When I arrived at the studio, he was already there, tossing pillows and blankets into different piles, then frowning and doing it again. He glanced up as I set his coffee on the table next to his laptop, but didn’t say anything. I didn’t take his reticence personally. My observations over the past week had shown me that he didn’t talk much in general, at least not when he was working. Direct questions with a point were answered, but personal inquiries rarely received answers, though he was warm enough when he gave those few answers to make me think that it was more about where his thoughts were when I asked than it was about him trying to keep his distance.
I took my coffee back to my office, already thinking about today’s tasks. Ms. Holloman had asked me to send her a report of everything I’d done at the end of my first week, so that was my top priority. If I could land this job on a permanent basis, it’d go a long way to making me feel like I had enough job security to renew my lease. It’d also get Mam and Da off me about coming home.
“This is home,” I reminded myself softly as I settled in my chair.
I took my time with my report, wanting to be thorough enough that Ms. Holloman could see that I was necessary, but not so detailed that I sounded like I was bragging. It was a fine line to walk, that was certain.
With that out of the way, I moved to Alix’s email, weeding out the junk, the proposals no reputable artist – or decent person in general – would accept. Like an offer to star in an adult movie titled Sorority House Humping III.
When it was almost time for lunch, I called over to the Indian restaurant on the list of take-out places I found in the desk and put in an order for delivery. Less than twenty minutes later, I walked back through the studio and called over to Alix that I had lunch.
“Thai?” he asked as he came into the office.
“Indian.” I gestured to the cartons on the desk. “Lamb curry, chicken makhai, chana masala, and shrimp biryani. Take your pick.”
“Do you have a preference?”
I looked up, surprised at his question. “Not really.”
I watched as he picked up one of the cartons, then leaned on the desk next to me. The previous times I’d ordered lunch for us, he’d taken his back out to the studio to work while he ate. Today, though, he stayed.
Stayed and glowered at the lamb curry like it had personally insulted him.
I picked up the chana masala and took a few bites, but he still didn’t say anything. Coming from a huge family, I liked the relative quiet I found here, but now, with neither one of us speaking...it didn’t take long for it to make me feel awkward enough to break the silence.
“Is something wrong?”
He raised his head, those gray eyes not revealing anything below the surface. “Pardon?”
I gave him a partial smile. “You’re looking at that food like it did you wrong.”
He raised an eyebrow, but a corner of his mouth tipped up. I’d seen him with polite, professional smiles, but this one had some good-natured humor to it. “My parents and I spent a summer touring the UK when I was fourteen. Aside from taking pictures when I was there, the accents were my favorite part.”
“As long as you don’t go asking me to say anything about a pot o’ gold or a certain sugary cereal, you can listen all you want.”
The words popped out before I could decide if they were appropriate or not. Then he laughed, and I decided that there was something to be said for a relaxed work environment. The sound rolled over me, liquid heat that warmed me to the core.
“Thank you,” he said. “I needed a good laugh.”
“I do what I can.” I took a couple more bites and waited for him to do the same before asking, “Is something bothering you?”
He frowned again and set down the carton, folding his arms across his chest. “That is the question, isn’t it? Why do I bother?”
I tilted my head. “Have I missed some American idiom I’ve yet to learn?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been having issues with my work for a while now. I’ll come up with a good idea, and I’ll try it out, and maybe the first couple pictures will be okay, but then...” He sighed. “I can’t think of how to describe it. I’m not good with words. That’s my cousin Erik’s forté. I just take pictures.”
“I don’t think there’s anything just about the pictures you take.”
“Thank you, Sine.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I might’ve agreed with you at some point in the past, but now...I don’t know why I’m even trying anymore.”
I glanced toward the office door as something occurred to me. “I didn’t see Giselle out there.”
Alix pushed off the desk and began to pace, a sort of wild, restless energy buzzing around him. “That’s because she sent me a text to say that she’d been offered a more lucrative job with a higher profile release. Since I said I didn’t know what the hell I wanted to do, I told her to take it.”
“That’s a breach of contract, isn’t it?”
He shook his head. “Not really, since it was my decision not to press it. Besides, I couldn’t really blame her. My newest inspiration wasn’t doing shit.”
I considered him, worried at the lack of confidence showing in his eyes. “Maybe the idea was right, but the model was wrong.”
I had a mouthful of food when he slowly turned at looked at me, an unreadable expression on his face. Shite. That hadn’t been the nicest thing to say. I wasn’t trying to be mean, and it really wasn’t anything against Giselle.
I swallowed and scrambled to undo what I’d done. “I didn’t mean it like–”
“You’re right,” he cut me off. His eyes were strangely bright. “I had the wrong person.”
“Giselle is beautiful,” I stammered. “And there are hundreds of other beautiful models out there. All of them just as professional as Giselle and I’m sure she’d understand that you’d be needing a different look. It’s nothing against her, you see–”
He was smiling again, and I knew it was because my accent had gotten thicker. Or, at least, that’s what I thought he was smiling about. Then he said five words that told me I had no idea what was happening.
“You can be my model.”
6
Sine
I laughed as I waited for Alix’s self-control to break and join in. Because it had to be a joke. While I knew my build might be good for modeling sportswear or children’s clothes, I was at least eight inches too short for any photographer to look my way.
But he wasn’t laughing or even cracking a smile now. All he was doing was looking at me with those eyes. That steady gray gaze that seemed to be waiting for me to realize that he was serious.
Fuck.
He was serious.
The laugh died in my throat even as my pulse raced. This wasn’t possible. I had to be reading him wrong. Or maybe he was one of those total pricks who got off on cruel jokes. Because there was no way he meant that he wanted me to be a model.
I liked to think I had a fair grasp on my qualities, mentally and physically. I didn’t think I was ugly, but I knew the difference between cute and beautiful. And I knew that strength and independence wasn’t what most men found attractive. They definitely didn’t want pseudo-sexy pictures of pint-sized tomboys.
Short girls were supposed to play up their curves or show a lot of skin. Or both. Tall ones who were slender showed off their long legs and the fact that they didn’t always need to wear a bra. Slinky dresses with high hemlines and low necklines came in all sizes. Makeup. Feminine haircuts. High heels. Jewelry. Maybe a sexy tattoo.
Everything women did was supposed to express our sexuality, make us sensual. We were supposed to be attractive, even when downplaying the physical. And the girls who didn’t follow those rules, regardless of how they looked, were somehow less. Dismissed by the majority.
I could own my intelligence, my strength, who I was. But that didn’t mean I was sexy, no matter how much the media liked to say that confidence was sexy. The two guys I’d slept with ha
dn’t seen me that way. There was no chance that after a week, a man like Alix would see what they hadn’t.
“You made your point,” I said finally. “I don’t know enough about photography or modeling to make any suggestions.”
“That’s not what I said.” He took a step toward me, his gaze moving slowly down my body.
I swallowed hard and tried to ignore the heat seeping across my skin. I’d never had anyone look at me like that before. Like they could see every flaw and imperfection, but that it only made me more interesting instead of less desirable.
“You were right,” he repeated as his eyes met mine, held them. “I thought I was trying a different approach, but all I’d done was change props. The subject stayed the same, and that was a problem. I don’t need someone who looks like Giselle.”
I gave what I hoped was a self-deprecating smile. “Well, I definitely fit that description.”
His expression changed, and for the first time since I’d come to work for him, I felt like he was seeing me. Really seeing me, not just acknowledging my presence. A genuine smile curved his mouth, making my stomach squirm in a way that wasn’t appropriate for our employer-employee relationship.
“Different isn’t always a bad thing, Sine.”
I shrugged, unable to read what he was thinking. “It might not be bad, but it certainly is a risk, and one I don’t understand you wanting to take. There’s no logical reason you’re asking me to model for you.”
“I’ve been photographing Giselle for almost two weeks now,” he said. “And before her, there were Lorna, Madison, Nessa, dozens over the past ten years. They all had different coloring and body types, and all had been modeling for at least a year or two. They sat where I wanted them to sit, moved, turned, posed. Complete professionals.”
I nodded even though I had absolutely no idea where this conversation was going.
“I’ve sold probably hundreds of photographs of models like Giselle, but somewhere along the way, they all started to look alike.” He closed the rest of the distance between us until I had to tip my head back to see his face. “I need someone new, someone different.”
Different. That was me for certain.
“Unless,” he paused, considering for a moment before going on, “you’re not up for the challenge.”
My eyes narrowed, and that part of me that had always pushed me to keep up with guys who were older and bigger flared up. “I have six brothers who spent most of my childhood telling me I was too young or too small to do what they were doing. There’s no challenge I’m not up to beating.”
Alix’s eyes gleamed. “Glad to hear it. I’ll go get things set up. Finish your lunch and then come out so I can give you your costume to change into.”
He walked out of the office, leaving me staring at him and wondering what in the hell I’d just gotten myself into. I hadn’t been thinking about actually doing it. I’d just never been able to back down when someone said I couldn’t do something. Mam had always told me that taking a dare would land me in trouble someday. I knew for a fact she hadn’t foreseen that the trouble in question would be me posing for erotic photographs.
Neither had I, but a part of me wanted to know if I could see what he saw in me. Another part was running through all the possible arguments I could use to get out of what was going to be an incredibly awkward situation.
7
Alix
I hadn’t told Jean yet, but I was actually grateful she’d hired an assistant.
No, that wasn’t entirely accurate. I was grateful she’d hired Sine.
By the middle of the first week, Sine had shown a dedicated work ethic, as well as a knack for organization that went well beyond my own more haphazard system. She went above and beyond. And I supposed that was why I’d started noticing her. Or maybe I’d seen her from moment one, but just hadn’t acknowledged it.
When I didn’t have music on, I could hear her moving around in the office, talking quietly in that lilting Irish voice of hers. I generally couldn’t make out specific words, but it was pleasant. Something about it eased the tension I’d been carrying at the base of my skull.
We hadn’t really talked much before, not beyond work basics, but when I’d seen her come in today, I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off her. She was wearing a sundress, a pale green that suited her coloring, but something about it didn’t quite sit right with me. It wasn’t until she disappeared into the office that I realized what it was. For the first time since I met her, she didn’t seem quite comfortable in her own skin.
Giselle’s text about quitting had interrupted my thoughts, so by the time Sine came back out to get out food from the delivery boy, all that tension was back. The conversation that followed had surprised me, both because it’d been completely unplanned, and because of how much I enjoyed it.
I was a quiet person by nature, not one to make idle conversation. Even as a Dom, I didn’t use excessive words, but with Sine, they’d come easily. I’d found myself looking at her. Studying the lines of her face, the freckles across her nose and cheeks. The shade of her eyes was extraordinary, and I started wondering in which ways it would shift with different colors accenting it.
It wasn’t until she made the comment about how the problem might have been with Giselle that it hit me.
She was right. I’d been focusing so hard on the external, on the props, that I hadn’t considered that a new inspiration might need a new model. Not just new in the sense of someone I hadn’t worked with before, but rather new to the whole concept of modeling.
I had to admit, I was surprised at her response. Most women would’ve jumped at the chance to become a model. She wasn’t just being modest either. I could see it on her face, in her eyes. She honestly didn’t see why I’d want her to pose for me. Okay, so she didn’t have the flashy beauty like Giselle, but she was still striking.
And then I’d realized what I hadn’t before. How she’d looked pretty in her sundress, but not comfortable. Thinking I was joking when I said I wanted her to model. Her usual attire that was so different from what most of the women around me wore.
She honestly didn’t see her allure. She didn’t think she was sexy.
Which somehow made me want to photograph her even more. I now realized that was what my concept had been missing. The juxtaposition of innocence and sensuality. The various bondage techniques I’d been trying on Giselle all week could easily be adapted for Sine’s different body type.
Before we did anything, I needed to make sure she knew that no matter how erotic the photos I took were, I didn’t cross the line with my models. It wasn’t as hard as most people would think. I could appreciate beauty without sexual attraction, especially when I was behind my camera. I always kept sex and art separate, so I was confident I could keep things professional.
I heard her footsteps before she spoke. “I won’t be insulted if you’ve realized it’s a mistake for me to...model.” The word came out flat, like she couldn’t quite believe she was saying it.
I glanced over at her, noted how she nervously fidgeted with the hem of her dress, then smiled. “Actually, I was just out here working through what I wanted to do first.”
She frowned, clearly skeptical, but she didn’t argue, so that was good. I tossed the pillows aside and smoothed out a plain black blanket. It was thick and soft so it wouldn’t be uncomfortable for her to lay on for the next couple hours. When I straightened and turned to face her, I found her watching me. A surprising flush of heat went through me, and I reminded my treacherous libido that this was work only.
“I’ll not be taking my clothes off,” she said firmly, folding her arms over her stomach, the gesture pushing her pert breasts into cleavage that I had to force myself to ignore.
I shook my head. “When you were going through things, did you happen to read one of the modeling contracts? I don’t do nudity.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Erotic, yes,” I said. “Sexual. Sensual. Yes and yes. Sometime
s close to nudity, okay, but never all the way there. And it’s all tastefully done.”
“I still don’t understand why you want me to do this,” Sine said.
“Chickening out?” I told myself that the good-natured teasing was to put her at ease, not to provoke her, but I knew that was a lie. If I worded things a different way, she probably would take the out, but if I pushed that same button this time that I had before, she’d push back.
She glared at me. “I don’t chicken out.”
“Then humor me.” I gave her my most charming grin. “I promise to be completely professional.”
I watched as she thought it over but didn’t say anything. It had to be her choice. Nervous was okay, but I never wanted a woman to feel pressured into anything by me. I could be intense, I knew, and sometimes intimidated people, even if I didn’t intend it. If this was going to work, she had to trust me.
“What about my other responsibilities? I need a steady job.”
“You’ll have a separate contract for modeling,” I promised. “And a long-term one as my assistant.” When she hesitated, I added, “I can work this on a per session basis, so there’s no obligation to continue, but you’ll get paid a lump sum at the end of each week. How does that sound?”
Her hands curled into fists, flexed, uncurled.
“I’ll work with you today,” she said finally. “But I make no promises beyond that.”
“Understood.”
I glanced toward the wardrobe where I kept the costumes I’d selected for this shoot. None of them would work for Sine. Giselle was half a foot taller.
“What are you wearing under your dress?” Her eyes widened, and I raised my hands in a wait gesture. “No nudity, but yes, you’ll need to show some skin. It’s part of the design I want to do. But nothing I have will fit you.”