hearing his kind, sincere words. I’ve never had a man talk to me this way.

  My nerves subside and my face cracks a grateful smile. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

  He turns and walks back to his canvas. He picks up his brush and is about to start painting, when I notice his hesitation. He looks at me, not saying a word.

  I remember my next line of dialogue.

  “Do you want me to sit differently?” I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “Your body still looks a little tense. I just want you to try and relax,” he says softly. “You seem a little rigid right now. I need your body to just be in the moment. Try to get out of your head.”

  “Easier said than done,” I reply. “Especially sitting naked in front of you.”

  He puts down his brush and approaches me again. He gently touches my bare shoulders and looks deep into my eyes. “Take a deep breath,” he instructs.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath, then exhale.

  I open my eyes and see his gorgeous face smiling at me.

  “Do you feel more relaxed?”

  “A little,” I reply.

  We continue staring into each other’s eyes. The sexual tension between us is undeniable. I slowly realize this is the part where Ashley truly demonstrates how different she is from me, how much more brazen she was. I muster the courage to say my next line. I slowly lick my lips and shoot him a naughty look.

  “Maybe there’s something you could do to get me more relaxed, Jackson.”

  His eyes burn with desire at my invitation.

  He slowly leans forward and whispers into my ear. “I can’t fuck you. Not yet. Even though I’ve been thinking about it since I first laid eyes on you. You’re so fuckin’ hot, Ashley. It’s criminal.”

  The low growl in his voice sends my body into overdrive. I want him so badly.

  With my pussy begging for his touch, I slowly swallow and deliver my next line.

  “If I can’t have your cock, maybe there’s something else you can do?”

  With fire burning in his eyes, Jackson slowly nods. “I think there is.”

  He raises his hand and gently strokes my cheek.

  “I just want you to know, Ashley, while I paint you, what I really want to be doing is making love to your exquisite body.”

  His firm hand slides down my neck and begins to caress my breasts. My nipples instantly perk up, craving more of his touch. He leans forward again and whispers into my ear, “I want to give you a good, hard, long fuck. I’ll want to take my time because I want to savor every inch of you. I want my cock to fill you completely.”

  His hand traces a line from my breasts and disappears between my legs. Then I feel his fingers press inside my slick entrance.

  “Right now, I’ll have to use my fingers,” he purrs. “But I can only imagine how good my hard cock would feel inside your wet cunt. I’d love to fill you to your core.”

  As he deliberately slides his fingers in and out of me, my body shivers with delight. He begins rubbing my clit with his thumb in nice, slow movements.

  “I really want to make love to you, Ashley.”

  I’m dripping for him now. And when I look up, and see him staring at me with such intense lust, I tremble with need.

  “Are you feeling more comfortable?” he asks.

  I blush and nod. Comfortable isn’t quite the word to describe how I’m feeling. I’m burning for him.

  “Good,” he whispers. Then he gradually removes his fingers from between my legs. He brings them to his lips and licks them.

  “You taste sweeter than a peach, just like I imagined.” He reaches for my hand and positions it on his crotch. My eyes widen at the impressive python stirring underneath his jeans.

  “See. I wasn’t lying when I said my cock craves your sexy body.”

  Then he brushes my hand away and shoots me a serious look. “But no matter how much I want to fuck you, Ashley, I must paint you first.”

  He abruptly turns away from me and returns to his canvass. His eyes scan my naked body. A genuine smile crosses his lips. “Good. Very good.” Finally, he picks up his brush.

  He begins to paint with a feverish intensity that I find breathtaking. He’s in the zone. Riding the wave of inspiration. I marvel at his passion as he attacks the canvas with his brush. It’s astonishing.

  All I can do is sit and watch him work, my body begging for him to come back and play with me again.

  “You have a curious expression on your face. What are you thinking?” he asks after some time has passed.

  I snap back to “reality” and remember my line of dialogue. “About your cock,” I reveal. “I hope we get to meet sometime soon.”

  He shoots me a devilish smirk from behind his canvass. “You will, Ashley. You will.”

  I suspect that will happen during the next memory he wants to relive.

  For now, I can only wait with anticipation.

  I guess there are worse ways to make $200,000 dollars, I tell myself.

  I just wish I wasn’t pretending to be his dead wife.

  Chapter Five

  Jackson

  One month earlier…

  “Jackson, the gallery just needs ten more paintings.”

  “I don’t know if I have ten more paintings in me,” I mutter. I glance out the taxi window as it heads uptown. The sidewal
ks are filled with pedestrians. They’re all headed somewhere. I feel like I’m frozen still.

  I hear Harry, my manager, sigh through the phone.

  “Jackson, if we don’t get ten more paintings to the gallery, Amanda is threatening to cancel the exhibit. Do you know how much money we could lose?”

  I throw my head back against the seat of the taxi and rub my temples. “I have no idea, Harry. But I’m sure you do.”

  “At least fifty-million dollars! Your last five paintings sold for five million each. I have a hunch that this new gallery showing could double the value of your work. I know you’re going through a tough time, Jackson. But you have to look at the big picture. In this new art market, you have to be producing work constantly or you become irrelevant. If Amanda cancels the gallery exhibit, because she feels like there aren’t enough paintings, you could be doing real damage to your brand. Your stock price will plummet.”

  “I thought we were talking about art, not stocks,” I grumble.

  “It’s the same thing these days.”

  I sigh. “I told you, Harry. I just don’t think I can paint anymore.”

  There’s a long pause. I know that’s not what my agent/manager, Harry, wants to hear. But it’s the truth. After everything that’s happened, I just don’t see the point in painting anymore. But Harry, being the tenacious person that he is, won’t give up that easily.

  “Jackson, buddy, where are you? Why don’t you meet me for lunch, and I’ll see if I can brighten your mood?”

  Holding the phone up to my ear, I shake my head. “I can’t. I’m headed uptown to the apartment.”

  There’s another long pause.