A Twist Of Fate

Chapter one:

Nothing. Not even the recollection of every imperfect part of her body was enough to cease Rose's trembling hand from reaching up to part her kimono. It was black but sheer; possibly already allowing Jack a peek of her nude figure beneath. His eyes though, had remained on hers. A variety of drawing materials were laid out before him but Rose barely paid mind to them, instead noting his casual seating amongst the ornate backdrop of her lounge. His braces were loose around his legs, his white shirt unbuttoned two or three with his smooth chest visible, the sleeve of his shirts was rolled up to his elbow and his left leg casually slung over his right. He had made himself at home within her world; it was almost funny to see his leisurely ways within the stiff sitting room, a place used to take tea, to read and to discuss the latest fashions, yet, here she was, naked before a near stranger.

Their playful exchange of words after Rose had tossed 10 cents at him had since disappeared. The kimono had fallen to the floor in such a delicate whisper, pooling about her feet. It wasn't cold, it was suddenly very warm. The heat from the fire in the hearth expelled a dry warmth about the small room but it was the flow of heat which radiated from Jack's dazed gaze which caused the flush to come to her. As slowly, but not greedily, his eyes glanced down the length of her body, then back up to meet her curious watch. Her hands instinctively came to her stomach in a moment of self-awareness but she stopped, the awed wonder of Jack's gaze rooted her there as though she was the doe and he, the hunter with a flash lamp.

''Over on the bed, I mean the couch,'' Jack stumbled, soothing out her worries with that small fumbling of words indicating just how nervous he was, also. It was ironic, how a man so sure of his purpose in life, of his feelings for her and how she should be able to be free from her Society's grasp and yet, he became a wreck of some sort just from a naked woman; the sort of thing which could be a daily occurrence just weeks ago in Paris.

Once instructed, Rose seemed to be able to grasp full use of her body once more. Stepping away from the security of the kimono, she went to the divan, laying herself down slowly and in a way which could be a pose. Everything, each part of her was now available for his view. In another wave of awareness, she moved her arm in a variety of poses, not quite knowing just how to be a beautiful model about to be drawn from life. The subjects of his other drawings were gorgeous, elegant and—bohemian, Rose was a woman submerged into a world of fools and having never even kissed another man before just that afternoon, she was at a complete loss of what to do.

Finally, the artist in Jack seemed to know when to take over.

''Tell me when that looks right--''

''Put that arm right there, where it was,'' Rose placed her right hand above her head. ''And that other hand, up by your face right there.''

She did, as he had instructed.

''Now, head down, eyes to me. Keep them on me.''

How could they be anywhere else?

Jack exhaled, possibly through some nerves, or because he had never been emotionally involved with a model before, who knew?

''Try to stay still.''

It was as though he then returned to his natural habitat, as his hand started to move, creating the lines which would become her on paper. Through her own hazy vision, she could see the concentration within his eyes, how he seemed to smudge to perfect creation. Each glance he took back to her was filled with such intensity. Did he watch every girl he had drawn so intently?

The thud of her own heartbeat filled her ears, and she felt the urge to twitch in case it disturbed his reverie. The beauty of his face, framed by his hair which kept falling into his eyes in the process of him drawing was intoxicating. The blue of his eyes sparkled in the dim lamp light and the only sound was his scratching upon the paper and the odd crackle of the fire but, surely there was her heartbeat, too? If he was currently drawing the shape of her body, Rose exhaled slowly through her lips to allow her nerves to calm a little more as though her knowing that he could see every inch of her was the most daunting thought. He would glance up, every five or so seconds, with another intense look at Rose in her entire most vulnerable state but one which made her feel beautiful, it made her nervous but above all, it felt erotic.