Page 59 of She’s Worth the Risk

His eyes lift to mine. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I want you to draw me.” I reach for the tie on my wrap dress, but stop when I see the hesitation in his eyes. I’ll only do this if I’m certain he wants it.

“Zinnia…” He shakes his head. “I know I’m not your professor anymore, but the semester has only just ended. It’s still…”

“Risky.” I let my hand fall. “I get it.” He’s not wrong. Even if I’m not in his class anymore, I’m still his former student. The optics aren’t great. “But why should it be anyone’s business but ours?”

“You’re right,” he agrees, surprising me. “But even if that weren’t the case…” He grimaces, glancing away. “You’re young. Too young for me.”

I scoff. Now this surprises me. Yes, he was my professor on campus, but in all our conversations outside that, we simply felt like two adults talking about life.

“I’m twenty-five,” I point out. “In Renaissance times I’d be married with kids by now.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but it dies on his tongue. I hadn’t considered he might have a problem with the age difference between us, and I need him to know it shouldn’t matter.

“I’m not a child,” I say firmly. “Actually…” I huff a mildly indignant laugh. “When we talked in Joe’s, I always felt like you saw me as an equal.”

He softens. “I did. I do.”

I step closer, gazing up at him. His breath catches, and I inhale his clean, masculine scent. It’s an effort not to reach out and touch his scruffy cheek, not to run my hands through those messy waves of his. It’s painful being this close and not touching him, and while I know he needs a nudge, I also need to know he’s okay with this before I push too hard.

“I’ll leave if you want me to,” I say. “If you can tell me that’s really what you want, I’ll leave.”

He drags a hand through his hair, looking agonized. His mouth opens, and I’m certain he’s going to tell me to go. My heart leaps hopefully when he shakes his head.

“No,” he says, voice rough. “Stay.”

And with that, I untie my wrap dress and let it fall.

25

NICK

My brain short circuits as Zinnia’s dress falls to the floor. I’ve seen her nude many times, but this is different. It’s not in the public forum of June’s studio, surrounded by the class. It’s in my living room, just for me.

That, and she’s not wearing any panties.

My breath rushes out as I gaze at her. Acres of smooth alabaster skin, dark waves tumbling over her shoulders, every curve utter perfection. My hands tingle at my sides, and I’m not sure if it’s with the urge to pick up my pencil or touch her.

Maybe I should be putting up more of a fight, reminding her I was her professor less than twenty-four hours ago, arguing more about how young she is—or rather, how old I am—but the words won’t come. Not when class has finished. Not when she’s right, that I do view her as an equal.

Not when she’s here, naked and so willing for me.

She lowers herself onto my sofa, reclining against the leather. “Draw me, Nick.”

I swallow, nerves rippling through me as I glance at my sketchbook. Fuck, I want to. But even now, just me and her, hesitation tugs at me.

Zinnia seems to sense it, because a wry smile slides onto her lips. “Draw me like one of your French girls,” she says in a dramatic voice.

I pause. French girls?

“What?” I ask, scratching my jaw, and she laughs.

“From Titanic, you know? That scene…”

“Oh.” A laugh escapes me. I remember the scene; young me had more than one fantasy involving a naked, voluptuous Kate Winslet.

My nerves ease as I gaze at Zinnia, bared on my sofa, grinning up at me. She knows me well enough to sense when I’m too in my head, when I need her to break the ice. I love that about her—that she never takes herself too seriously. That she’s always so comfortable with who she is, comfortable enough to laugh at herself. She’s perfection in every way possible, and as much as this terrifies me, there’s no way I can refuse.