Brown-Eyed Girl (Travis Family #4)(67)

I thought it was possible that I’d been testing him without being aware of it, trying to find out if the sack dresses and big tops and baggy pants would make any difference to him. Clearly they hadn’t. Joe thought I was beautiful. Why should I think less of myself than he did? What point was there in letting those beautiful clothes hang in my closet unworn?

“I have some really stylish new outfits that Steven helped me pick out,” I said. “I just haven’t found the right time to start wearing them.”

“You don’t have to change anything for me.”

Perversely, that made me wish I’d worn something new and pretty today, something that measured up to the way he saw me.

At Joe’s direction, I lay on my side, awkwardly propping my head on my hand.

Lowering to his haunches, Joe positioned the camera. The shutter clicked and the nightstand unit flashed, covering me with fill light to balance the brilliance from the window behind me. “You’ve got no reason to be shy,” he said. “Every inch of you is luscious.” He paused to adjust the stand-alone flash, tested it again, and focused on me. His voice was soft and encouraging. “Can you show me your leg?”

I hesitated.

“One leg,” he coaxed.

Cautiously, I slid out my top leg and hooked it over the top of the sheet.

Joe’s gaze traveled along my exposed limb, and he shook his head as if presented with more temptation than a man could stand. Setting aside the camera, he bent to kiss my knee.

I reached out to stroke his dark hair. “You’re about to drop your camera.”

“I don’t care.”

“You will if it smashes on the floor.”

His hand began to insinuate itself beneath the sheet. “Maybe before I start taking pictures, we should —”

“No,” I said. “Stay on task.”

He withdrew his hand. “After?” he asked hopefully.

I couldn’t restrain a grin. “We’ll see.”

My smile was captured with an immediate click of the shutter. Joe proceeded to shoot pictures from different angles, adjusting the focus ring with expert precision.

“Why do you have it on manual?” I asked, tucking the sheet more securely beneath my arms.

“In this lighting, I can find the right focusing point faster than auto mode can.”

It was sexy, watching his hands on the camera, the skillful way he held and manipulated it. There was a particular pleasure in watching a man do something he was that good at. His expression was absorbed and intent as he took a series of shots with me lying on my stomach, my hips covered with the sheet, the length of my back exposed. I rested my head in the crook of my folded arms and gave him a sideways glance. The shutter clicked several times.

“Damn, you’re photogenic,” he murmured, approaching the bed. “Your skin catches the light like a pearl.” As he continued to take shots from various angles, praising and flirting, fondling whenever he got the chance, I found myself beginning to have a good time.

“I’m beginning to think you’re just using this as an excuse to feel me up,” I commented.

“Side benefit,” he said, climbing onto the bed with me. Still holding his camera, he straddled my hips in an easy movement, his denim-clad thighs on either side of me.

“Hey,” I protested, tugging the sheet higher over my breasts.

Rising on his knees, Joe angled the camera directly above me and took a few shots. As close as we were, it was impossible not to notice that the button-fly crotch of his jeans was straining. Playfully, I walked my fingers up to his crotch and wiggled them into the spaces between the metal buttons.

Joe fumbled to adjust the focus ring. “Avery, don’t distract me.”

“I’m trying to help you.” I unfastened the top button.

“That’s not helping. In fact” – he let out an unsteady breath as I began on the second button – “that’s the opposite of helping.” He pried my hand from the placket. “Be a good girl and let me take a few more shots. I like this pose.” After pressing a kiss into my palm, he positioned my arm up around my head in an abandoned posture. His fingers adjusted my elbow, softening the angle. With every alteration of his weight, I felt the enticing pressure of him against my groin.

Picking up his camera, Joe rose to his knees again. I looked into the lens while he looked at me, and I thought of the last time we’d had sex, how he’d stood at the side of the bed and pulled my legs up to his shoulders, how he’d teased and entered me slowly.

As I lay there, warmed by the erotic memory, I felt a deep, unfamiliar sense of ease, of languorous openness. My inhibitions had dissolved, and for once I wasn’t trying to hide anything. It was so completely the opposite of what I’d expected that my lips parted with a faint, wondering smile.

The shutter clicked a few more times. “That’s it,” Joe said softly, the camera lowering.

“What do you mean?”

“I got the shot I wanted.”

I blinked. “How can you tell?”

“Sometimes I can feel it even before I see it. Everything lines up. The second I push the shutter, I know I’ve found the sweet spot.”

As he stretched to set the camera on the nightstand, I went for the buttons of his fly again, and I heard his quiet laugh. He stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it aside. Intent on my task, I worked at the fastenings, my hair pooling and sliding over his bare stomach. I licked at the line of crinkled hair leading into his jeans, my tongue sliding over roughness and silk. He made a fervent sound, his hands coming to my head, a slight tremor in his fingers. Another button, another, and then I pulled at the waist of his boxers.