Behind His Lens(7)

“ley…” Oh shit. I glance up and notice she’s been speaking this entire time. That’s when I realize her petite hand is outstretched in front of her, aimed directly at me like a white flag. Too bad I’m not thinking of surrender.

I cough, standing a little taller, “I didn’t catch that.”

She shifts her weight and speaks softly, “I was just introducing myself. I’m Charley.”

I reach out to shake her hand and like fireworks, her skin crackles against mine. She smiles coyly, glancing down at her high-heeled feet. I want to force that chin up so badly that my body physically aches.

“Once again, I’m sorry I was late, but I promise I’ll stay focused for you,” she murmurs shyly.

For me.

Repeat after me. You do not date models.

“Nice to meet you, Charley. I’m Jude,” I croak, like a f*cking fourteen-year-old boy. I clear my throat gruffly and try speaking again, “It’s no problem, but we need to get started.”

My hand runs through my hair to wipe away the residual tingling from my palm as she steps onto the set. My gaze lingers longingly on her as she walks away from me, and the sappy gesture snaps me back to reality. This day will be impossible to get through unless I put these bizarre feelings aside. I’ve never had a problem dealing with models before, but then again, I’ve never been affected by one the way Charley affects me.

“Let’s get some music going. This place is too quiet,” I bark toward my assistants. Not thirty seconds later, Bastille’s “Pompeii” floods the studio with an upbeat rhythm.

“There we go,” I breathe, letting the music move through me, reminding me of the job I need to do. My camera feels like an extension of my hand as I move closer to the white draping. Charley’s already moving in soft, fluid steps, getting a feel for her gown and the scene. It’s a simple set. The focus is meant to be on the dress she’s wearing, so when I angle the camera’s viewfinder in front of my eye, I only see Charley, outlined by a white backdrop and nothing more.

Her soft blue eyes glance up at me from beneath her black lashes. Her mouth parts slightly, waiting for my cue. I’ve no doubt I’ll fantasize about this very moment later tonight. The moment when she finally stood before me, ready for me to command her movements and coax out her every emotion. I know she’ll be receptive, she looks submissive and beautiful; ready for every bit of pleasure I’d allow her to feel.

“These first few shots need to be simple. No smile. Captivating eyes, focused straight on me,” I demand, already enjoying the feeling of ordering this Angel around.


“Okay,” she murmurs, stepping into character.

CHAPTER THREE

Charley

He should be on the other side of the lens. He’s too handsome to be a photographer. But on the other hand, he might even be too handsome to be a model. I know that seems strange, but it’s true. This photographer, Jude, is one hundred percent man and thinking about him posing awkwardly in styled clothing forces me to shove down a giggle.

“Sharper face, Charley. No smiling yet,” he instructs as I watch him crouch low on his heels.

Focus.

God, he’s bossy and gorgeous. He’s got that dark, second-day stubble that gives him just the right amount of ruggedness. He looks like a perfect combination of a New York intellectual and a sexy Bear Grylls. Like he would read the Times while starting a fire with two dry sticks and a piece of flint. Does such a thing even exist?

I’ve never found my job quite so easy. He wants me to focus on him and that’s what I’ll do.

With pleasure.

Naomi will want to know every detail about the first man I’ve found attractive in quite some time, so I start at his feet, taking in his worn, MacAlister leather boots. I know it’s petty, but I can’t help but judge a guy based on his choice of footwear. Luckily, Jude completely passes the test. His boots rest beneath worn, dark wash jeans that sit perfectly low on his hips. He’s wearing a vintage Yankees t-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders and slim waist. His arms shift and flex as he moves the camera. He’s got strong, toned arms. The kind of arms you get from lifting weights and then running to counteract the overt bulkiness.

Damn. Where do they keep guys like this and why couldn’t he have been at the club last night?

Yeah right. I would’ve still turned him down. It’s the way it has to be right now. I have to focus on healing myself first.