He raised his dark eyebrows high over the plastic-framed glasses that made him look nerdy-cute. “Be my guest.”
I reached up. I was going to pretend to tweak his nipple between my bent fingers, but he leaned in at the last second, and I grabbed the pink button of flesh.
He closed his eyes and grinned.
As the flash bulbs pulsed with bursts of light, I stood there with his nipple pinched between my fingers.
“Yes,” the photographer said. “Just like this. Sensual. Demure. So cheeky.”
Keith leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Chin up. Keep going. Now wrap your right arm around my back. No, not the left, the right. The left one blocks our bodies to the camera. Now look up at me like you want to kiss me.”
At regular volume, I said, “I’m not an actress.”
“All beautiful women are actresses,” he said smoothly. “And there are few as beautiful as you.”
I released the nipple, draped my right arm around his hot, nearly-naked body, and gazed up at him. He’d tricked me with flattery, because now I did actually want to kiss him for being so sweet.
The photographer called for some adjustments to the lighting, but instructed us to keep going, so we did.
I gazed up longingly at Keith, drinking in his beautiful face. Mitchell swooped in and took the nerdy glasses off Keith’s nose, and suddenly he looked so dangerous. I trembled. Just one knee. Just one tremble. But Keith noticed.
He knelt down and swept his fingertips behind my knee. I lifted my leg reflexively, and Keith placed the sole of my foot on top of his thigh. I gulped, the sound of my hard swallow audible over the sibilant soundscape. He brushed his lips across the tip of my knee, and he gazed at Miss Kitty like he was heading there next, diving in lips first.
“Eep!” I exclaimed, which made me feel ever-so professional.
There were people all around us, and cameras, and still he was devouring me with his eyes.
He gazed up through dark eyelashes while the corners of his mouth twitched up in a wicked grin. I remembered what Mitchell had said about flirting with Keith to make sure we got great photos. Dimly, I was aware of photos being taken. I needed to play along, so I lifted one hand up to the corner of my mouth and pretended to nibble my finger.
The soundscape playing over the speakers whispered like wind in willow trees, like secrets being told. Inspired, I moved my finger to the center of my lips, making a shushing gesture.
Keith gazed up with an innocent expression. At the photographer’s suggestion, he stood again. He surprised me by grabbing me roughly by both shoulders.
Naturally, I slapped him across the face.
CHAPTER 2
I'd just slapped the dangerously-cute model after he grabbed my shoulders.
“Sorry,” he stammered, stepping back and looking confused.
Mitchell called out, “Water! Water now!”
I flinched, feeling ashamed of my overreaction and expecting to be hosed down for my bad behavior, but then the hot lights turned off and one of the junior assistants hustled up with a bottle of water.
Keith took the bottle in his hand, hunching over and leaning on Mitchell. With a wince, he cracked the seal to remove the cap. He tipped up the bottle and guzzled a third of the water, then scowled at the bottle as he put the cap back on.
Mitchell asked if he needed a chair or a break, but Keith said he’d be fine in a minute.
“You let yourself get dehydrated,” I said, partly admonishing him and partly soothing him.
Mitchell snapped his fingers and instructed one of the girls to bring a chair.
Keith’s eyebrows knitted together, and he sat down in a folding chair being quickly set up behind him.
“Is this normal?” I asked Mitchell.
Mitchell nodded, then signaled that he had to do something, but would be back in a few minutes.
Keith looked up at me from where he sat recovering in the chair. “I scared you.”
“Pfft. I don’t scare that easy. Sorry I slapped you.”
“I took the usual diuretics, but last night’s party put me over. I had one beer, and it tasted like another. You know how that is.”
A tiny female assistant whispered something in his ear.
“No, thank you. I don’t take drugs,” he said.
She ran off, red-cheeked and looking scolded.
He gazed up at me, his helplessness doing a number on my emotions. “But I wouldn’t mind a square of chocolate. Is there a vending machine nearby?”
I started walking toward the dressing room. “Yes, there is a candy supply nearby, and it’s called My Purse.”
A moment later, we’d both enjoyed a few squares of dark chocolate heaven, he’d sipped more water (but not so much that he’d lose the definition lines on his abdominal muscles), and we got back to shooting.
“Would you feel more comfortable with your glasses?” I asked.
“They’re just props. I have perfect eyesight.”
“Aren’t you Mr. Perfect.”
“I bet you say that to all the guys.”
“Just the ones I model underwear with.”
“I feel special. Did you ever tell me what your plans are for tonight?”
Mitchell interrupted us with a subtle cough, then said, “Feel free to talk through the shoot, but without moving your mouths.”
“Don’t get me in trouble,” I whispered, trying not to move my mouth.
“My middle name is Trouble.”
I held my finger to his lips and warned him with a flash of my eyes. I didn’t want to get fired on my first day as a model, not even for a boy as cute as him.
I turned my back to him and gave him a coy over-the-shoulder look. The photographer approved of this, and we kept going.
Keith’s sexy stare and his touch still made me nervous, but his mini dehydration crisis had made him more life-size to me. Plus, like the beginning of so many great relationships, we’d bonded over some high-quality chocolate.
By the close of the session, we were both dressed in the most outrageous of the outfits yet, and the poses were getting equally creative. I wore stretchy, black booty shorts that were stitched to mimic leather shorts, plus a red patent-leather bustier. On my skin, everything felt about as sexy as those plastic zip-up bags duvet sets come in, but I knew I looked hot. My peaches had never looked fresher.
I stood on set waiting for Dalton—whoops! I meant Keith. Not Dalton. Nope, Dalton was barely even on my mind, except for a brief thought once every hour or so, tinged with guilt and sadness, plus a bit of rage.
I pushed away those thoughts like a bad dream.