Friction(41)

And suddenly, I feel like an idiot.

My brain is still so caught up in what Jace had said to me a few nights ago, that the first place my thoughts veered was to whether or not the man was trying to sex me up while my co-workers are standing right outside the door.

He doesn't want my hands for a quickie. He wants to use them to get a new client.

I look at the toes of his work boots for a long pause to gather my bearings. "So … Sonora…” I clear my throat, an image of the redhead apologizing for her damaged hand flashing through my thoughts. “She normally does this kind of thing for you?"

He confirms with a nod. "She’s modeled our products since we opened up shop. As you saw earlier, though, she's not up for it this time." When I scrunch my nose, he shakes his head, chuckling. "She broke it skiing, Williams, not chained up to a metal pole somewhere."

"I didn't say that," I argue, but he gives me a pointed look.

“It was written all over your face.” Returning to me in two long steps, he searches my gaze, but all I can focus on is the set of restraints dangling between our bodies. He wants me to put these on. He wants me to put these on, and then he wants to take a photo that he’ll send to a client. "I’m not asking to blast your face all over the Internet, just your hands. And I promise I’ll let you see the photos I take before I send it out.”

“You can’t use Daisy?”

“I don’t want to use her, Lucy.” There’s a part of me that hates when he calls me by my first name. I’m so used to him calling me love or Williams, that hearing him say Lucy always digs beneath my skin. Which brings me to the part of me that doesn’t mind it at all. That’s utterly seduced because saying my name always brings out that beautiful accent he’s allowed to fade over the years.

“I’m not a model. And I don’t know how I feel about having”—glancing down at the metal between our bodies, I let out a harsh breath that shudders through me—“those on my body.”

He wraps his fingers around my right wrist, lifting my hand and placing the small rod linking the two cuffs in my palm. Cold metal kisses my skin. “They won’t hurt, Lucy.” He’s saying my first name again, damn him. He moves his tall, muscular body closer to mine, so I take a step backward. Toward the bed. “I’m your boss, and this is what I want. You got a problem with that?”

Oh, hell. Seriously?

“Aren’t you the one who suggested we keep this professional?”

“And you posing for photos that help our business is professional,” he says and removes the restraints from my outstretched palm. My skin ignites when his fingertips brush along the indentations of my lifelines. “Get on the bed, love.”

“And what about the interview with Allene? You said I can schedule whatever I want if I did … this.”

“Get on the edge of the bed. And put that on.” He nods toward the metal and satin. For the first time, I notice the silky white robe folded neatly on the left corner of the bed. When I swallow hard, he groans. “Over your clothing, Williams. And before you ask, everything is freshly laundered and clean. We don’t fuck where we work—this room is used only for photos for our clients.”

I don’t exactly believe him, but I still sit on the edge of the bed, numbly shrugging my arms into the white robe as I wait for his instructions. He takes his precious time grabbing a professional grade camera from the closet on the other side of the room, and I’m flushed from head to toe by the time he approaches me again. He pauses beside the bed, resting his forearm on one of the posts. For a moment, he says nothing, letting his blue-gray eyes shamelessly wander over me.

I don’t know what to say either.

Or do. How can I when he’s standing right over me, his mouth twitching like he can’t decide whether to laugh or grin?

Finally, he bends his bronze face down to mine. “Relax.” He tosses the camera on the satin bedspread beside my thigh. “It’s only a photo.”

“You said it would only take fifteen minutes,” I point out then gasp sharply when he touches my wrists.

“It’s criminal to rush a good thing, Williams.” He positions my hands around the post, linking my fingers together. As he unhooks the cuffs and prepares to snap them around my slim wrists, he cocks a brow devilishly. “This might be cold.”

He’s right, the metal is cold, but it doesn’t bother me nearly as much as the way my skin tingles when he drags his fingers up my arms a moment later.

“What are you doing?” I gasp, trying to jerk away but quickly realizing it’s impossible because he has me bound to a bed.

What the hell was I thinking to agree to this?

“Your sleeves.” His expression is serious as he pushes the starched sleeves of my blouse up until they’re no longer visible beneath the robe. Examining his handiwork, he grants me a nod of approval. “You’re perfect now.”

He picks his camera up from the bed, making my legs tremble when his knuckles brush my thigh. I don’t miss the sly grin that splits his face as he brings the camera up to his chest. “I feel like you’re enjoying this way more than you should,” I grind out through my teeth.

“What man doesn’t enjoy seeing someone like you tied up?”

“Someone like me?”