Jesus, he looked good.

           “Come...Jane.”

           His smooth tone drew her eyes upward. She stood, aware he’d been waiting for her to look at him. She used the time it took to follow him to a dark setting to cool her flushed cheeks. He flipped a switch and immediately light flooded the space.

A jungle. Grace heard the sounds grow louder; tropical birds, mysterious calls and a low drum beat. Had it been faster it would have matched her heart. His eyes were on her, over her, warm chocolate brown, with an expression that was somewhere between pensive and intense.

Wondering if he saw the pulse beat in her throat or heard the quickening of her breath, Grace wet her dry lips. Being this close to him was nearly overwhelming.

He walked around the set, moving things, shifting them. Before waving her over and sitting her on a stump. Frowning, he murmured, “Relax. Not so stiffly.” He walked around her several times.

When his hand touched her hair, she jumped, and then closed her eyes, willing herself to relax... yeah, right, Grace.

Moments seemed to stretch out while she sat with eyes closed, feeling his occasional touch on her arm, her shoulder, her cheek. She opened them feeling his hand pick up her foot.

Oh God. He was on his knees, unzipping the boots, taking them off, setting them aside. He glanced up and their gaze held.

“Relax.”

“I am.”

His lips curved into a smile. He reached up, moved her hands off her thighs and shook them a bit by the wrist, and then touched her chin with warm, strong, artistic fingers. “Next time, leave the cosmetics off. I always start with a blank canvas.”

“I can wash it off.”

He stood and nodded. “That way.”

The floor was cold concrete. She tried not to walk fast but rushed nonetheless to the bathroom. The space was huge, well laid out. Grace was scrubbing her face when he stepped through the door.

“Wash your hair.”

“Pardon?” She paused, bent over at the chrome sink.

“Is it too cold in here?”

“Other than the floor, no.” She picked up a white towel and pressed it to her face, thankful to have it covered for a moment to collect herself. He was warm, close, big, and in the room. The sound of his voice amplified in a way that spread chills over her skin.

“I’ll do it.”

Grace lost her moment to protest. In confusion, she found herself led to what she thought was a utility sink with a sprayer. Mentally groaning at his nudge, her head bent. He stood too close, touching her side, his groin at her hip. The warm spray hit her scalp before his fingers were lathering the shampoo.

“This is really strange,” she had to say.

“Mmm.” He sounded distracted.

Grace made it through the rinse and having the towel wrapped around her head. She looked into the mirror while his front was lined against her back. He stood shoulders and head taller behind her, eyeing her face too. He removed the towel. Grace waited for that look of disappointment, but Noel seemed preoccupied. He reached above her and took a comb out of a sanitized wrap and ran it through her hair. Her sweater was damp, itching and beads of water ran into her cleavage.

He combed her shoulder length hair, slicked it back, and then dropped the comb into the sink. He rested his hands on her shoulders a moment and their eyes met again.

Grace wondered what her ordinary face was doing here and when his thumbs hooked into the sweater collar and pulled it wide, she let out a strangled cough. “I thought I was modeling?”

“You are.” He easily pulled the material down her arms and the tulip cups and straps of the dark purple silk bra showed. “Take this off.”