Chapter 2

Chapter Two

C ooper didn't move.

He couldn't. He tried but both feet seemed firmly rooted to the spot as he watched the woman float through a curtain of shimmering purple glass beads after sending him a bewitching smile that could make a guy seriously rethink his career.

After all, look at the way his mind was working at the moment. He'd gone from Melbourne's number one property developer to artist's model— nude model—in less than a flash of pearly whites set against a luscious rosebud mouth.

He must be losing it.

All those extra hours at Vance Corporation trying to make a name for himself must've fried his brain.

This was obviously a silly case of mistaken identity and the sooner he cleared it up, stated his business, secured what he'd come here for, and headed back to the office, the sooner he could launch his dreams.

"Cooper? Tea's ready. Come and get it."

Squaring his shoulders, he pushed through the ridiculous dangling beads in the doorway, getting caught up in the process. After disentangling himself, he stepped into a magical cave.

At least, that's what it appeared to be. In each corner of the large room, swatches of gossamer-thin gold fabric hung from hooks on the ceiling and fell to the floor in cascading waves. Two ruby sofas sat at opposing ends of the room, covered in royal blue and purple cushions. Unlit candles of all sizes, shapes, and colours covered every available surface, while oil paintings of every description covered the walls.

The overall effect, bright, stunning, and welcoming, made him gawk. Though that might have more to do with the gorgeous woman standing in the middle of the eclectic room with a strangely vulnerable smile curving her lush mouth.

"Drink some of this," she said, holding a steaming cup of tea. "It'll make you feel better."

He took the chipped pottery cup she offered, mentally searching for the right words. Maybe he should take a leaf out of her book and opt for brutal honesty? Something to the effect that he was the ‘ slime ball property developer buying out the street'?

Yeah, that would go down a treat.

Taking a tentative sip of the pungent brew—a brave move, considering he was a five espressos a day kinda guy and hated the herbal stuff—he tried not to stare at the woman standing between him and his corporation.

"Good?"

"Mmm," he said, surprised he didn't have to lie as the warm honey and spicy ginger slid across his tongue, giving his taste buds a pleasant jolt in the process.

"Drink up, then we can get started."

He tried not to stare, he really did, but there was something about Ariel Wallace that drew his gaze like a connoisseur to a masterpiece.

She wasn't a beauty in the classic sense, what with the crazy flowery bandanna covering her blonde curls, the heart-shaped face devoid of makeup, the pert nose, and wary green eyes that looked like she'd seen more than her fair share of trouble.

As for her body, what little he could see of it beneath a voluminous ruffled skirt that matched her bandanna, and loose white cotton top that hid more than it revealed, he wished he could see more.

He didn't go for boho as a rule, but Ariel's striking face and bizarre dress sense made for an exotic combination, and her unique style had captured his attention. Go figure. He found it particularly strange because he usually admired classically dressed women, the bulk of his female acquaintances preferring classy black and expensive jewellery.

"If you pop behind the screen and get ready, I'll set up over there."

Her brisk, no-nonsense tone had him hiding a smile behind his cup. She could be instructing him to take out the garbage rather than get naked.

Time to set the record straight.

"Miss Wallace, I don't think this is going to work. There's been a mistake—"

"No." She crossed the room in two-seconds flat, standing toe to toe with him before he could blink. "There's no mistake. I haven't got time to find another model. I need this painting done ASAP and that means you're staying, nerves or not. Got it?"

If she jabbed him in the chest, he wouldn't have been surprised.

"And call me Ariel."

She stared at him, so close he could see the tiny gold flecks flickering in the green depths of her striking eyes, issuing a challenge he had no intention of taking up.

"I'm not nervous." Though with this crazy woman looking ready to deck him if he refused to take his clothes off, maybe he should be. "I'm not who you think I am."

She quirked an eyebrow, a cheeky elevation that drew his attention to her eyes again, their unusual crystal clear green distracting him from the task at hand: set the record straight, seal this deal, and escape the office, his father, and the memories.

"Look, Cooper, you could be the Crown Prince of Transylvania for all I care. Right now, I need you sitting on that stool without any clothes on, staring out that window, and holding the pose until I say move. Okay?"

"This is insane," he muttered, admiring her sass and wondering if she'd slug him when he told her the truth.

She was close enough to do it. Way too close, considering her intoxicating scent—the faintest hint of jasmine and oranges—was playing havoc with his brain. Because for one, tiny, infinitesimal second, he almost considered doing what she said.

"No, you're insane if you think you're leaving here tonight before I get your form sketched. Now, shelve the shy act and let's get to it."

She cast him one last challenging glare before strutting to an easel about five feet away, busying herself with charcoals and paper to give him time to disrobe.

He must be mad.

Nuts. Crazy. Totally insane.

Then again, considering how desperate he was to obtain this gallery—the last bit of prime real estate in Brunswick Street and his ticket out of Vance Corporation —maybe taking off his clothes for the crazy lady wouldn't be so bad.

"You ready yet?" She asked, without turning around.

"Almost."

With a wry grin, Cooper headed for the ornate Japanese screen, pulling his T-shirt off along the way. As a method to inveigle his way into a client's confidence, he'd never imagined getting naked.

Then again, this wasn't his fault. He'd tried to tell her the truth and she wouldn't listen.

Ariel Wallace wanted a model and it looked like he was it.

He just hoped she wouldn't spear him with the nearest paint brush when she discovered he'd come here to pull the easel out from under her.