Scandalous Read Online Free Page B

meaning to. He smiled in response, his eyes bright and wistful, “I have something better, and it suits you perfectly. Follow me.”
    Taken aback, I blinked. What did he say? He had another job? Turning, I quickly followed him from the room. Mind reeling, I wondered what job he thought I could do, and wondered exactly how irritated he was with me. Irritated wasn’t the right word, but I half expected him to hand me a toilet brush. It wasn’t until Gus yelled after him that I thought he might have another real job.
    Gus called out, running his fingers through his perfect hair, “Jack, we need to discuss this.”
    “Later, Gus. It’s my call this time. You picked the last one!” Before Jack finished talking he was out the door. I practically ran to keep up. We walked around the exterior of the building. The wind blew gently, taking my long hair and whipping it into my eyes.

 
     
    CHAPTER FIVE
     
     
     
     
    Jack turned back to me, “That’s the main building where everyone else works, but over here—this is where the magic happens,” he grinned at me. We’d reached a building that was attached on the side, concealed by sand dunes and tall grass. The long sleek lines of the upper section of the building blended into the sister structure next to it. When Jack threw open the doors, I walked through and entered his studio. My lips parted as I stared. It was huge. No, huge was an understatement. The room looked like an airplane hangar, minus the planes. Camera equipment was suspended from the ceiling, canvases bigger than my house lined the walls, and more canvas was on the floor, thickly coated in paint. Next to it was a board with photographs of a woman pinned to it. I stared harder, trying to see, but I was too far away.
    Jack moved around me, careful not to touch me as he passed, asking, “Do you know what I’m famous for, Abby? Do you know why people pay millions for my work?” I shook my head. There were no finished pieces in sight, and I hadn’t seen any on the way in. Jack beamed, his beauty amplified in this setting. He explained, “ It’s part innovation and part seduction. People crave something that is sensual, that reveals the inner workings of the human mind, and I give them that.” He grinned, “And the rest was luck. I was in the right place at the right time.”
    Looking around I said, “I don’t understand. Are these the finished paintings?” Maybe he was a minimalist selling blank canvases on stretchers with pretty frames.
    “No,” he breathed, staring at me, watching my reaction carefully. I stood in front of a large bay of windows; the light spilling through behind me. His eyes lingered a beat too long before moving to a curtain that spanned across the back wall. “This is one of my finished works.” Clasping the curtain in his hand, Jack slid it back. As he revealed more and more of the painting, I found myself walking toward it, eyes growing steadily wider, lips parting further and further.
    It was evocative and alluring, sensual. It was a myriad of contradictions and promises—a moving story told in paint. There was an abstract quality to the work, but not so much that I couldn’t tell what it was. The painting was of a woman, her form captured in wide brush strokes of soft color. The curve of her figure, the expression on her face, and the long hair that drifted down her back made me stare at it. Sensual was the tame word to describe what he painted. It was raw emotion and full ecstasy, captured on canvas.
    I couldn’t breathe. My face felt hot. I was certain my cheeks were burning. “Jack, this is...” I searched for the right word, but couldn’t find one. Stepping closer, I shook my head whispering, “carnal, raw, evocative, and... sexy as hell.” My eyes were locked on the painting, on this vision of beauty that he created. When did Jack learn to do this?
    His hands were behind his back. Jack was smiling, watching me, standing next to me. “Cursing preacher?”
    I