Unbroken Read Free Page A

camera phone, when she’d been leaving the hospital on a less publicized visit. She wore a simple T-shirt and no make-up and the photographer had captured the haunting loss in her eyes.
    He stared at the picture rather than her. “I recognised that look. I felt that way when my father died. He was a hard man, constantly critical. He died when I was fifteen, and I felt nothing but relief when we lost him. I couldn’t tell anyone because they were all officially devastated by his death. My mother never recovered, but he’d never showed me anything other than criticism. I was the son. I had to do what sons did. Not become an artist, nothing like that. He equated artists with gays and he equated gays with effeminacy. Neither of which is true.”
    Inspired by his brutal honesty, she decided to ask her own question. And get him away from her. “Are you gay?” Sure, she’d seen him with women, but only in public and she knew how well people could hide secrets.
    But his laughter held no shadows. “No. When I look at you, gay is the last thing I am. Or hadn’t you noticed?”
     

Chapter Two
     
     
     
    She followed his gaze down to his lap. When he moved the book and laid it to one side, she saw what he meant. His well-worn, soft jeans did nothing to hide his hard-on.
    Despite her good intentions, she couldn’t help smiling, loving that she’d had that effect on him. Warmth flooded her when she realised that someone would see her scars and still want her, but she knew that for the superficial affirmation she needed. Her scars weren’t too bad, wouldn’t deter the average male, only the picky perfectionists she used to work for. Except that she still limped when she didn’t concentrate.
    “I’ve noticed now. Don’t you know anything about model-artist etiquette?”
    He shook his head. “Nothing. You’re my first live model since art college . I decided to move over to representative art this year. I’ve worked in abstracts until now.”
    He slanted her a glance full of mischief, and like his smile, it transformed him. He enchanted her. That was it. He cast a spell that caught her completely. When he was solemn, he was completely solemn, but his smile had no boundaries to it. Volatile, concentrated and entirely his own person. She wanted it. She wanted whatever he had that made him so alive, so vital. And so honest.
    His honesty made her long for more. All her adult life—no, make that all her life—she’d assumed that lying, dissimulation and game-playing was the norm. Now, this man told her the truth and seemed to assume that she would tell him the truth in return.
    “So why are you changing your style?”
    He took her hand and stared at the palm. “Because I want to. I have two big shows coming up, at the Hayward here in London, and at the Guggenheim. Huge kudos, great boost to my career, or so my agent tells me. But they’re retrospectives. At my age, retrospectives!” He gave her a glance she would have almost called shy, his gaze flicking away from hers as if he were ashamed to admit it. “I’m twenty-eight. It’s ludicrous.”
    She was twenty-four and her career could well be over. She didn’t see it as ludicrous in the least. But she didn’t say so.
    “I thought I’d use the shows to indicate a new direction. I saw you and I had thoughts, ideas. Got excited.”
    “Me? Why?”
    He glanced at the book. “That photograph. It intrigued me. Then I looked into your life and that intrigued me more.”
    Vashti wondered if she should reach for the robe lying on a stool at the side of the chaise and decided against it. Being naked was almost a natural state for her. Wearing a flimsy robe could, she knew from experience, be more titillating, draw more attention to her body, not less. So she sat still and listened. At least this studio was pleasantly warm.
    “You’ve worked as a model since you were small. The public has known your face since you were five years old. You’ve sold washing powder,