“So you’re Seth’s niece?”
She paused in the action of removing her hoodie. His deep, resonant voice had taken her by surprise. She met his gaze for the first time and blinked. His eyes were a clear aquamarine. The elaborate foam latex prosthetic he wore on the upper half of his face and the sublime makeup application only added to their brilliance. His gaze struck her as startlingly alert. Compared to this man, other people’s stares were those of sleepwalkers.
She had the strangest sensation seeing his eyes peering through the elaborate costume he wore, as if she’d caught a glimpse of his soul through the beautiful artifice. Seth’s makeup, which subtly alluded to the emerging humanity of the sea creature, only added to the impression. The body paints included brilliant blue
s and greens, but flesh colors rippled and swirled over chiseled muscle and bone as well, creating a stunning living landscape. He was beyond beautiful, the subtle shadowing wrought by the air- and paintbrushes highlighting every ridge and smooth, hard plane of his long body.
His gaze flickered downward.
She became aware that she was holding both sides of her cotton hoodie wide open in preparation to remove it. Her breasts felt tight suddenly, straining against the fabric of her bra and the thin layer of her cotton tank top. Her nipples beaded, as if he’d reached out and brushed a finger over the sensitive flesh instead of just glancing at her.
She blushed, her reaction surprising her. Joy was an artist, and she’d long grown accustomed to partial and full nudity. She didn’t work full time in the movie industry, but she’d had sufficient experience, thanks to Seth. Gorgeous models and wannabe actors were the norm in Hollywood, as commonly found as a cornstalk on a July day in Indiana.
She whipped off her hoodie and tossed it on the table.
“Yes. I’m Joy.” She nodded to a spot in front of the table and reached for a chair, all brisk business.
“You’re the art teacher.”
She met his stare, and was once again snared.
“Seth told me,” he said quietly, shapely blue-and-white-tinted lips barely moving.
“We better get started or you’ll miss the shoot,” she murmured, discomfited for some reason by the idea of Seth sharing even the smallest details of her life with this stranger.
He walked to the spot she’d indicated. Joy sat and rolled her chair directly in front of him, her face situated in front of his abdomen. Without another word, she picked up a tattoo marker and began to outline the design in Seth’s illustration on her human canvas. Seth had altered the tattoo art somewhat from his original proposal. The brilliant starburst through rippling water was bolder and much more intricate than his original design. Joy liked the change.
She never looked at his face once while she worked, but she was highly aware of him. Her knuckles brushed occasionally against warm, dense flesh. Her nose was just inches from his body. The alcohol base from the body paint filtered into her nose. Beneath it, she smelled the musk of his skin like a subtle, living thread twining through the chemical artifice. The fragrance was potent somehow, sending a loud, clear message of male virility to some ancient part of her brain.
Only a stretchy, seaweed-like boxer-brief costume covered his genitals. Joy couldn’t help but be conscious of the fact that her chin was mere inches from the fullness behind the flimsy material. She worked steadily, but a dull, pleasurable ache began to grow at her core.
A light glaze of perspiration had dampened her brow and upper lip by the time she leaned back. She glanced up at him, a calm—entirely fake—expression plastered on her face.
“You’ll have to lower your briefs enough for me to make the transition look natural,” she said.
The air conditioner made a loud, chugging sound and then resumed its typical hum. She saw his throat convulse. Was he as uncomfortable with this situation as she was? He held her stare with those striking eyes and moved his hands, folding down the seaweed brief and exposing the stretch of skin just above his genitals.
She lifted her tattoo pen and paused.
Seth had used the airbrush below the brief, but not in a thorough manner. Joy could see several patches of naked, golden skin along with a smattering of light brown hair. Pubic hair was usually several shades darker than hair on the head, which meant he must be blond beneath the beautiful headpiece affixed to his head.
Below that strip of skin, the flimsy material barely contained a virile package. The vision was nearly as striking as that of the man’s eyes peering through the elaborate mask. What was it about that stretch of skin below the belly and just above a man’s cock that spoke of sensitivity . . . vulnerability?
His arm muscles clenched tight. He kept his hands on the material of the briefs, as if he wanted to be prepared to jerk the garment back into place at the slightest provocation. Joy didn’t know whether to feel compassion for him or annoyance. He was the six-foot-four-inch tower of brawn here, not her. She was hardly going to attack him. She disliked this intimate aspect of her work, but the human body wasn’t something that could be ignored when it came to art. He was just a backdrop, not any different from the canvases in her studio.
Her expression hardened at the thought. She leaned forward and continued her design, the tip of her marker slipping across firm flesh. She was doing fine for the next minute or so until she noticed the brief was stretching and expanding to contain his erection. His cock rode along his left thigh. The column of it was clearly delineated beneath the insubstantial garment.
Shit.
She glanced up at him anxiously. He was looking down at her. She’d known he would be. She’d sensed his stare on the crown of her head the entire time. He closed his eyes briefly. She sensed his regret even through his half mask.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a gruff voice. “Just . . . just ignore it.”
Heat flooded her cheeks and she looked away.
How mortifying.
It wasn’t uncommon for a model to occasionally experience an unwanted erection during a makeup application, but the evidence had never been so . . . close to her before. Nor had it ever been so appealing.