2 You're the art teacher

Joy had helped Seth with projects for Hightower Special Effects on several occasions, and she'd assisted him with the illustrations for his initial proposal to win the contract from United Studios and director Joshua Cabot for Maritime. As such, she was used to Seth's fantastical art concept for the film. She wasn't so immune, however, that she didn't stare in wonder at the bizarrely beautiful head of the part man, a part exotic sea creature that appeared around the edge of the door.

Her uncle was going to have an Academy Award sitting on his mantel for sure, she thought with a mixture of admiration and pride.

"Hey, Tommy told me I should stop by," the walking piece of art said.

"Perfect timing," Seth mumbled. He pointed at an illustration and some scribbled notes on the table. "Here's what I need, Joy. You're the only one I trust to do it. Go ahead and touch him up after you finish the tattoo. I won't have time before the photoshoot. Wish me luck," he said, glancing at both of them.

"Luck. You'll need it," the marine man said, his lips twitching subtly. Seth snorted in agreement and rolled his kit behind him toward the door. The man, who was probably one of the dozens of extras, stepped into the room so that Seth could pass. Joy noticed distractedly that her uncle and the aqua-colored male were nearly the same height—an oddity, as her uncle was usually the tallest man in the room. The two men nodded to each other before Seth shut the door behind him. Joy lifted her kit to the table and began to extract her paints, brushes and tattoo pens.

"Give me just a minute, and I'll be right with you," she said as she checked Seth's notes and began to mix her colors.

He didn't respond, but Joy was too focused on her preparation to mind. Actors and extras reacted to prosthetic and makeup application across a spectrum that ran from stoicism to whining to outright acting out. Hours and hours of sitting or standing motionless were often required while an artist created his magic. Maritime was a particular challenge. Over a hundred actors and extras required waterproof prosthetics and full-body makeup in order to transform them into exotic sea creatures. Only dozens might be required to be in full makeup and costume during a given day of shooting, but Cabot had decided he wanted the entire cast in full regalia to give the grand scope of the movie for the photoshoot.

Joy was working up a sweat as she mixed her paints. She walked over to the unit air conditioner and turned it on high, the sound of the fan muting the cacophony of voices, music and movement just feet away from Seth's office-studio.

"So you're Seth's niece?" She paused in the action of removing her hoodie. His deep, resonant voice had taken her by surprise. She met his gaze for the first time and blinked. His eyes were a clear aquamarine. The elaborate foam latex prosthetic he wore on the upper half of his face and the sublime makeup application only added to their brilliance. His gaze struck her as startlingly alert. Compared to this man, other people's stares were those of sleepwalkers.

She had the strangest sensation seeing his eyes peering through the elaborate costume he wore as if she'd caught a glimpse of his soul through the beautiful artifice. Seth's makeup, which subtly alluded to the emerging humanity of the sea creature, only added to the impression. The body paints included brilliant blues and greens, but flesh colors rippled and swirled over chiseled muscle and bone as well, creating a stunning living landscape. He was beyond beautiful, the subtle shadowing wrought by the air-and paintbrushes highlighting every ridge and the smooth, hard plane of his long body.

His gaze flicked downward. She became aware that she was holding both sides of her cotton hoodie wide open in preparation to remove it. Her breasts felt tight suddenly, straining against the fabric of her bra and a thin layer of her cotton tank top. Her nipples beaded as if he'd reached out and brushed a finger over the sensitive flesh instead of just glancing at her.

She blushed, her reaction surprises her. Joy was an artist, and she'd long ago grown accustomed to partial and full nudity. She didn't work full-time in the movie industry, but she'd had sufficient experience, thanks to Seth. Gorgeous models and want-to-be actors were the norms in Hollywood, as commonly found as a cornstalk on a July day in Indiana.

She whipped off her hoodie and tossed it on the table.

"Yes. I'm Joy." She nodded to a spot in front of the table and reached for a chair, all brisk business.

"You're the art teacher."

She met his stare and was once again snared.

"Seth told me," he said quietly, shapely blue-and-white tinted lips barely moving.

"We better get started or you'll miss the shoot," she murmured, discomfited for some reason by the idea of Seth sharing even the smallest details of her life with this stranger.

He walked to the spot she'd indicated. Joy sat and rolled her chair directly in front of him, her face situated in front of his abdomen. Without another word, she picked up a tattoo marker and began to outline the design in Seth's illustration on her human canvas. Seth had altered the tattoo art somewhat from his original proposal. The brilliant starburst through rippling water was bolder and much more intricate than his original design. Joy liked the change.

She never looked at his face once while she worked, but she was highly aware of him. Her knuckles brushed occasionally against warm, dense flesh. Her nose was just inches from his body. The alcohol base from the body paint filtered into her nose. Beneath it, she smelled the musk of his skin like a subtle, living thread twining through the chemical artifice. The fragrance was potent somehow, sending a loud, clear message of male virility to some ancient part of her brain.

Only a stretchy, seaweed-like boxer-brief costume covered his genitals. Joy couldn't help but be conscious of the fact that her chin was mere inches from the fullness behind the flimsy material. She worked steadily, but a dull, pleasurable ache began to grow at her core.

A light glaze of perspiration had dampened her brow and upper lip by the time she leaned back. She glanced up at him, a calm—entirely fake—expression plastered on her face.