Risky Play (Red Card #1)(65)

His life . . . didn’t allow room for two loves.

Because he didn’t let it.





Chapter Forty-Seven SLADE

“Right there, Slade, yeah, just like that, and smile!” The photographer, who introduced himself as J, fired off a few more shots. The model next to me wore a bikini bottom and a men’s button-down shirt and was holding a motorcycle helmet. I was shirtless, in leather pants that were too tight, and I was sweating.

It wasn’t a good sweat.

More like a get-me-the-hell-out-of-here sweat.

Matt gave me a thumbs-up from behind the camera.

And Mack stood next to him, her expression indifferent.

She’d been acting oddly ever since talking to Jagger—and when I approached Jagger about it, the jackass actually looked guilty, like he’d said or done something.

But every time I thought about asking Mack, she’d snap out of it. And it’s not like our sex life slowed down.

If anything, it was crazier. I was hardly getting any sleep, and this morning I woke up with her mouth wrapped around me.

I told her it was one of the best mornings of my life.

And I meant it.

So why the face?

“Over here, Slade.” J snapped his fingers. “Alright, now lean down and kiss her neck.”

I hesitated.

Matt gave me a What the hell, just do it look.

And Mack looked down.

Fuck.

This was my job.

They were paying me to do this.

I started sweating even more, my legs dying a slow death in the leather pants and my dick reminding me that it needed blood flow or it was going to fall off in the next picture.

J sighed in irritation. “Slade, her neck, I need a slow kiss, then hesitate and look up.”

Screw it.

I kissed her neck and paused.

J snapped a few more photos and cursed. “You look bored. Can you at least pretend you find one of the world’s hottest supermodels attractive?”

Hell, I didn’t even know her name.

It wasn’t important.

She wasn’t Mack.

“That your girlfriend?” she asked, peering up at me under long lashes, with bright-blue eyes and lips that had to be cosmetically enlarged.

“Yes.” I offered a polite smile.

“So . . .” The model shrugged. “Pretend I’m her.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“Slade! Are we talking or are we working?” J yelled, then turned to Matt and started firing off words that made Matt’s face turn red.

“Sorry!” I called. “I’ll do better, I’m just . . . hot.”

“Yeah, you are,” the model murmured.

My heart cracked a bit in my chest. That had to be the reason it hurt to breathe, the reason I felt like I wanted to cut and run and turn down a ten-million-dollar Gucci campaign.

“Hey, the sooner you do a few good shots, the sooner you can take your girl out for drinks, alright?” The model winked. “Showtime.”

She wrapped her legs around my waist and leaned back against the motorcycle.

“Yes!” J snapped more pictures and got closer. “Slade, I want you to straddle the motorcycle and then lean over her, take her bottom lip between your teeth and tug. Be sure to keep your chin thrust so you don’t create a double chin.”

I prayed Mack wouldn’t be like my ex.

I prayed she’d understand that this was part of the job.

And if she didn’t understand?

If she hated it?

I’d tell Matt no more campaigns.

It wasn’t worth the stress pumping through my body as I leaned over and took the model’s plump bottom lip between my teeth and pulled.

I felt nothing.

Nothing except sweat running down the back of my thighs.

Nothing but irritation when she moved her mouth closer and then slid her tongue past my lips, taking advantage of the situation in a way that had me feeling manipulated and guilty all at once.

“Yes, yes!” J shouted. “Damn, that’s hot, the angle’s perfect, you guys are going to love these.” He took a few more snaps over what felt like a lifetime. “Keep kissing, part your lips, Slade, just a bit.”

I parted my lips at about the same time the model grabbed my ass and squeezed. At least she wasn’t moaning.

“Perfect!” J announced.

I jerked away from her and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Are we good?”

“I think—” He looked through the shots on his camera and then nodded to the team of people behind the set. They gave him an okay. “Fantastic, thanks, Slade, I think the intimacy is what really helped get the passion across.”

“Yeah.” I felt sick.

Sick to my stomach.

I made my way over to Mack.

Her smile was fake.

I hated it.

Her body language was stiff.

I wanted to run myself over with the set motorcycle.

“Mack,” I croaked.

Her smile didn’t make it to her eyes as she reached for my hand. I squeezed it tight and didn’t let her pull away.

“So, you must be the girlfriend?” Did that model ever quit? What the hell was her name again? Jana? Dana? Did it matter?

“Yup.” I wrapped an arm around Mack and pulled her close, sweaty chest and legs be damned. “This is my girlfriend.”