Heat of a Blue Flame by 107yearoldvirgin.pdf

Heat of a Blue Flame by 107yearoldvirgin

Summary: An artist who cannot feel. A subject that fights not to. An

erotic tale of love, loss and the intense yearning to be consumed. AH/M

for erotic themes.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6215656/1/

Chapter 1

BPOV

The house was bigger than I expected, being that it was supposed to be a

photography studio. I'd been to different locations to attend shoots before…some

of them outside, some in old lofts or in abandoned warehouses. The majority of

them were in actual studios. But this place looked like an old Victorian as it sat off

the side of the road. It was settled back along a rather extensive tree lined

driveway that was completely encased by leaning oaks, their branches appearing

to reach over the top of my car, scratching lightly across the roof as I drove

carefully towards the towering frame.

It looked like it had been restored recently, the paint fresh and the grounds

impeccably landscaped. As I parked my car, I glanced towards the back of the

house, not surprised at all to see that the land extended a good mile into the

woods behind an overgrown backyard. It was quite the contrast to the well kept

front lawn.

Looks like this guy liked to do a lot of those outside field pictures. For weddings?

Maybe even bands. I groaned wondering if he had a brick wall with random

graffiti around the back of the house. Or some abandoned train tracks.

The entire scenario had been a bit strange to begin with. I had been in the

grocery store, loading up my cart with food for the week when I'd heard this soft

feminine voice calling to me from my left. I usually don't make eye contact or pay

attention to people around me; it just makes it easier to get in and out of the

grocery store without being followed down an aisle or being hit on at the meat

counter.

That sounds conceited, even to me.

What I mean is that…a woman my age…without a wedding ring on her

finger…tends to get more attention in this town than she's comfortable with.

So, when I'd turned and seen this stunning redhead grinning at me, I'd been

confused. I mean, I'd never been hit on by a woman before…

"Hi," she'd sort of sung melodically as she moved toward me.

I had kind of given her the death stare, wondering what the hell she'd been so

interested in approaching me for.

She'd laughed a little and strolled over quickly; adjusting the bag of bread she

had in her hands to extend one in greeting. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle

you. My name is Tanya…"

I'd taken her hand reluctantly. "Bella."

"Bella," she'd said and smiled a little, like she approved of the way my name

sounded coming from her mouth. "This is going to sound really weird, but…do

you model?"

I'd laughed, knowing that this pretentious conversation had likely happened in

this aisle before. "No. I mean…yes. But not in the way you're thinking. I mean,

clearly I'm too short to runway." I'd pointed at my little legs and shrugged. "I've

done a couple of hair shows in college. Sat for a few sessions with college friends.

I've even done some freelance work with friends of friends, but I'm not…you

know…model material." My hands sort of rested on my hips as I spoke and I

knew that she understood what I meant.

I wasn't exactly tall and emaciated.

"I think you're kind of perfect for a project that I'm scouting for," she'd said

matter-of-factly. "It pays two thousand a week. Maybe two months long? You'd

be under contract and it would be at all hours, but the photographer is amazing

and he's doing a new collection to be shown in Seattle. He's looking for one

subject…and I think you're her."

"Really?" I scoffed. "What are the qualifications? Being average?"

Her eyes had kind of wavered a little before she shrugged. "When you put it that

way it sounds a little negative. He wants someone that wouldn't be the Public's

definition of perfect and beautiful."

Thankfully, I wasn't offended.

And I needed the extra money.

So, I'd accepted. And now I was standing in the driveway of a man whose name I

hadn't even gotten from Tanya. Carefully, I made my way to the front door and

glanced at the name plate secured above the doorbell.

~Masen~

~Established 1901~

That would explain the house…

I knocked and waited, looking at the wrap around porch and swing that was

shifting slightly with the breeze. There were footsteps and I heard the door open

with a groan before Tanya appeared in the opening.

"Bella, you made it." She smiled sweetly and stepped back to allow me access to

the foyer.

"Yeah, it wasn't as hard to find as I thought it would be." I looked around for a

place to hang my purse, hoping not to look nervous.

Because I wasn't.

"I'll take it," Tanya called and extended her hand. After she'd settled my things,

she led me into a grand parlor with refinished wooden floors that gleamed under

the rays of sunlight that filtered through the gossamer curtains. "Edward will be

out in a moment, he's just finishing up a call. Make yourself at home?"

The last sentence struck me as odd, given that she seemed uncertain of my

comfort. I hoped I wasn't giving off an air of uncertainty. She walked away, her

shiny black heels clicking along the wooden flooring as she went. My eyes

watched her form as it moved away from me and I couldn't help but admire it.

She was tall and thin, but curvy… she had an ass. And she was wearing her hair

up today, red curls piled atop her head and her black dress cinched at the waist,

making her appear as if she were from another time…a secretary from the Forties

or something.

I shook my head and rolled my eyes. I watched too much Mad Men.

The light filtering in through the windows was brightening the room around the

edges, showing the cracks in the corners of the walls, near the ceiling. I moved

slowly, my head tilted up to look over the delicate crown molding and the

intricate details of the wood.

Sunlight hit the dust motes and they danced just beyond the curtains like school

children at recess, aimless and frenzied.

Wandering over to the shelves that lined the room, I ran my fingers along the

spines of some of the many books there, feeling the worn edges and

concentrating on the feel of the embossed letters as my fingertips made contact

with each one. It was an extensive collection and I wondered exactly how long it

had taken to accumulate such a large library.

My concentration was so fixed that I didn't hear anyone enter the room. And I

probably wouldn't have noticed that anyone had joined me if it weren't for the

familiar sound of a camera clicking to take a picture.

I turned suddenly, my hand flying to my chest and my eyes falling on the face of

a man, sitting cross legged with a camera in his lap on the floor. He blinked once,

not speaking and looked back down into the view finder. Another click.

I must have looked stunned, staring down at him as he adjusted his lens.

"Do you like my books?" he murmured as he settled the camera again, turning

the crank to advance the film.

My eyes flicked back up to the wall of literature and I nodded.

The camera clicked again.

Snapping my head back down to him, I cocked a brow. "Hi. I'm Bella." The

sarcasm was thick, but I'd never been so shaken by someone.

"I know who you are," he responded quietly, letting the camera click away one

frame after another, his long fingers nimble and graceful, and his head leaning

forward, locks of hair falling into his eyes as he gazed into the viewer.

After a moment, he placed the camera on the floor next to him and leaned back

to settle his palms against the floor. His legs extended and he sighed, letting his

head fall to one side to appraise me. His eyes squinted as they roamed my face

and dropped across my chest, down my legs and to my feet.

Now I was nervous, my fourth finger picking at my thumbnail and my lower teeth

working away at my upper lip. He was incredibly attractive. And young. I was

mesmerized by his calm demeanor, the way he was looking at me like I was

some sort of subject instead of a person. Like he was already working out in his

mind how he wanted to use me.

His black t-shirt stretched across his chest, and his distressed jeans hung loosely

around his waist. I watched as he wiggled his toes a little, his bare feet long and

pale against the hardwood. But mostly I was enamored with his face. Angular

features surrounding kind eyes and a head full of hair that desperately needed to

be tamed.

In one fluid movement he was on his feet, walking towards me. I tensed as he

walked behind me and his fingers trailed lightly over the ends of my hair hanging

across my back.

"Have you posed nude before?" he inquired.

"Yes."

"Good." His feet made no sound as he came to rest behind me. "Do you have any

tattoos?"

"No." I shook my head and kept my eyes forward, suddenly unsure of what was

transpiring.

"Would you object to any body modification? Piercing…tattoos…etcetera?"

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