Come Away With Me(2)

“I’m going to need you to give me the camera, please.”

Is he serious? He’s still going to mug me?

I let out a short laugh and finally break eye contact, looking up to the now blue sky and shake my head. I close my eyes then look back over to him and he’s staring at me intently.

I find myself smiling as I say, “You are so not getting this camera.”

He tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes again. Muscles low in my belly clench at his sexy stare and I silently castigate myself. No getting turned on by your sexy early morning mugger!

“You are not getting this camera.

Who the hell do you think you are?”

Now my voice is rising and I pat myself on the back.

“You know who I am.”

His response throws me and I narrow my eyes, staring back at him again, and get the strange feeling once more that I should know him, but I shake my head in frustration.

“No, I don’t.”

He raises an eyebrow, puts his hands on his lean hips, and he smiles, showing off a perfect line of teeth. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Come on, honey, let’s not play this game. Either give me that camera, or delete the photos, and we can get on our way.”

Why does he want my photos?

Suddenly it occurs to me that he must think I’ve been taking pictures of him.

“I don’t have any photos of you on here, honey,” I reply.

His eyes narrow again and his smile slips away. He doesn’t believe me.

I take a step toward him. I stare deeply into his widening blue gaze and speak very clearly. “I. Don’t. Have.

Any. Photos. Of. You. On. My. Camera.

I’m not a portrait photographer.” I feel my cheeks flush and I look down for a moment.

“What were you taking photos of?”

His voice is level now, and he looks confused.

“The water, the boats,” I gesture out toward the sound with my hands.

“I saw you point your camera toward me when I was sitting on that bench.”

He points to the bench behind me. It’s sitting near where I shot the photos of the couple holding hands. I pull my camera in front of me again and I see him tense up, but I ignore him, turn on the camera and start flipping through my images until I find the ones he’s afraid are of him. I walk over to him and stand next to him, my arm almost touching his and I feel the heat from his sexy body. I make myself ignore it.

“Here, these are the photos I took.” I point the screen toward him and start to page through them, showing him all of the images. “Would you like to see the others I took as well?”

“Yes.” He whispers.

I continue to show him the images of the water, the sky, the boats, the mountains. I can’t help but smell his clean scent as he intently looks at the photos, scrutinizing each one while pulling his lower lip through his thumb and forefinger. His brow is furrowed.

Sweet Jesus, he smells good.

I’ve taken over two hundred photos this morning, so it takes a few minutes to page through each one. When I’m finished, he looks up into my eyes and I see his embarrassment and I’m not sure, but he looks almost sad.

My heart gives a flip as he smiles, a true full-blown, no holds barred smile, wiping away the sadness, and shakes his head slowly. He could melt glaciers with that smile. End wars. Resolve the national debt crisis.

“I’m sorry.”

“So you should be.” I turn the camera off and start to walk away from him.

“Hey, I’m really sorry.”

“You must be awfully full of yourself if you think that everyone with a camera is taking your picture.” I continue walking and of course he’s caught up with me, matching my stride.

Why is he still here?

He clears his throat. “Can I ask your name?”

“No.” I respond.

“Um, why?” He sounds confused.

Hell, I’m confused.

“I don’t give my name out to my muggers.”

“Muggers?” He stops mid-stride and pulls me to a stop beside him, his hand on my elbow. I look down at his hand and, raising my eyes back to his, pin him with a glare.

“Let go of me.” He does immediately.

“I’m not a mugger.”

“You tried to steal my camera. What do you call it?” I start walking again, realizing I’m heading in the opposite direction of my house. Shit.