by Desa

The smell of the oil paints, resin, wood, and soiled cloths of her studio were as fine to Sha as the most expensive French perfume. She breathed it in deeply, luxuriating in the texture of the room. So warm compared to the rest of the chateau. More and more she had come to this place to escape the barrenness she found in her heart and her home. Sometimes, she even slept here. Jean Claude often stayed away on his trips for days at a time.

She gazed out the window, at the manicured lawn and gardens falling down to the river and then to the rolling hills beyond. The evening fog was beginning to roll in and the white roses which grew along the gray stone wall outside her window would glow in the dusk. Opening the window she leaned out, taking in another deep breath of the sweet summer night air, listening to the gentle voice of the fountain far below.

A crunching sound on the white gravel walkway, and a dark figure approached. He moved with an unconscious grace, heedless of its beauty, as he moved to his own music, up the stairs and into the chateau. Her heart quickened.....Antonio.

Glancing about, she searched for the music. Some lovely, classical guitar from Spain to make him feel at home. He had been coming for several sessions, posing for her, but she always liked to make the models feel at ease. The fireplace was soon sending out it’s glow, perfect for the effect she wanted. She pushed back the heavy blonde curls from her face and ran her hands down her thighs, against the tight fabric, drying them for the paint brushes.

He entered the studio and filled it with his presence. The great, dark eyes took it in all at once. His glance sweeping over Sha as she sat by her easel, the touch of it like a caress. She heard the rustle of his clothes as he removed first the shirt; she imagined it falling away from his shoulders, exposing the beautiful line of his throat as it merged with his chest, the small dark curls lying so sweetly, almost teasing to be touched. The louder rustle of the jeans as they were pulled off. She closed her eyes, knowing well the shape of his legs, straight and lean, beautifully formed.

He was silent as he walked by her, she could smell the scent of him.....he smelled of the gardens; the sweetness of the grass, the darkness of the soil and the musk of the roses in full bloom. No words had passed between them. He sat at his place and took his pose. Sha brought her brush up and began to work.

It was a face meant to be drawn. Each feature complimenting perfectly the other. The eyes....how to capture their directness, the ability to look outwards at the world and really see it. She wondered if he saw her. They had spoken infrequently, but each time she had relished the sound of his voice, so soft and deep, the shadings of it like the Spanish guitar. She concentrated on his mouth. It softened the heat from the eyes, giving his face an innocent look. He was relaxed, the fullness of his lips an invitation he seemed not to be aware of giving. Reaching up he ran a hand through the dark fall of his hair. His eyes gazed at Sha from underneath his brows, "I’m sorry. I’m finding it hard to be still tonight."

She could feel the heat from the fire as she drew her eyes away from the glow it gave to his skin. "That’s all right," she smiled at him. "We can stop if you like. Tomorrow night, perhaps?"

He shook his head and her hand stilled in mid-air. The eyes were looking at her, really seeing her, their directness paralyzing her where she sat. His voice had grown deeper, huskier as he swept his dark gaze over the length of her. "I don’t want to stop. It’s too late for that."

His movements had always been fluid and quick when he chose. There was no precise image in her brain of his standing, pulling her from her stool and taking her in his arms. She only knew that he pressed her to him and the face she had been trying to capture on canvas was touching hers. She could feel the yielding and demanding lips and the heat from his skin; the brush of his lashes and the softness of his hair, the fingertips pressing into her waist and back.

The paintbrush fell to the floor unheeded and the guitar played on into the night....on that night and for many more to follow.

Kiss art contributed by Sharon (sha). Picture worth 1000 words?
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