I lost courage from the sudden question and only bleated something incoherent, from what the artist understood that “I need some time to think it over”. And this was notwithstanding the fact that I definitely knew that I will agree, even without having a clue where would this adventure lead me. The man walked to the center of the room and lingered near the easel. I was looking at his back and long slim legs.

- My name’s Kris, - he told me and turned, shooting me with his slanting chocolate eyes.

What should I do now?

- $120 per hour, - shortly announces Kris, not moving from his place, and all that was left for me, hypnotized by his penetrating into the soul gaze, was nod, - And let’s leave the official tone.

As for the first time I hastily walked to the low sofa and started to undress myself, glancing in the window.  I wonder how many girls and boys were likewise standing here and, mechanically ing their clothes, looking from the high window of the studio at the Charles Bridge? I neatly put warm knitted sweater of light-green color and tight black jeans on the seat. Unconfidently taking off my lingerie I swiftly glanced at my legs.

- Have you shaved? – Provocative notes could be heard in his voice.

My cheeks became pretty good for making an omelet.

- Yes, - hollowly answered I and looked at the middle of the room. While I was undressing the artist had the time to move a high bureau just near the easel, where was situated a fresh canvas.

Kris with a smooth wave of a hand indicated me to the bureau and I awkwardly came to it.

- Sit down.

Taking command I abutted my hands on the tabletop and found out that it’s far more high than my waistline, that’s why it won’t be easy to climb on the furniture. I slightly sat down and pushed off the floor, stretching on my arms, but only painfully bumped into the edge of bureau with the pubis. I took another attempt, bucketing with my chest on the tabletop and catching up with the lower part of the body; this attempt laid an egg also. Gathering all my will in a fist I faced the man and abutted my hands on the bureau’s surface, at the same time sliding my feet along the smooth surface of the front side. My attempts were interrupted by the strong manly hands that swooped me under the armpits and lifted in the air like a child.  Keeping me in the air no more than a second, they seated me on the smooth cold surface of the bureau. The artist’s face turned out to be just near mine and I noticed for the first time how long his eyelashes are.

- Thanks, - I said, my voice hoarse from nervousness.

- Turn your back to me and cross your legs.

I obeyed, holding my breath in somewhat anticipation.  Sitting with my back to the Asian I felt his long fingers cunningly drew off the elastic off my hair, gathered in a ponytail.  Gently he shook them, brushed the fingers through the curls and slightly tousled them, giving the hair loose volume. Strands spilled over my right shoulder; and strayed curls he tucked behind my left ear. I was not able to calm down my body, so it instantly reacted to the gentle touches with millions of goose bumps.

The artist left to the easel and I, lastly, exhaled.

- Is my body useful for this kind of purposes? – I couldn’t restrain my curiosity.

Kris hummed and then answered in absolutely serious tone:

- People have erse tastes.

- So you have erse tastes of the women body’s beauty?

- I never talked about the beauty, - cut the man, - my clients have erse tastes.

I answered nothing at all.  I hardly was aware of what I am doing.  How freethinking I behaved is inarguable. There, behind my back, could be sitting a killer for whom is not a problem to cope with I girl who is not expecting the attack. Not dare to turn back I carefully listened to what was going on in the studio.

- Do you have scoliosis? – The artist interrupted the intense silence.

- I have impaired posture, - I submitted, - in the childhood had scoliosis.

- Learn how to keep the inner core, - said Kris, and according to his tone I didn’t recognize was is an advice or a twit.

The silence broke again and some time we weren’t making a sound. All I could hear was the rustling of brushes on the canvas and slight squeak of the easel. In fifteen minutes the artist stood up from his seat, walked by me to the entrance and opened the door. I could hear snatches of words and then the Asian brought in the studio a cup of reeky coffee. The delivery of “Mamacoffee”! Panicking, I jumped off the bureau and hid  behind him, covering my body with my hands.  I heard Kris paying the courier and slamming the door.  Making few steps he stopped near me, but I was still not confident in returning to my “pedestal”.

- I haven’t finished yet, - announced the artist and put a cup on the bureau’s tabletop.

I looked up at him.

- You order macchiato in “Mamacoffee”?

The man nod in agreement. Here from below he looked even taller.

- I work there and know the courier, - mumbled I, hoping that Kris wouldn’t need more explanations for my behavior.

He silently bent down, gimleting me with his shrill eye, then swooped and seated on the bureau again. His warm fingers burnt my skin and I felt for a first time that I am pretty cold. Instinctively I shivered, trying to throw off the feeling of cold. Chinese returned to his working place, never touching the cup of hot coffee which stream flowed to the ceiling.

Minutes dragged on for infinity and in the end I started to nid-nod. The spine didn’t want to strain and I unintentionally slouched. My brain was occupied with the sole aspiration – to stretch the whole body in a hot bath, so I didn’t notice the artist stopping behind me and, slightly touching the skin, drawing a line upward from coccyx to neck along my spine, making it straighten as a string.  Quiet whoop of surprise unintentionally escaped my lips and I turned swiftly. There was a silent question in my eyes but Kris left in unanswered.

- The payment is near your belongings, - I heard from him as at the first time.

Jumping off the bureau I felt how nasty whine my legs, numb from the long sitting in one pose. Frowning, I rubbed calves with my hands and few times swayed from tiptoes to heels, dispersing the blood through the vessels of the feet. With my peripheral vision I could see that all this time the artist was standing near the window and looking somewhere far away, leaning his knee against the low sill. His dyed hair were carefully stacked, the earring was gleaming in the ear. He gulped and I noticed how his Adam’s apple moved. Hastily looking down I fastened to cover my body.

- I decided about the muse, - confusedly mumbled I, pulling on the sweater and jamming in the shirtband. It’s easier to admit your desires here. Through the knitted fabric I felt on me Asian’s sight, - I agree.

- Should I help you stick your head into the sweater? – He suddenly asked.

I hastily pulled on the sweater, painfully affecting the ears, but without batting an eye.

- 10% of the works’ sales – yours. At any time of the night you should appear as soon as I need you. You can work at the day. Do not ask any questions. Do not try to reach my soul. Do not let yourself have any feelings towards me. I will be interested in your body only, nothing more, nothing less.

He slowly dictated his terms, literally cornering my composure. I gulped nervously. There was some kind of a trick in this deal but I still couldn’t catch it. Should I agree, or not?

His almond-shaped hot macchiato colored eyes were sliding down my body, apparently remaining still. I felt his sight touching my shoulders, then to the hands, handling my fingers and sliding my hips down. To ward off an obsession, I shacked my head.

- How long should I be your muse?

- As long as you would be able to, - he answered blurry with his low deep voice.

I was marking time, looking at my striped socks. If he was a maniac he would act in the whole other way, without this entire prelude. But what are about the words that Jan said? What’s their meaning? How could he be dangerous?

- Will we issue the deal with the contract?

Kris nodded, coming to the easel with the finished work and turning it to me.  I gawped at the picture not believing my eyes. It was done in chocolate-beige colors, mixing with black and milk, slowly overflowing to white. I was looking at the canvas that literally radiated the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. There was me on the picture, sitting on the white bureau, with my back to the artist. He diligently drew all the birthmarks on my body, all the curves of the spine, I saw my body from the side for the first time and it seemed to be somehow wrong, ugly, unnatural. But I continued to look at it truly charmed, because with each second I sank deeper and deeper in the tart aroma of Macchiato.

- Caffeine flows through your vessels? – asked I.

- Maybe, - sadly answered Kris.

- But why macchiato?

The man looked at the cup, where the coffee has long ago cooled.

- If you know how the drink is prepared you’ll understand, - evasively answered he and I thought that this coffee will always be associated with this mysterious Asian, disturbing my consciousness.

- Where should I sign the contract?

The artist signed with his long finger to the corner of the finished work.  I saw that the paints haven’t dried.  I leaned my right hand’s thumb to the canvas and stayed like that for a little bit, over thinking if I was doing it right? Because that time I had no clue of where this adventure would lead me to.