You've Got Fail(18)

Answer: Completely fucked.





8





Scarlet





I twirled in a feathery skirt, the white fluff around my knees arcing away from me as the camera snapped again and again.

“Perfect.” The photographer stood straight and flipped through the pics on her digital camera. “Now have a seat on the sofa.”

I backed up and sat gingerly as an assistant walked over and ruffled the skirt, then straightened the off-the-shoulder top. The pretty princess treatment was a new experience for me, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. But I was the only one. Willis sat in a worn side chair behind the photographer, his scowl deepening with each set of photos we took.

“Kick your legs up for me.” The assistant, Carl, grabbed my ankles and arranged them next to me. “Perfect.”

Willis stood and paced, though his eyes never left me as another set of clicks and flashes filled the photographer’s loft.

After ten more minutes of fluffing and posing, the photographer called for a break and an outfit change. The assistant followed her into a back office as I headed to the small changing area off to the side, hidden from view by a series of mismatched curtains hung on ropes strung across the room.

I ducked behind the nearest curtain and shimmied out of the skirt. Willis continued pacing, his footsteps echoing around the open space.

“What is wrong with you?” I asked as I peeled the pink top off and laid it on a black table covered with other outfits.

The footsteps moved closer. “What do you mean?”

“You have this look on your face like I jumped in a time machine, travelled back to the nineties, found your very first pet—the one you loved so much that you slept with it every night and gave it kisses before you left for school—and made you watch as I lit it on fire and did a witch’s dance to celebrate.”

He coughed. “Wow, that was oddly specific.”

I grabbed the next dress on the table and studied it. Black, short, and low cut along the top. Perfect. Squeezing into it, I asked, “Seriously, why are you so pissy?”

“I’m not.”

“So that’s your happy face?” I got the dress on for the most part, though the hem barely covered my lady bits and the scoop neck flirted with my areolas.

His footsteps stopped next to the curtain. “Maybe I have resting bitch face.”

“I suppose anyone with a stick up their ass like you’ve got would go around mean-mugging.” Shots fired.

“There is no stick.”

“Then what?” I fought to get the back zipper up.

A heavy sigh made the curtain nearest to me ripple. “He keeps touching you, and you look so…so—”

“Delicious?” I peeked through a break in the curtains and caught a look at his back, the muscles drawn tight.

Sexual. Tension. A thrill coursed through me, and I decided to turn the heat up a notch.

“Can you help me with this zipper?”

“You insult me and then ask for help?” His voice had lowered an octave. Pissed, yet ever so sexy.

“Just because I burned you like a piece of toast doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.” I stepped out from behind the curtain.

His eyes widened beneath his Clark Kent glasses, though he tried to play it off by glancing away.

“You like?” I walked up to him. “Wait till you see the heels that go with this.”

He cleared his throat, his blue eyes pinning me to the spot. “Heels?”

I nodded and ran my index finger down his bicep. “Red ones.”

“Fuck.”

“What’s the matter? You don’t like red heels?”

“Why are you doing this?” His glare could melt steel.

“Linda set this up. Not me.” I spun, giving him a view of my bare back. “Zip me?” Swiping my hair off my neck and over my shoulder, I waited.

His body warmth buffeted me, sending goosebumps shooting along my skin.

I held my breath. When his gentle touch unexpectedly brushed the base of my neck, I let out a little gasp. He slowly ran his fingers down my spine, then splayed his warm palm at my lower back.

Looking over my shoulder, I caught his gaze. He leaned down, his mouth at my ear. “What are you doing to me?”

That was a good question. What was I doing? Teasing him was great, but the desire that welled up inside me, that told me to take it further, wasn’t part of my plan. Focus.

“Just getting you to zip me, Sparky. But if you want to add a reach-around, I won’t tell anyone.” I kept it flippant, but the breathiness in my voice was a dead giveaway.

He pressed one hand on my bare shoulder, sliding his fingers beneath the fabric, and rubbed his thumb back and forth across the back of my neck. Each stroke traveled down a live wire that ended in sparks between my legs.

“You’re the devil.” His lips pressed against the shell of my ear.

My knees went weak, and I leaned against him. When I felt his sizeable erection against my backside, I made an mmm sound that was decidedly pornographic.

“Fuck.” He smoothed his other hand down my waist.

A creak from the office door opening had us separating from each other. The photographer and Carl walked over.

Willis cleared his throat. “Stuck zipper. Just a slight zipper malfunction. But we’re all fine here now. How are you?”