My Clarity

Chapter twenty

With her hand upon her beating heart, Rose tried so very hard to calm it, and recollect why her own rebellious nature had for once not been suppressed but soar. She had soared once already, with Jack Dawson and now, after removing the heavy rock which bound her to Cal Hockley, her new future seemed to be in front of her; if she wished it. It wouldn't be a life of love, but of fun, of laughter and with a man who entirely consumed her.

With the Heart of the Ocean now at her throat, Rose came to Jack without any clothes and ignored any sight of imperfections which she once believed herself to have. Jack's eyes had remained on hers. A variety of drawing materials were laid out before him but Rose barely paid mind to them, instead noting his casual seating amongst the ornate backdrop of her lounge. His white shirt was unbuttoned two or three with his smooth chest visible, the sleeve of his shirts was rolled up to his elbow and his left leg casually slung over his right. He had made himself at home within her lounge; it was almost funny to see his leisurely ways within the stiff sitting room, a place used to take tea, to read and to discuss the latest fashions, yet, here she was, naked before a near stranger.

It wasn't cold, it was suddenly very warm. The heat from the fire in the hearth expelled a dry warmth about the small room but it was the flow of heat which radiated from Jack's dazed gaze which caused the flush to come to her. As slowly, but not greedily, his eyes glanced down the length of her body, then back up to meet her curious watch. Her hands instinctively came to her stomach in a moment of self-awareness, but she stopped, the awed wonder of Jack's gaze rooted her there as though she was the doe and he, the hunter with a flash lamp.

''Rose, I have never seen anything as beautiful as you,'' the fire in his eyes confirmed how affected he was. His voice confirmed just how dry his throat had become. The slow, movements of his hands told her that he was just as nervous as she.

Exhaling in a small, slow breath, Rose hadn't recalled stopping breathing.

''Lie on the bed, I mean the couch,'' Jack stumbled, soothing out her worries with that small fumbling of words indicating just how nervous he was, also. It was ironic, how a man so sure of his purpose in life, of his feelings for her and how she should be able to be free from her Society's grasp and yet, he became a wreck of some sort just from a naked woman; the sort of thing which could be a daily occurrence just weeks ago in Paris.

Once instructed, Rose seemed to be able to grasp full use of her body once more. Laying herself down slowly and in a way which could be a pose. Everything, each part of her was now available for his view. In another wave of awareness, she moved her arm in a variety of poses, not quite knowing just how to be a beautiful model about to be drawn from life. The subjects of his other drawings were gorgeous, elegant and-bohemian, Rose was a woman submerged into a world of fools and having never barely kissed a man before just days before, she was at a complete loss of what to do. It was difficult when one had never looked at themselves to be viewed as a sensual person. To be viewed as a person who could be desired not just for their body but for their mind, too. Jack Dawson saw her as a whole, and that, was the reason for the confidence which had finally come to the surface.

Finally, the artist in Jack seemed to know when to take over.

''Tell me when that looks right--'' Her voice was laced with shrapnel of insecurities until he soothed her with a determined response.

''Put that arm right there, where it was,'' Rose placed her right hand above her head. ''And that other hand, up by your face right there.''

She did, as he had instructed.

''Now, head down, eyes to me. Keep them on me.''

''Where else could they be?'' She whispered, unsure of whether he had heard.