Grounded (Up in the Air #3)(30)

Every move that he made suddenly became extra fascinating, and it had always been pretty damned fascinating to me. He didn’t smile, just moved his face by infinitesimal degrees, this way and that way, catching every perfect angle for the various shots.

His hands started at his hips but moved up to lace behind his head, drawing his abs taut and making his arms bulge in the most appealing way. It might have just been me, but his tie seemed to be pointing suggestively down, and I couldn’t help but notice how the pose stretched the Bianca on his chest, displaying it like a prize. It made me smile. He was insane, but that was becoming just another thing that I adored about him. It was also becoming apparent that I only had a passing relationship with sanity myself.

They took shot after shot as he shifted around at the director’s command. She called a halt maybe ten minutes in.

“Annie, get me some suspenders!” she barked.

A small blonde woman scurried back into wardrobe.

The two women were swiftly attaching suspenders to his low-slung slacks, which seemed wholly unnecessary, and very unprofessional to me, but what did I know? They resumed the shot quickly.

James had to pull one suspender to the side to show off his red ink, but no one stopped him.

I could see why they’d added the suspenders, though I’d thought it was a strange thing to do. It was sexy. Like insane sex on horseback sexy. Something about the business attire set against his tan oiled chest was obscene, bordering on mind-blowing orgasm just looking at him, sexy.

They took endless pictures of his every shift in posture and expression. Eventually they made him turn, taking shot after shot of his ripped back. He shrugged out of one errant suspender to show off the tattoo on his back.

I shifted closer to study it, still feeling a little shell-shocked every time I caught a glimpse of my face on his back. I knew from hearing several friends talk about it that tattoos scabbed over at first, sometimes marring the ink for weeks, but I could see no sign of that yet on this one. It seemed perfect, still looking like a painting on his back.

I still thought the tattoo was insane, though I was beginning to understand why he’d done it.

He was committed to me, for whatever crazy reason, and I was so closed off that he hadn’t been able to just come out and say it, and have me believe him. I was too damaged, too skeptical of everything good in life. This had been his bat-shit crazy way of trying to prove it to me. He was so like Stephan in that way, so willing to throw all pride aside for the sake of loving me. I knew in my soul that there was nothing Stephan wouldn’t do for me, and I was beginning to see that James had that same startling quality. What had I done to deserve such devoted men in my life? I couldn’t fathom it. It all just seemed to be good to be true.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Mr. Gorgeous

After an exhaustive amount of posing, James was led off to change into another outfit for the shoot. I couldn’t imagine why. I’d seen the shoot. There was no way they hadn’t gotten a good string of pictures out of it.

The director approached me as James disappeared into the dressing area. She smiled at me. It was a polished, professional kind of smile. I wondered if she’d been a model before she’d directed photo shoots.

She waved a hand at her own chest. “So I take it you’re this Bianca?” she asked, and I realized she was referencing the tattoo she’d just been staring at for an hour.

I nodded, not really sure how to respond.

She held out a hand. “I’m Beatrice Stoker. I’m the director.”

I shook her hand, and she squeezed hard, like it was some kind of a test. I gave her a half-hearted response, not interested in whatever way she thought she was testing me with such a strange action.

“Bianca,” I told her, even though she obviously knew that.

“You are one lucky lady, Bianca,” she said. Something a little too familiar about her tone raised my hackles just a bit.

I gave her very solid eye contact. “I’m very well aware of that. Trust me when I say that you can’t even imagine how lucky.”

She blinked, but didn’t seem at all put off by my awkward statement. I didn’t know what made me want to goad her, but more and more, I seemed to be having a hard time holding my tongue.

“Well, good for you,” she finally said. “About that, with Mr. Cavendish’s new tattoos being devoted to you and all, I had an idea for the shoot, if you don’t object.”

“Object to what?” I asked suspiciously.

She smiled that polished smile. “If you wouldn’t mind going through the hassle of hair, makeup, and wardrobe, I’d love to have you involved in some of the shots. More as an accessory to James than as a focal point, if you get my meaning.”

I didn’t. “You want me to be in the photo?” I asked, baffled. It was something I’d never expected.

“Well, he’s showing off tattoos that are obviously in your honor, so I thought it would be nice to squeeze you into a few shots. Nothing much. I’d just like to have you maybe hug him from behind, something very innocent and low-key. He’s been shirtless on our covers several times, sans tats. I thought it might be nice to show the reader what’s inspired his new passion for ink.”

I grimaced, uncomfortable with the idea. “You’d have to ask James. This is his thing.”

She nodded and strode off with a purpose, and I felt a little like I’d just thrown him to the wolves.