Easels had been set up for the students in the foyer. In the distance, Vesuvius slumbered under a cloudless, crystalline sky. The smell of dust and the faint scent of mold reminded Paige how old the house was. It was difficult to believe the now quiescent volcano had once destroyed it and the town with such violence.

She was uncomfortably aware of the faded mural of Priapus, god of fertility for the Greeks and of the garden for the Romans, on the wall behind her. He was weighing his enormous, erect penis, a phallus so long he’d have needed a wheelbarrow under it to walk. It was probably a touch of Roman humor, but her first glimpse of it had embarrassed her by causing a rush of desire that made her clit and folds throb, her breasts tighten.

Today they’d be drawing figures. Now they waited with sketch pads propped on their easels and charcoal poised.

The instructor had just finished introductory remarks to the class when a male model, dressed in a beige, hooded robe, stepped in from the peristyle, kicked off his sandals, and mounted the dais. Paige had never drawn a nude before, and this, coupled with Priapus and his elongated hard-on looking over her shoulder, increased her unease. She averted her eyes as the model let the robe slip off. She was aware that the instructor took it, then gave him a club to hold in his left hand and a faux lion’s head and skin for the right.

Why do the club and the lion seem familiar? Slowly, with an artist’s eye, Paige let her gaze travel from bare feet that seemed to command the very earth beneath them, up sturdy legs where every muscle, tendon and sinew were outlined, until they reached his knees and then fanned into the thighs above. It was when her gaze reached those thighs, bronze from the sun and as wide as oak trunks, that she remembered the statue in the Getty Museum in Malibu—the Greek god Herakles, holding club and lion skin. The instructor was posing the model as Hercules.

Perfect.

Her gaze traveled farther up. Unlike the statue, a small cloth covered the model’s private parts. Ah, he’s modest. Aroused as I am by old Priapus, that’s okay by me.

Taking in the rest of the torso, she decided it wasn’t any wonder the Italian instructor had hired this man. His was one of the most beautiful bodies she’d ever seen. The contrast to Jerod’s pale and slightly rounded shape was marked. This model’s abs were washboards, and every muscle so well developed they were outlined in detail. This body was an artist’s dream. The shoulders were huge and well defined. He had biceps that would do even Hercules proud.

Michelangelo would have loved sculpting this man. Da Vinci would have measured every inch and drawn him in perfect detail. On top of this, it was a body made to be with a woman. To protect and cherish her, make love to her with passion, its enormous strength tempered with gentleness. Warmth flowed through Paige right down to her crotch, and her senses sprang to life. Her blood sang in her veins.