I’d come to love the habit, because it meant I could raid her closet and sometimes come out with pieces that would fit me. She wasn’t quite as curvy as me—I was little over average in the bust and hip department—but she at least had something of a figure.
The blue dress came just a few inches short of my ass, and showed off more cleavage than it would have on a skinny model, but I didn’t mind. The dance floor at the club was jammed and every time I looked around a new knot of men were orbiting us. After the rejection of the interview and how Flynn had behaved, the attention felt good and I soaked it up like a sponge. I’d also had more than a few drinks, but after that lousy day, I told myself I was entitled.
A new song came on and a thickly muscled blond danced over to me.
“Hey, beautiful,” he yelled over the music.
I shook my head at him and he took it as a sign to pull me close.
“You’ve got curves in all the right places. You two must be models, am I right?”
“She’s the model,” I said, still trying to be polite about it.
“Nuh, huh, baby, don’t lie to me. I bet you’re an underwear model. Much better than those skinny runway ones.”
I gave him a bit of a push, but he didn’t take the hint. He put about an inch between us, but kept dancing.
“Why do I have to be a model at all? Am I less attractive as a postal worker or a chef or a writer?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Models are hot,” he said simply.
I know I should have taken it as the compliment he’d intended. Most women would be happy to be mistaken for an underwear model, or any kind of model. It wasn’t easy hanging out with Kendra and keeping normal insecurities at bay. Maybe I didn’t have my picture plastered on billboards, but I was a good looking woman. I was five-seven with good curves and I could eat what I liked—in moderation, of course—without worrying about hitting the treadmill the second I was done.
I pushed the blond guy away from me more forcefully this time and easily found another dance partner to bump against. This one just smiled down at my cleavage and didn’t say anything.
Oh, well. Not like I expect to find Prince Charming here…
“You’re a devil in that blue dress, honey.”
A shiver raced up my spine and I turned. My brain kicked in a few seconds after my mouth, but what popped out hadn’t exactly been thought through. “Nope…not the prince. It’s the toad.”
He cocked his head, familiar cadet blue eyes studying me. The free drinks I’d been imbibing had the room swirling under me and I started to regret them.
“The toad?” he asked, dark brown hair tumbling into his eyes. Stubble grazed his jaw. I tamped down the urge to rub my cheek against that sexy five o’clock shadow. Damn, he was hot.
“Yeah. The toad.” I swallowed, suddenly feeling more tongue-tied than I liked. “You know. As in Not Prince Charming.”
He chuckled and moved closer. “Were you really looking for him here?”
We stood still in the writhing sea of dancers and just faced each other.
Before I could say anything else—reject Flynn’s compliment, berate him for not giving me a chance at Bouvier—the blond guy returned and gave me a flirty hip check that knocked me off balance. Without looking like he’d even had to think about it, Flynn caught me around the waist and for one brief moment, my body was pressed to his as he steadied me. Breasts to chest, my belly to the flat concave of his, our thighs aligned down to the knee.
Oh, shit…
He held me there; that cocky smirk curving his lips.
A moment later, he was gone.
“Flynn McCreary, the toad.” I muttered breathlessly. I told myself it was from the near-fall and not from the feel of Flynn’s body so close to mine.
Kendra nodded in rhythm with the music before she twirled me around and waved at the bar. Flynn waved back and lifted a shot glass to me.
I scowled. “That’s it. I’m going to find out why he axed me. I needed that job.”
You weren’t going to get it anyway, a small voice chided. I told the voice to shut up.
A new throng of suitors swept Kendra out of the way before she could stop me. I dodged dancers as I made my way across the crowded dance floor, disgusted as I saw Flynn smiling at my thwarted efforts. I narrowed my eyes at him and let a black-haired dancer with his shirt unbuttoned to his navel sweep me into a grinding turn. Flynn’s smile slipped a little, but he gave me an appreciative nod as my oblivious dance partner presented my backside to him.
When I spun back around abruptly, it was to see his eyes still lingering where my ass had been.
Heat raced through me.
Breaking free of my dance partner, I marched up to Flynn and took the shot glass out of his hand, ignoring the surprised look on his face. I knocked back the stiff drink before bringing my still-wet lips to his ear.
“What’s your problem with me?”
He turned slightly so that my mouth was at the corner of his. “You’re not right for talent acquisition.”
“You cost me that job!” I put as much venom in my voice as I could manage. It wasn’t much. His aftershave flooded my head and I think it was potentially lethal. My knees were feeling weak already. Though that could’ve been the shot I’d just taken.
“Because I need you for a better one,” he said.
Flynn took me by the waist and swung me onto his bar stool before ordering another round. I could still feel the heat from his hands and shifted, uncomfortable with my growing attraction. He took the opening and pushed to stand between my legs under the pretense of tipping the bartender. Despite the smell of him making me want to taste his neck, I put my hands on his shoulders and pushed him back, determined not to be distracted.
“What job?”
“Hand model,” he said.
I almost snorted a laugh. “You’re kidding. Did Kendra put you up to this?”
He shook his head and an irresistible strand of dark brown hair fell over his eyes. Before I could stop myself, I reached out and smoothed it back. He smiled down at me and I swiveled to grab the second whiskey shot he had ordered. He had to move back as I slammed back the shot and slid off the barstool.
He grabbed my hand before I could dive back into the crowd. As he raised it, for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss it, but he studied it instead, a serious expression on his face.
“You talk with your hands. I couldn’t help but notice.”
“Yeah, I’m not going to apologize about that,” I said, unable to completely stop my smile at the memory of flipping him off.
He laughed and kissed the back of my hand, sending a jolt of electricity through me. Fuck. How did he do that?
“I wouldn’t want you to. It’s a great picture. Too bad the exec I showed it to won’t let me use it in the new jewelry campaign.” His eyes were sparkling.
“Why are you messing with me?” I asked, rolling my eyes. He was charming, all right, but still a dick.
“Stop by tomorrow. No joke.”
Flynn gave me one more look and I felt every inch of it. He handed me an embossed card, clinked his whiskey shot against mine, drained it and then disappeared into the crowd.
I stared after him for a moment, not sure what had just happened. Then Kendra was there, dragging me back onto the dance floor.
He was odd. Egocentric. Pushy. Arrogant.
And hot.
But odd.
***
“You have to go!” Kendra insisted. I’d just finished telling her about my insane encounter with Mr. Photographer.
“He really is a talented photographer and he offered you a job. Best case scenario, you get paid for a few hours of standing around holding your hands still.”
“You know that’s really hard for me,” I started to argue despite the weakness of my point, then stopped. My eyes narrowed. “Wait, what’s the worst case scenario?”
“That he hits on you and you like it.” She gave me a devious
grin and winked. “He’s a notorious womanizer, Gabs. But hey, if you’re curious… what’s the harm?”
“Curious?” I stared at her. “Are you…saying I…?”
She grinned for a moment and then went back to the ritual of her weekly manicure, ignoring the fact that I was still gaping at her.
Curious…that made me think about things I didn’t need to think about.
That made me think about Flynn.
Made me think about me and Flynn.
The two of us. Together. Naked. Those long-fingered, elegant hands of his running over me. My mouth went dry just picturing it.
“No.” I lied through my teeth. “I’m not curious. Not about Flynn McCreary.”
***
Kendra’s words echoed in my head Monday morning as I walked into the address printed on Flynn’s business card. The warehouse space was divided into a chic boutique of pale fashionable clothes and an art gallery featuring sketches of designer handbags.
The bored receptionist pointed up the stairs when I told her who I was here to see. The photography studio stretched out the entire second floor with windows the entire length of the street view.
“Mr. McCreary?”
“I detect a little accent, Tennessee. Does that mean you’re nervous?”
I gave him the finger and he laughed. “I’ve already got that pose. Come on. I’ve got other things in mind.”
Fighting the urge to fidget, I lowered my hand and stood there, feeling lost in the vast space. He crossed over to me and cupped the offending hand in both of his, using it to draw me towards the far corner where the windows were covered, creating a darkened—or darker—area.
There, a white pedestal waited in front of what looked like a giant white screen. A backdrop, I remembered. Dozens of lights aimed at the spot from what I guessed were strategic places.
“Please, let me make you more comfortable.”
“I’d be more comfortable knowing what the hell I’m doing here,” I said bluntly.
Without answering my question, he gently pulled both my hands onto the pedestal and began massaging them. The deep rub of his thumbs in the center of my palms released a pressure I hadn’t realized was trapped there. The heat of the friction and the slow, deliberate circles soon uncoiled something else. Heat flared in my stomach, quickly traveling south until it pooled between my legs.
I swallowed. Tensing, I tried to pull away as heat rushed to my face.
He didn’t release my hands, keeping a light hold on them. “No, no. You can relax. You have to be relaxed for this job.”
“What job?” I asked, as much to keep my attention from how good his hands felt around mine as anything else.
He answered without looking at me even as he released my hands. “A new jewelry line called Delicate. I can’t have you cupping an eggshell if you’re so tense.”
He went over to the long table and picked up an egg, two egg shells, and a diamond tennis bracelet. Flynn then walked up behind me and reached around either side of me. He clasped the dazzling bracelet around my left wrist and carefully placed two broken halves of an eggshell in my fingertips. It seemed a bit strange, but he was the artist.
“Alright, put your other hand flat here. It’ll help you stay steady and it’ll add to the background. Your skin is perfect, almost translucent.”
I tried to ignore the tickle of his breath on my neck as he leaned in closer and posed my right hand. He then smoothed the large diamonds along my wrist and the slight caress sent shivers up my arm. I steeled myself not to move and prayed goosebumps wouldn’t give me away.
Don’t screw this job up too, Gabs. Just because you haven’t gotten any in a while...
He stepped back and picked up his camera. A few rapid-fire shots and he put it down. This time he ran his fingers down my arm in order to gently rearrange the angle of my wrist. His dark brown hair brushed my cheek and I decided to look out the window and pretend I was writing a scene, something that had nothing to do with attractive men and how good they smelled.
“You’ve got a soft touch, Ms. Baine. I think I may be jealous of an eggshell.”
“The bracelet is part of my payment, right?” I asked. I’d just blurted it out, not really expecting an answer. I was finding it increasingly difficult to think around him.
He chuckled and added finely shredded pale blue tissue paper to one of the empty eggshell halves. He leaned over to delicately place a pair of diamond earrings on top of the paper and his fashionably unbuttoned shirt fell open. I couldn’t help seeing his chiseled chest and that made me wonder what a fashion photographer did to work out. My mind betrayed me and immediately imagined him doing push-ups over me. Dammit. I really needed to get laid.
“Relax a little. You’re doing beautifully, Gabriella.”
I liked the way my name sounded in that deep voice of his.
A few more rapid-fire shots and he removed all the props from my hands.
“Tedious work but, trust me, I’ll make your hands look good.”
“Good, otherwise I won’t be able to show my face around town,” I quipped as I began to stretch my fingers. My breath caught when Flynn took my hand between his and began to help. I kept talking to prevent me from thinking about the way his fingers were manipulating mine. “Does this mean I can’t do high-fives anymore? I mean, now that you’re going to make me a famous hand model?”
Flynn caught my eyes, his warm hands still caressing mine. “How about I get us something to drink?”
I shrugged, trying to be noncommittal, and he smiled at me as he walked away. I ignored the stab of disappointment and began to pace around, desperate to cool down the molten feeling in my muscles before he came back. He moved with a lean, powerful grace that had me itching to touch him.
He’s a notorious womanizer…
Kendra’s voice echoed in my ear and I had to swallow back a groan.
All I could think about was his hard body leaning into mine at the club the other night. Today, his dark brown hair was slicked back and his face was smooth. He smelled faintly of that amazing aftershave and it made the urge to rub my cheek along his jaw line even harder to resist.
I shook my head and distracted myself with a long white table of portfolio folders. Reaching for the nearest one, I flipped it open.
“Oh, you might not want to do that,” Flynn said from behind me.
“Do what?” I asked as I flipped open the first portfolio.
He smirked as he gestured to the table. “That.”
Confused, I looked down. As my brain registered what my eyes were seeing, my mouth fell open.
Chapter Three
My cheeks turned red once I realized his warning had been more of a tease than anything else.
The portfolio was filled with black and white photographs of nude models. I flipped through a few, trying to cool my embarrassment. I wasn’t some prude or naïve little girl to be freaked out over a couple of nude photographs, although…wow. This wasn’t some nude portrait hanging in an art gallery. These were hot.
Flynn edged closer, so close I could feel his body heat.
“You like what you see?” Flynn’s tone was half-mocking, half-seducing. “Want to take a few in the dark room for further study?”
“Don’t be a child,” I snapped.
“Oooh, there’s that Southern drawl,” he said.
He was teasing me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the photographs. They were not gratuitous, models posed for exploitation or just to please the lustful eye. They were beautiful studies of the female form, beautiful and sensual. One photograph conveyed such a sense of vulnerability I ached for her. Another such ferociousness that I wished it could be imprinted in my mind to banish any lingering insecurities. The angle said as much about the photographer as the nude pose revealed about the model. Despite myself, I was fascinated.
“Here, let me help.” He dabbed my chin with a paper napkin. “You got a little drool there.”
I slapped his hand away, but w
ithout any real malice. My cheeks were burning, but not from the pictures anymore. “You must be the photographer’s twelve year-old son.”
“Ouch.” Flynn smiled as he put his hand over his heart.
I collected myself, determined to show him that I could be more mature about this than he was. “So you take nude photos on the side. Just for fun or are you getting ready for a gallery show?”
He snorted in derision as he tugged the portfolio from me and flipped it open, bending over to study it closely. I could only see his face in profile, but it was clear that he was looking at his work with a far more critical eye than I thought they deserved. Even the more erotic ones that left me blushing were incredibly lovely.
“Why do you take them?” I asked again.
He looked over at me, a grin tugging up the corner of his lips. “Why the hell not?”
He flipped the portfolio closed and shrugged before cutting to go around me.
There was an abruptness to his movements that made me realize that somehow, I’d put a wall between us. Or he had. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“How do you find models to pose nude?” I asked suddenly. Then I grimaced, realizing how naïve that sounded.
He gave a short mirthless laugh, but his expression changed when he realized I was serious. He jerked a shoulder in a shrug. “It pays better.”
I knew I’d hate myself for asking, but now I was curious. “How much is better?”
“How much is on the books for your hand modeling gig today, three hundred?” He cocked up a brow as he waited for me to nod. Then he angled his head toward the portfolio full of nudes. “Model for a nude? It can bring in three thousand or more.”
Shit. “That’s…” I cleared my throat. “That’s a lot of money.”
I turned to look out the windows so he couldn’t read on my face what was going on in my head. With Kendra not getting paid for a couple weeks and my current job not paying me much of anything, it was hard not to think about it. I told myself that I was already doing the hand model gig because I needed the cash, but the idea of ten times that amount kept running through my head.