not that.”
She fiddled with the hem of the T-shirt, disappointed. “Okay. If that’s the way you feel, I’ll find a hotel this afternoon.”
He looked annoyed. “Maddy. I said you could stay here, no strings. Don’t be stubborn.”
“I won’t leech off you. I want to help. You’re helping me, why can’t I return the favor?”
“I would have thought that was pretty obvious. You’ve seen my stuff.”
He gestured toward the row of statues. She glanced at them, then shook her head, baffled.
“Yeah. So?”
“My figures are all nudes, Maddy.”
She blinked, then looked at the figures again.
Right. They were all naked forms. Huh.
“Well, that’s no big deal, is it? It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before. God, I think you know me better than my doctor after we did that season of Wild Swans together,” she said.
Created by an avante-garde Australian choreographer, the ballet had been modern, intimate and daring. She and Max had worn thin body stockings and little else. By the end of the performance, they’d been so in tune with one another it had been hard to work out where his sweat finished and hers began.
“This is different,” he said stubbornly.
She studied him closely and realized that color traced his cheekbones. He was embarrassed. Or self-conscious. Or maybe a bit of both.
“Max, you’re blushing,” she said. Mostly because she knew that nothing would get his back up faster. He might have changed, but not that much.
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re embarrassed at seeing me naked, aren’t you?” She found the thought highly amusing. Had he really become so conservative?
“I was thinking about your comfort, not mine.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about. Because I’m perfectly comfortable taking my clothes off in front of you. You’re one of my oldest friends, for crying out loud. We used to live together, we’ve danced together. You even held my hair while I threw up after Peter’s birthday party that time. We have no secrets, Max,” she said.
He opened his mouth to object, but she waved a hand. “No. Not another word. You were planning to start this morning, yes?”
“Yes,” he said grudgingly.
“Great. Then I’ll have a shower and we’ll get started.”
She was still smiling when she closed the bathroom door on him.
Really, he was too cute. Worrying about her modesty. Totally wasted on her. Her body was the tool of her trade. She’d performed with dozens of male dancers throughout her career. Hands had caressed, gripped, slipped, pinched and God knows what else over the years. Standing naked in front of Max would be a piece of cake by comparison, and about as eventful for her as going to the supermarket was for other women.
It wasn’t until she was standing in front of him, about to bare all that the first stab of self-consciousness hit.
She hadn’t bothered dressing after her shower. She’d pulled on Max’s oversize bathrobe, laced up the scuffed pair of ballet slippers she carried in her dance bag and stepped back into the main apartment.
He’d set up a stool for himself alongside a small table filled with charcoals, pencils and Conté crayons. A space heater had been turned on to ensure she wasn’t too cold.
She took up position in front of him. Then she suddenly considered that maybe there was a difference between dancing intimately with someone while hundreds of people watched and standing completely naked in front of one man. Even if he was a friend.
Her fingers clenched around the tie on the bathrobe. Her stomach lurched with nerves.
She frowned, trying to work out why she was feeling…well, shy all of a sudden. She’d never been self-conscious about her body in her life. She knew she was in good shape, not an ounce of fat on her, her muscles lean and defined. Okay, she wasn’t exactly a knockout in the rack department, but that had never bothered her before. Big breasts would only have gotten in the way when she danced, and that had always been the most important concern in her life.
But this morning she found herself wishing that instead of her half handfuls she had a little bit more action going on up top. Lord only knew how many women Max had slept with. She’d hate for him to look at her and find her lacking. Unfeminine, even.
She sneaked a glance at the bronze figure she’d admired earlier. Bronze Lady definitely had breasts. A good B cup, maybe even a C. Most of the time, Maddy didn’t wear a bra at all. In fact, she had no idea what cup size she was these days. Which was something of a giveaway in and of itself.
Good grief, girl, get it together. Who cares if you have small breasts? Certainly not Max. You’re a dancer, with a dancer’s body. That’s what he’s looking for. Not tits and ass.
She forced her hands into action, unknotting the tie and almost throwing the robe open in her haste to get the moment of exposure over with.
She took a deep breath and made herself look up to make eye contact with Max. The sooner they normalized this situation, the better.
But he was busy with his supplies, selecting a pencil and sorting his charcoals into order.
Okay. Good. She had a few seconds to get her shit together without him watching her every move.
She slid the robe off her shoulders, letting it pool around her feet. The air was cool on her naked skin and she could feel her nipples tightening. She smoothed her hands down her hips and rolled her shoulders.
“Did you want my hair up or down?” she asked.
Max looked up at last. His gaze swept over her body. She couldn’t read a single emotion on his face and she fought the instinct to cover herself with her hands.
“Up. I need the line of your neck and shoulders,” he said. Then he returned his attention to his supplies.
She stared at him for a beat. Then she gathered the length of her hair and twisted it until it formed a loose knot on top of her head. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, as though she was waiting in the wings, ready to run onstage and perform.
What had she expected him to say or do at first sight of her naked body? Break into applause? Go slack-jawed with admiration? Spout poetry?
She couldn’t believe she was being so ridiculous. Juvenile, even.
When she focused on Max again, he was watching her, his expression still unreadable.
“How do you want me?” she asked.
He took a few seconds to answer.
“Let’s
