Page 1 of The Charmer

Chapter One

“Come in and take off all your clothes.”

Ariel Wallace grimaced at how forward that sounded and mentally rehearsed another spiel.

“Make your way out the back. You’ll find pegs to hang your clothes on.”

That sounded worse.

“You’ve probably done this a thousand times before so head through that door, disrobe, and let’s get started.”

No way.

Ariel shook her head and covered her face with her hands, not surprised to feel heat scorching her cheeks and deriving little comfort from the familiar smell of turpentine on her paint-splotched skin.

She couldn’t do this.

Being an artist involved spontaneous bursts of creativity, fabulous blending of colours, and frantic slashes of brushes, not inviting some guy she didn’t know to take his clothes off so she could paint him.

Whopping big profit or not.

She’d find some other way to keep Colour by Dreams afloat. She had to. She’d promised Aunt Barb, the founder of this amazing gallery and the woman who had practically raised her, that her legacy would live on.

Ariel would do anything to make that happen.

The soft tinkle of wind chimes signalled a visitor entering the gallery and Ariel stiffened, her hands lowering from her face as she braced for an awkward confrontation. She knew how much uni students needed money and giving some poor guy the brush-off, no pun intended, didn’t sit well with her.

If anyone knew about being poor, she did.

Which is exactly why she had to paint her first life portrait since art school.

She had no choice.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

“Be there in a second,” she called out, casting a final longing look at the back door, wishing she could make a quick dash for it.

Instead, she smoothed her favourite ochre peasant skirt, retied the paisley bandanna under her unruly curls, and schooled her face into an ‘I’m in charge and not in the mood for nonsense’ expression before stepping through the beaded curtain that separated her work area from the gallery out front.

“Miss Wallace? I’m Cooper—”

“Hi, Cooper. My studio’s in the back, so if you head out there, I’ll lock up here and be with you shortly.”

The words tumbled out in a rush, a combination of nerves and shock. She’d expected a lean, young, scruffy guy to come slinking into the gallery looking half as embarrassed as she felt. Instead, she struggled not to stare at Cooper. She had no interest in his surname; she didn’t want to get too personal considering she’d soon be seeing him in the buff.

Naked…

She swallowed, unable to link buff and naked with the guy standing in front of her. If she’d been mortified at painting some dishevelled, half-starved student without his clothes on, the thought of Cooper—all six-three, broad shoulders, long legs, killer smile, too-blue eyes, and dark hair—sitting for her without a stitch of clothing made her light-headed.

Though she could blame that on the oil paint fumes.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to do this,” he said, amusement lighting his eyes, making them sparkle in the muted lights and sending an unexpected bolt of awareness through her.

“I have no choice.”

She stared, stunned by his easy confidence, his cool poise. Wasn’t this guy the teensiest bit embarrassed about getting naked in front of a stranger?

By his cocky grin and casual stance, obviously not.

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