The cottage is cute. Quaint. Yet oddly stylish.
Clara raps twice on the door and pushes it open. “Tyler, are you ready? Our model is finally here.”
Oh, the urge to slap her…
“Yep. I’m ready.”
A shiver runs down my spine. I recognize that voice. No.
I look over Clara’s shoulder as the photographer, Tyler, gets up, and turns to me.
Oh, shit. That’s not Tyler.
It’s Mr. Tall, Dark, Handsome, and Oh So British.
2
Well, this is awkward.
And I don’t mean nervous-giggle awkward. I mean turn-around-and-run-for-your-fucking-life awkward.
Recognition flashes in his dark eyes when he sees me. Heat flares briefly, too quickly for Clara to notice it, but slowly enough that I know I wasn’t imagining it.
That same heat flushes up my neck and colors my cheeks. Yep. This is going from bad to worse.
“Thanks, Clara. Shut the door on your way out.”
Alone?
“But—”
“Sheila knows I shoot alone. Get out and shut the door.” He’s talking to her but his eyes are focused on me. I lick my lips as Clara makes another half-hearted attempt to argue and he shuts her down once more.
I lick my lips as Clara makes another halfhearted attempt to argue and he shuts her down once more. I trace his face. His unruly, dark hair is swept to one side, keeping out of his equally dark eyes. His cheekbones are defined and his jaw is strong, angular. And his lips are…curved in amusement at having caught me staring at him.
The slam of the door jolts me back to reality. Kind of. I still have hot-man haze. I mean, crap.
“This is a turn of events I wasn’t expecting.” His accent is crisp and what the hell is it about the British accent?
“Yep.” I fiddle with the belt on the robe. “It’s certainly a surprise.”
It’s not every day that your one-night stand becomes your photographer.
“At least there’ll be no…awkwardness.” He drops his gaze to my hidden body and I swallow. Oh, no. He’s definitely seen my body. And touched it. And licked it.
I shift uncomfortably. Nope. Not even going there. Eyes off the bed please, Olivia.
“Let’s get unnecessary introductions out of the way, shall we?” He steps toward me.
My lips curl into a smile. “It’s not unnecessary if you don’t know the other person’s name.”
“Very true.” He told his hand out. “Tyler.”
Half intros it is, then.
“Liv.” I put my hand in his larger one. He pulls me against his hard body and settles his lips close to my cheek.
He pulls me against his hard body and settles his lips close to my cheek. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Liv.” His words are smooth like melted caramel, and I fight the urge to close my eyes at the easy sound.
A pleasure indeed.
Tyler steps back with a brush of his lips across my cheek. My hand instantly feels cold when he releases it, and I raise it to my hair before realizing that Dean will pitch a fit if I mess up these curls.
I drop my arm lamely, aware of Tyler’s eyes on me as he gets his camera. He looks at me for a long moment.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Are you taking off the robe? I can’t do a lingerie shoot without lingerie.”
My lips form a small ‘o.’ Of course I have to take off the robe.
Please, someone pinch me. This can’t be reality. I mean, I’m all for coincidences, but this puts the ‘fuck’ in ‘fucking joke.’
I turn away from him and slide the robe down. I hang it on the hook on the back of the door. I flex my fingers to rid the slight tremble there and spin back to face Tyler.
My breath catches at the way he looks me over so obviously. He’s completely unashamed as his gaze touches every part of my body in a way that makes shivers rocket up and down my spine until my skin is buzzing.
I cough and he looks up. He grins, unapologetic, and a dimple appears on his cheek.
“The shoot?” I question, drawing on every bit of strength I have inside me to deal with this.
“Are you ready to start?”
Nope. I’m ready to click my heels and see if I’ll magic the hell out of here.
“Yes. Where do you want me?” Wrong question. Wrong question.
Something flickers in his eyes—lust. “On the bed.”
Wrong answer. Wrong answer.
I walk across the room and climb onto the bed. His eyes follow me the whole time, and I see him slowly raise the camera to his eye out of the corner of mine.
“I want you sitting in the middle of the bed, however is comfortable for you. I want some natural shots so I can see where to go from there.”
I nod once and exhale slowly. I take a moment to close my eyes and get into the place where I forget about the eyes on me. It’s hard in this instance when his gaze—even through a camera—is all I’m truly aware of.
Somehow, I get to a place where I feel like I can concentrate on this shoot. I fall into my usual rhythm, the freeness of my movements throwing it off a little. Usually, I’m told what to do, who to be, how to sit or lie or stand.
“Good, good…” Tyler mumbles. “There’s a glass of wine on the side. Use it.”
The sight of the red wine makes my stomach roll. Damn, I hate red wine.
Still, I wrap my fingers around the stem, lean back, and rest the glass on my thigh. The shutter clicks twice. After a few shots on the bed, including one with my lips firmly clamped as I tilt the glass up, I slide onto the floor.
I lean on the bed, the wine glass my focus, and the shutter clicks again. And again. Tyler comes closer, moves to the side, shoots down.
He instructs me in my movements now, pulling me from the sofa to the bed to the middle of the floor. Playful, sexy, brooding—we cover every emotion and pose possible.
“Move to the window,” he orders, taking the wine glass from me. “I want you sitting on the seat, one leg bent at the knee and the other stretched out. Put your back against the wall.”
I follow his instructions.
“Put one hand on your thigh, the other above your head. I want you to look out of the window. Imagine you’re waiting for someone to come home, someone you miss, and the lingerie is for him.”
I swallow.
“You need to think of nothing other than being intimate with him.”
My mind flashes back to him kissing his way down my stomach and parting my legs. His fingers rough, his touch desperate, his movements easy and controlled. His breath hot against my skin...