Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)(20)

“What do you mean?”

“Something that’s out of place. Something you don’t expect to see. A pink sock fluttering on a bush makes you wonder why a pink sock is there. A dog with a goofy expression that makes him appear almost human. The moment before a kiss when the woman is surprised.”

“Do you photograph kisses often?”

She shook her head. “Not often enough. I’d like to, though. I’d like to do a photographic book of kisses.”

“Would you put yourself in it?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Depends if I looked like I wanted the kiss desperately.”

Oh, that was too easy. He stepped closer, swiped his thumb across her chin, and held her face. A tiny gasp came from her throat, and her lips parted.

“Yeah, like that,” he said, his voice rumbling as he held her gaze. The look in her green eyes was hazy, full of want. “That’s the image you want to capture.”

“Maybe I don’t just want the before,” she whispered, her accent thicker, the way it sounded when she was more turned on. She was more French when she was aroused. He brushed the barest of kisses on her lips, a small, gentle kiss that made his skin sizzle. “I want the after, too.”

Before. After. In between. He wanted it all with her. One simple kiss and he was on a slingshot into wild longing.

“I want it, too,” he said, his voice low and hungry.

She pulled back and blinked as if refocusing. “You keep distracting me from packing up,” she said, her voice soft and playful. “And I need to, so I can steal you away from here for a few moments.”

He swept his arm out grandly toward her camera bag. “By all means, pack up then.”

She tucked the remaining items in pouches and pockets, keeping her eyes on him. “Thank you for what you said about my pictures. About how you see something in a new way from them. That means a lot to me. Sometimes I go back through old photographs and see new details. Some slant of light, or a new angle. Something that wasn’t there before.”

“Will you look at them all later? Hunting for details?”

She nodded, meeting his eyes. “I will. Including that one of you.”

The temperature inside him rose. “What will you search for in that one?” he asked, and when she looked at him like that, her gaze intense and knowing, the breath fled from his lungs, and he felt…disarmed. She was so direct. And yeah, she’d been like that when he knew her before, but it was magnified now, amplified by age and worldliness, as if all her inherent confidence had been strengthened and sculpted over time.

“Maybe I’ll remember how it felt to have you in front of me.”

His head felt dizzy. His blood rushed hot. “How does it feel?”

“Like a favorite memory is real once more. And real is very, very good.”

*

She didn’t want another ghost. She wanted the solidness of Michael. The warm skin. The beating heart. He was flesh and here with her. That fueled her, made her want to answer this persistent hum in her bones asking for nourishment, asking for all she’d been deprived of.

Contact. Connection. A thread binding her to another human being.

But asking for all that was too much, too soon.

Instead, she gestured to the edge of the pool area as she hiked her bag on her shoulder. “Walk with me?”

“Where are we headed? Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” She patted her stomach, flat as could be as they walked. “You know I always have a good appetite.”

A smile spread slowly on his face, and he nodded. “Super metabolism,” he said, since that was what she’d called it.

“French metabolism,” she added.

She was slim and trim, but she didn’t deprive herself. She wasn’t a pig, but she wasn’t a “I’ll just have the salad” girl, either. Her secret was simple—she put one foot in front of the other and burned it off.

“Still walk everywhere?”

She nodded and then held up a finger as they reached the doorway leading into the hotel. “Wait. That’s not true. I took an Uber today,” she said, like it was a confession.

He arched an eyebrow. “Naughty girl.”

“I know. I’m the worst. But in my defense, I went several miles away. Breakfast with Becky.”

“Yeah? How was that?”

She scrunched her brow. “A little odd, to tell the truth. I’ll talk to you about it at lunch. If you want to get lunch?”

He nodded. “Sure. I know some great spots here at Caesars. But do you really only have twenty minutes? Because that would mean taking you to the vending machines on the third floor and springing for pretzels.”

A grin tugged at her lips, and she stage-whispered, “That’s what they tell the girls. To make sure they’re back in an hour. So I actually have about that long.” She set her hand on his arm, wrapping it around his bicep. Oh, that was nice. He was so toned, so strong. Julien had been ropy and lanky. Michael was broad, firm, and just…bigger. Stronger. She liked that he felt different from what she’d been used to. “I thought we’d be done by now. That I’d have you arrive at the end of the shoot and then…”

“And then what?”

She shrugged happily. “And then…” She let her voice trail off once more, leaving possibilities lingering in the air. The truth was she’d been hoping for more of last night. For a repeat performance, and then some. She wanted to touch him, to smash into him, to feel him grind against her, and to wrap her legs around him. Call her greedy, call her needy—she’d own up to all of that. But when the director had told her the shoot was lasting well into the afternoon, and maybe the evening, she wasn’t so sure she’d get what she wanted. She’d have to settle for lunch. She gestured right at the next corner, indicating the hallway that led to business suites in the hotel.