I fiddled with the buckle of my pants, trying to keep my breathing steady. Which underwear had I worn today? Oh golly, it was another fashion-crime leftover from my childhood, wasn't it? It was better to start by removing my top, since I was at least wearing the lacy bra my art-gallery-worker cousin had bought for me right before my marriage—my very most embarrassing wedding gift. Then again, Thomas had not been impressed by the gift, and when I lifted my blouse an inch, I was suddenly painfully aware that Scarlett's belly was far more tanned and toned than my own.

"Rosie, stop," Scarlett said.

Jesus help me, she sounded even more offended than I had expected... but at least she was telling me to stop? A confusing mixture of relief and humiliation swamped my gut.

"Sorry about that." I sputtered and choked like a car running out of fuel. "But you can't say I didn't warn you!"

She was pinching the bridge of her nose now, which made me even more embarrassed, almost to the point of feeling queasy. Surely I didn't look that bad?

"Come on, Rosie," Scarlett said through gritted teeth. "Thomas may be a knucklehead, but you must know you're gorgeous."

With my own insecurities ringing in my ears, it took me several seconds to fully connect the pieces of that statement. These pale arms—gorgeous? This rabbit-hole-covering of bangs—gorgeous? When I finally did process it, my stomach was leaping and plunging and soaring all at once, and my voice sounded strangely hoarse.

"I don't suppose you can paint me in clothing?"

"If you don't want to do this—"

"I do! And I'm not opposed to getting naked. I'm just not sure how to get there in a glamorous way."

"Then maybe we should start with the lesson... I can teach you how to take your clothes off."

For some reason, there was a strange tingly feeling racing over my skin, and as I spoke, my mouth felt tingly too. "That sounds acceptable."

"Start at the door and walk in again. I'll sit right here." She plopped down on the chaise and fluttered her fingers down to caress the backrest and armrest. "You can pretend I'm Thomas, and come in and strip for me."

At the very thought of pretending Scarlett was Thomas, even stranger things were happening to my body now. I wasn't an actress, so how could I feign spousal attraction for a woman I barely knew? Once more, even if she were a man, she wouldn't resemble Thomas at all.

Thomas would never drape his arms over a chaise as belligerently as Scarlett was currently, with shoulder pads and colors contrast making her look larger than life... and Thomas would certainly never offer me a bright-eyed close-mouthed smirk like the one Scarlett now wore.

With a swallow, I averted my gaze and marched back out the door. With a breath that sent my shoulders almost to my ears, I swiveled back toward the room and trudged through the doorway once more.

"Oh, hey Tommy, fancy meeting you here," I purred, and when I realized how phoney it sounded, I made a fast attempt at recovery. "I mean, I didn't expect to see you in Scarlett's house in her art room when you were supposed to be at work."

Oh fudging heck! Not only was this a terrible start, but I was now starting to sweat, and if I ever managed to discard my clothing, my pale and sweaty skin would probably gleam so obnoxiously that she would have to squint to even see me well enough to paint me.

Scarlett exhaled heavily through her nose, but her close-mouthed smirk curved upward just enough to reveal a sliver of white teeth. "Rosie, can we save sweet talk for another lesson and just focus on the stripping part for today?"

"Oh, sorry." Grimacing, I hooked a thumb back toward the door. "Should I start over?"

"You're fine—just keep going. Ok, now I'm Thomas again." She lowered her voice. "Take off your clothes for me, baby."

Looking into her bright eyes was a little too unnerving, so I focused on her hand. In place of Scarlett's fiery nail-polish matching her pantsuit, I tried to imagine Thomas's chewed fingernails—though I tried not to imagine his expression after the last time I had stripped in front of him.

This time, it's just another woman, I told myself, and she just wants to paint you because she thinks you're gorgeous. But that only made my heart beat harder.

Desperate to regain control of my body, I reminded myself of my goal: Scarlet would teach me how to win over my Tommy. This was my duty. And with that thought in mind, in one quick motion, I tugged my blouse off over my head.

Scarlett's fingers dug into the couch.

Perhaps she was agitated by my lack of effort. Truthfully, I was stripping the same way I would before stepping into a shower with no one else around—and she was now probably realizing exactly how much work she had signed up for. With a swallow, I forced myself to look at her face so I could offer an apologetic smile.

Then I froze.

Her eyes were darker than ever, gaze fastened to my lace-adorned cleavage... and I could have sworn she was breathing a little faster than before.

"So, what's your advice?" I whispered.

She cleared her throat and dragged her gaze back up to my face. "Were you wearing that bra when you stripped in front of Thomas?"

"Yes."

She shook her head. "Honestly, if he didn't go absolutely wild, he's either crazy or he's just, well..."

I wanted to know what she was about to say, but I also wanted to be a proper wife, and a proper wife would never let anyone speak poorly about her husband. Pulling back my shoulders, I said, "Your part of the deal was to teach me, not to insult my husband. Just tell me what I can do better."

"Rosie, I'm not sure the problem is—"

"Just tell me how I can do better. Please."

She drew a deep breath and blew it out through o-shaped lips. "Ok, one thing you can do better is to go more slowly. Tease him: let him think about each part you're about to reveal for a while before you reveal it, then give him a glimpse, and then take it away again."

Welp, that advice nearly burned my ears right off of my head. It seemed this whole thing called sex was far more complicated—and also far more interesting—than I had ever realized.

"Can you show me what you mean first?" I said, mostly to buy time while I recovered.

"Pfft, no. I don't even strip like that for Richard anymore. These days, there has to be at least a few grand on the line for me to do that."

She sounded mostly joking, but only mostly... and when I remembered her excuse for starting my lessons later, horror skittered through my stomach.

Richard returns home tomorrow, and we'll be entertaining one of his business partners.

Apparently my horror also showed on my face, because her jaw clenched and her eyes hardened. She looked angry, which might have frightened me a little if I didn't immediately recognize that anger as shame.

I hated seeing her like that, but I had no idea what to say next to comfort her or even distract her. Strangely, that was what finally gave me the fire-in-the-belly I had been missing. My own embarrassment paled compared to the pain I now felt on her behalf—and even if I couldn't think of the right words, my body could redirect the conversation.

I popped the button through the hole of the jeans and peeled it down just enough to reveal another inch of my torso (embarrassment flickered through me again, but if my pale belly could distract her from her own plight, the embarrassment was well worth it). "Do you want to see more, Tommy?"

She propped her hands beside her to push herself fully upright, but her jaw relaxed a little. "Of course. I want to see every part of my wife."

Her voice was pitched down a little now, her 'Tommy' voice, though it sounded very little like Thomas. It was a little commanding, a little feminine, and a little flirty, and I thought I might enjoy scrubbing the kitchen floor if she was ordering me to do it with that voice—and if I was naked while scrubbing and she was watching with eyes just that dark...

Oh, saintly spaghetti, why had I just imagined such a thing? But when I met her eyes, I realized that part had not been my imagination... her eyes were impossibly dark, made even darker by those long black eyelashes. She looked like sin incarnate, and sin had never looked so delicious.

"Any time now," she said, though she was smiling a little now.

"Be patient," I scolded her.

Her eyebrows shot up, but her smile spread wider. "Yes, ma'am."

My stomach flipped again. To ignore it, I busied myself in the last portion of undressing, pulling the jeans over my thighs, slipping them over my knees, and tugging them off my feet. During that last part, I hopped around a little, much to my own humiliation. It was harder to take off my pants while sweating. By the time I took off my bra and panties, I would be so wet that the light from the brass lamp on the end table beside her would obscure me entirely, replacing me with a streak of yellow like the sunrise on a lake.

To my embarrassment, she was studying me as if she could see me quite easily... all of me. Her eyes dipped down to my naked legs and back up my torso, lingering an extra second on my hips and breasts. When she met my gaze again, her eyes were even darker than ever—but when she noticed my expression, she appeared to be chewing on something bitter.

"Ok, I'm not Thomas anymore... and you can keep your undergarments on, Rosie. In fact, you can put your other clothes back on too, if you'll be more comfortable. I'll just paint your outline today, anyway."

Unfortunately, that soft, sweet voice did me in just as much as her commanding voice had before, causing my stomach to perform another giddy cartwheel. To take the focus off of me, I said, "What about my lesson? Is it over already?"

"You already passed."

"That's all you can teach me, really?"

"About stripping, maybe. Next time, we can talk about sweet-talking." She smiled. "I have a feeling that will take more time."

"So for now, I should just lie down on the chaise?"

"If you're up for it."

"I think you're the one who needs to be up for that."

With a laugh, she rolled forward and popped up off the chaise. She sauntered toward me, stopping just inches from my naked skin. I thought she might reach up to touch me, and at that very thought, my heart beat faster and my skin prickled with goosebumps. But she didn't touch me. Instead, she continued forward and sank down on a stool in front of a giant blank canvas.

"I didn't even notice that canvas was there before," I admitted, a little robotically, mostly trying to buy time because my feet were still not moving toward that chaise.

"Well, a blank canvas usually doesn't catch the eye." Her voice was soothing, almost polite—though I thought I heard a little bounce of humor. "But trust me, Rosie... when I'm done painting you, this canvas will be the first thing anyone notices when they enter this room."

I knew I was flushing, so to avoid letting her see my reaction, I swiveled toward the chaise. Slowly, slowly, I approached, far too aware of her watching me from behind. What did my naked back look like? Before marrying Tommy, I had tried to use a handheld mirror combined with the vanity mirror in the bathroom to find out whether my backside was suitably formed, but I couldn't get the angle right, and anyway, my mother had soon knocked on the door.

With one hand on the back of the chaise, I paused. Scarlett was probably about to tell me to stop, and if I was just being practical, there was no sense in lying down when I was just about to get up again.

"My god, Rosie."

I flushed with a confused mixture of emotions. Scarlett's response very closely resembled Thomas's disgust... except even with my hearing warped by self-conscious terror, she didn't sound especially disgusted.

"What is it, Scarlett?" I finally managed to ask.

"I'm just—you're just—I never imagined anyone could be quite so—" She laughed a little, a laugh that was oddly self-deprecating and maybe even a little embarrassed. "Am I only allowed to paint you in one pose? Because I think you deserved to be painted from five angles, at the very least."

When I swallowed, I felt as though I had just chugged boiling tea. "After you've helped me win back Thomas, you can paint me any way you'd like."

I flushed again after that, afraid that I had sounded a good deal flirtier than intended... but if anything, the heat in her eyes dwindled a little, and her smile became strained.

"Let's just stick to the original deal, then," she said. "If we can."

I wasn't quite sure what she meant by that, but my knees were already a little weak anyway, plus I was even more exposed standing than I would be on that chaise...

So I lay down for the first painting.