Reckless (Thoughtless, #3)(51)

Kellan’s eyes unfocused as he looked over my shoulder. “Photo?” His gaze immediately snapped to me again. “You know I’m not, right? I’m not interested in her . . . at all. You know that, don’t you?”

Nodding, I cupped his cheek; it was warm from the sun beating down on us. “I know,” I whispered. Snapping myself out of the dark mood that had settled over the car, I asked him, “Should we go get this photo shoot over with?” I forced a smile to my lips and humor to my voice. “Maybe you can request a duck for the background?”

Kellan was frowning at me as I got out of the car. “Kiera—”

I put my hand up to stop whatever it was he felt he needed to say. “I’m fine. Honestly. Can we just . . . not talk about this anymore? It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not true.”

Kellan hesitated, then nodded and got out of the car.

We met up with the rest of the band in a large studio building. A huge backdrop of billowing white fabric covered the far wall floor to ceiling. People were buzzing around everywhere—adjusting lights, moving reflective panels, smoothing the backdrop, manning stations that were overflowing with hair and makeup supplies that rivaled my sister’s.

As the five of us watched the chaos in stunned silence, a tiny man in skinny jeans and a turtleneck pointed our way. “Ah, the talent arrives.” I couldn’t tell by his voice if he was being complimentary or condescending.

Loosely holding a camera in one hand, he snapped his fingers with the other; a buxom blonde was instantly at his side. Staring at our group through slim rectangle glasses, he waggled his fingers and told her, “Fix them.”

The blonde glanced over at a group of women hovering around the makeup stations. As if they were all silently being commanded by their queen, they instantly turned from their beauty supplies and started swarming our way. Kellan frowned. Griffin grinned.

As the busty blonde strode up to him, Kellan murmured, “I don’t think we need—”

She thrust out her hand, silencing him. “Name’s Bridgette. I’ll be taking care of you today.” Grabbing his hand, she yanked him toward the vanity.

“I really don’t think we need—” he tried again.

Shoving him into the seat, she had her fingers through his hair before he could finish his second objection. Even though a gorgeous woman tangling her fingers through his locks wasn’t my most favorite thing in the world, I had to smile at the look of petulance on his face. The photographer walked over to us while Bridgette debated how best to beautify my husband.

Running his finger and thumb along his goatee, the photographer told her, “Not too much on this one. He’s fine as he is.” His gray eyes traveled down Kellan’s body. “Have him see wardrobe first, though.”

With that, he shuffled off to inspect the rest of the band. Kellan sighed.

By the time Bridgette and her merry maids were finished with the D-Bags, I had to admit that they looked good. Every single one of them was stunning, even Griffin. But Kellan . . . was drop-dead gorgeous. Smoldering. My jaw dropped when he stepped in front of the plain backdrop. He’d come into the studio wearing loose, faded blue jeans and a white T-shirt. They’d dressed him in slim jeans that were frayed in all the right places, and they’d layered his basic white shirt with a dark brown leather jacket. It was tight to his body, so it looked more like a fitted shirt, and it was zipped open to his mid-chest. It stopped right above his waist, so that his entire studded belt was visible; a trace amount of skin was visible too. It was . . . hot. His hair was usually a rumpled, sexy mess, but Bridgette had flawlessly styled it so that every strand was in the most appealing place possible. There was this one strand hanging down by his eye that just about did me in.

He looked the part of the sexy, bad boy rock star that worried my father on a daily basis, but he was frowning as he walked over to me.

“You look great. What’s wrong?”

“I’m wearing makeup. I feel like an idiot.”

I examined his skin, but I couldn’t really tell that he was wearing anything, maybe just some definition around his eyes; the blueness was popping out at me so much that my heart was beating a little faster. “I can’t even tell. You’re fine.”

He started to run a hand through his hair, then stopped himself. I couldn’t help but notice that his ring was gone. “I’m wearing eyeliner . . . and I’m pretty sure she put lipstick on me.”

My smile was impossible to hide. “You look incredible . . . darn near delectable.”

Cocking his head, Kellan wrapped his arms around me. “Yeah? Would you like a bite?” As I felt heat staining my cheeks, Kellan glanced around, then leaned down to my ear; the smell of the leather jacket mixing with his scent was intoxicating. “We could disappear for a few minutes.”

His grin was decidedly inappropriate when I pushed him away from me. “I think Bridgette would have my head if I messed up her handiwork.”

Probably ruining whatever Bridgette had done to his lips, Kellan sucked on his bottom one as his eyes roved over my body. “Yeah, but just think about it . . . every time you see the album cover, you would know, without a doubt, that you put that smile on my face.”

His hands ran over my backside, gently squeezing, and as my eyes rolled back into my head, I briefly considered ducking into a vacant room . . . somewhere . . . but I heard the photographer snap his fingers, and my eyes flashed open.