Behind His Lens(8)

But in the mean time, I can ogle my photographer, right? I have to be here anyway so I might as well enjoy the view.

I lift a hand and wrap it elegantly around my neck.

“Hold there, Charley. That’s perfect,” he comments, and I hear Mrs. Hart agree from the sidelines. I’d forgotten she was there for a moment.

Posing is second nature to me at this point. I let the music guide me as I hit various positions, trying to show off the silky cream gown from the best angles. Florence + the Machine’s “Shake it Out” blasts from the speakers and I move seductively for the camera… or maybe it’s for Jude. He stays silent and keeps clicking away, so I know I’m giving him good poses.

After quite a few shots, I relax my arms by my side. Jude pulls the camera away from his face and scrolls through the last few shots. With a sigh, he glances up and narrows his eyes, as if considering what we’re missing. His studious pose gives me a chance to see his gaze without the bulky camera lens in the way. He’s got the bluest eyes— bright aqua, maybe even lighter than mine. I’ve never dated a guy with blue eyes before. But that’s probably because I don’t date at all.

He shoves his hand through his unruly, dark brown hair again and I have to hide a smile. Each time he does that it makes his hair even sexier, and the gesture sends a shot of lust straight to my core.

“We have great shots of the dress, but I think we should mix it up a bit,” Jude’s deep voice filters through the room as he turns toward Mrs. Hart.

“I agree. The Dior gown is sexy and so far these images have been beautiful… but restrained.” Mrs. Hart interlaces her hands and steeples her index fingers beneath her chin in thought.

A moment later, her eyes light up and she snaps her fingers. Before I know it, she’s stepping toward me with fierce determination.

“Charley, turn around and I’ll unzip the dress. The draping on the back is beautiful and I think we could get a sexy shot of you showing a bit more skin.”

What?

My heartbeat races as though it’s losing a fight with the blood circulating through my system. My eyes dart over to Jude, but he’s glancing down at his camera wearing a mask of indifference. It’s not as if I haven’t shown skin at a shoot before. If anything, most of these high-end fashion magazines prefer it if you’re completely naked while holding their products. Not to mention, I’m usually posing with an equally-nude male model. But for some reason, Jude’s eyes seem more penetrating than any I’ve felt before. Unable to stop myself, I second guess Mrs. Hart’s opinion.

“Are you sure? The front of the dress is so lovely.” The look she shoots me says it all: it’s not a model’s job to direct the photo shoot. I’m meant to comply quickly and gracefully, like a life-size Barbie doll.

My hands tremble as I turn away from Jude. I can feel his eyes on me now as if he’s finally catching up to the events taking place. My skin blazes under his gaze. Mrs. Hart comes to stand directly behind me, and when her chilled fingers touch my neck, I jump slightly. Pretend this is a different shoot with a different photographer, I tell myself, trying to lose focus on the white backdrop that now lies before me.

“Wait.” His dark voice cascades over my skin and I clutch my eyes closed. Does he want her to stop too?

Both Mrs. Hart and I twist back to look at him. He’s got his camera held deftly against his hip and he’s gesturing out with his right hand.

“Only unzip the top, where Charley can’t reach. I want her to do the rest. The pictures will be more seductive if she’s undressing herself,” he commands. Jeez. His unyielding tone demands compliance. I know Mrs. Hart will agree with his idea, but I have a feeling she would go along with his instructions even if she didn’t. He has a sort of animal magnetism about him. He’s the type of guy that commands immediate respect and I doubt any female is very good at telling him no.

“Absolutely,” Mrs. Hart breathes, reaching up to pull my zipper down an inch or so, only until I can reach around and touch the zipper’s metal teeth with my fingers. Mrs. Hart backs away, off the set, so that I’m left alone to glance back toward Jude over my shoulder. Nerves bloom in stomach as I realize I don’t have a bra on beneath the dress. Not because I don’t need one, my c-cups definitely do, but it would have been visible through the sides of the gown, and Mrs. Hart opted to leave me without one. It’s not usual on sets, but today it presents quite the interesting predicament.

Does he even realize? Probably not.