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Pacing, I stopped to check my email every few minutes. How completely unlike me to miss something as important as the centerpiece of my entire showing. With all the other items waiting to go, I had been so full of myself thinking I was way ahead of deadline. I had even begun to work on my next project. Mostly sketches, but I had a couple of canvases started. When I was in college, I had sometimes struggled for ideas, but never here.
But the whole construction thing had totally thrown me off my game, though, and if I didn’t get a response to my ad, I was going to have to try something else. I just wasn’t sure what. And then, after several hours of pacing and chewing my nails, I saw the email come in.
The person replying didn’t give me a lot of information about themself, just said they were interested in the detail about the job. I would have expected at least an attached head shot or preferably full-body image, but there was nothing.
So I just gave him the address and told him to come in for an interview. Oliver Creek might be foodie’s paradise and attracting tourists from all over, but a model looking for a gig? Somehow that seemed unlikely. And I knew that when I placed the ad. It was just a really bad time for me to get to the city, with the construction going on, and then have to accept a second-best model since all the good ones would be booked. I had to try.
My expectations were not high, but if he was at all okay, I could use my imagination to bump up the assets, as it were. Not my favorite way to work, but time allowed not much more. Damn, I hated having to compromise. Nothing in the Oliver Creek area was far from anything else, but my anxiety made the minutes stretch on. I picked up my brush and tried to do a little work to make time pass faster.
And, as always, the minute brush touched canvas, I sank into the work. This landscape was an attempt to capture the very peak of summer outside my window, and the tans and soft greens and golds were difficult to capture in just the way I wanted. The raps on the door jerked me from the moment, and my initial reaction was irritation. One of the reasons I lived here and not in the city was that I hated being interrupted while working.
Then I remembered why someone was at my door. And I crossed my fingers, sending paint splattering onto the canvas sheet covering the floor. Not the painting. Thank heavens.
Whoever he was, I hoped I’d be able to use him at least as a starting point. And if not, I’d at least be courteous. Lots of people wanted to be models, and some local might think he had a shot with this opportunity. Even if he was a skinny kid with bad skin, I would not make him feel bad about himself. Working with models over the years, I’d heard enough stories from the young men I painted about how easy it was to shatter their confidence. Even if this wasn’t a pro, he was still a person presenting himself for approval, and he deserved respect for that.
I opened the door, plastering a welcoming smile onto my face. “Good morning. That was quick.” My mouth went dry, my gaze focused on the face that had loomed over the city square on one of my trips to the gallery.
Not just the face.
“Good morning. I’m West. You must be Antoine?” He reached out to shake my hand, but I didn’t want to get him all dirty.
“I was painting. Let me wash up. I’m not trying to be rude.” Nor did I want to touch him until I got my mind and body under control. In addition to the face, I’d seen the entire body that went with it. Or at least nearly all of it.
He had worn underwear, but kneeling, body facing forward, and face peeking over his shoulder, the thong had hidden virtually none of the rear view. And an ass I’d drooled a little over and even wondered if I could paint. But when I slipped into the booth where I was having lunch with the agency rep, and mentioned it, their laughter had been enough for me to know that the underwear model was well beyond my budget.
And now…here he was in my house, offering to be painted. Why?
Chapter Four
West
I knocked on the door to a house that could fit my house in it three times over. The place was open with lots of windows and inside, and I could already see the man I was looking for.
“Good morning. That was quick.”
Not something you want to hear from an omega, but I knew what he meant. It had only taken me minutes to get here from my house. Oliver Creek was getting bigger by the month but everything was still a nice walk away. The smells enticed me. Coffee. Freshly baked bread. Smoked meats.
If only I could afford such luxuries.
“Good morning. I’m West. You must be Antoine?” I stuck my hand out to shake his but instead of returning the gesture, he put his hands up.
“I was painting. Let me wash up. I’m not trying to be rude.”
While he scampered back inside, I drank him in. Lean but not too thin. He wore no shirt under those faded blue-jean overalls, not that I blamed him. It was the peak of summer, and Oliver Creek didn’t escape the sun’s glaring rays, though this spectacular design had to have AC. Not having it would be a crime. His hair was disheveled, and I found the entire getup adorable.
Shutting the door behind me, I gasped seeing the paintings. They were everywhere. Leaning against each other on the floor with white canvas laid underneath them. On tables. Poised on chairs. Every inch was covered with what I could only assume was his work.
The omega’s talent shone through his art.
He’d captured everything from landscapes to beautiful skies and everything in between Earth and the heavens.
“You’re amazing,” I breathed, in awe of the genius that surrounded me. Antoine stood at the kitchen sink and turned, smiling at me over his shoulder. “Thank you, West.” If I wasn’t mistaken, a bit of a blush graced his cheeks.
Beautiful man, he was. I had come here in pursuit of changing his mind about the nude part, but now that I’d seen him and inhaled the sweet cinnamon in his scent, I had other ideas. My bear wanted to show off for this omega. Let him observe my body. Approve of it. Desire it.
Hell, I might strip down right here if he wanted a preview.
“Should we talk about the terms of this agreement?” Antoine said, drying his hands on a clean towel and then throwing it over his shoulder like a seasoned chef instead of a painter.
