MisMatch (A Humorous Contemporary Romance) Read Free Page B

show, then she spotted the taller shadow to
the left. A man—well-built from his shadow, but she couldn’t see
any muscle definition thanks to the sheer fabric.
    He raised an arm, and something arced out
from his fingertips, landing directly on the model’s breasts. She
arched her body even more. Jessica could swear she heard the woman
moan, but that was impossible with the music. Unless moans had been
worked into the track. Smart, Samson, very
smart. She didn't know who this guy was, but she liked the
way he thought.
    Jessica scanned the crowd. There wasn’t a
single person in the room not transfixed by what was happening on
the stage. In that moment, she knew, even if this guy had no
talent, he understood how to command a crowd without even saying a
word. Nicely done.
    With a few more well-placed arcs of his
hand, something sprayed from his fingers again. Jessica could only
assume it was paint. This time arcing and splattering on the
model’s stomach, then her— Oh . Immediately,
Jessica clamped her thighs together. What an interesting place to
get paint.
    Flushing, she surreptitiously watched the
crowd. Judging by the sharp intakes of breath and the parted lips
of nearby female patrons, she wasn’t the only woman in the place to
all of a sudden be thinking about her nether region.
    Again and again, Samson used the model like
a canvas. With each arc, he splashed the model with pant.
Occasionally, he'd draw in close to her and deliberately dribble
paint on a specific body part, her nipple, her forehead, a very
specific spot right below her pubic bone. Jessica’s skin flushed as
heat suffused her skin. Just watching him made parts of her ache
that she hadn’t thought of in months. This guy was good. If she
could represent him, he would make the perfect fit for her gallery.
Judging from this crowd, they'd pay anything to see him and his
artful little strokes again.
    Breath shallow, Jessica pressed forward
through the crowd as people pushed her in an effort to get closer
to the stage. The collective crowd took a breath. Don Juan de
Picasso put the brushes down and worked over the model—with his
hands and his mouth. He leaned over the woman and placed his lips
over hers. Through the curtain, the crowd could see his hand stroke
her breast.
    Transfixed, Jessica watched as the model’s
legs parted to let Samson between them, and he slid up over her
hips. Unable to stop herself, Jessica stopped and stared. Jaw open,
she watched as Samson appeared to rock into the painted model with
his hips, using his hands to slip up her torso over her breasts. Holy shit. Was he naked? Were they
actually—
    Jessica shook her head. No . They couldn’t be—
    Not to mention they'd be breaking about a
million public decency laws. It all had to be part of the show, and
she'd fallen for it. All around her, couples started pairing off,
some swaying in time to the music as they watched, others clearly
in full grind mode, leaving nothing to the imagination about what
they would be leaving the club to do later.
    Through the speakers, she heard those moans
again. Louder this time, but still laced through the music. She
could almost swear she heard the model say Samson's name as well.
Then she tossed her head back again, and her body went limp. Samson
stood at that point and pulled out what looked like a sheet to
cover the model’s body. He caressed strategic areas, then tore off
the sheet. What the—?
    The MC's voice through the speakers broke
the trance. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you again for joining us
to witness another Samson Marks masterpiece. We will be taking bids
on the canvas he created. Just see Gabe for details.”
    Excitement coursed through Jessica's body.
Sexual and otherwise. For the last thirty minutes, she'd lost time,
been entranced, and been sexually excited as well as frustrated.
And she knew this was supposed to be a performance piece. If she
turned Samson Marks loose on the too-rich-for-their-own-good set,
she could