VAIN: Part One(6)

"I do." I'm not going to fill in the blanks. Why should I bother? He's obviously got more than one call girl on speed dial. He doesn't need me here.
"Cancel the plans." His shoulders tense as he shifts on his feet in front of me.
I step forward, challenging him. "No. I won't cancel."
"You know more about me now than when you took off the other night." A ghost of a smile flashes across his face. "I take it you researched who I am."
"The Noah Foster." I pull air quotes about the words. "Photographer extraordinaire."
His eyes dance as his name skirts across my lips. "Tell me more."
I scowl at the request. He's so full of himself that he actually wants me to recite his life story back to him. "You're twenty-nine and very elusive. You have a showing once a year and your pictures sell for a lot of money."
"Impressive, Alexa." His eyes darken. "You also researched this, no?" The careless way his hand brushes over his cheek is telling. I've seen Sadie do it a million times before when talking about her scar.
"No," I lie. I had tried in vain to find out what happened to his face, but there was nothing out there. I couldn't find a drop of information about the scar or what had caused it. "That I don't care about."
"You're lying."
"It's just a scar, the Noah Foster." I bite the edge of my tongue to temper my amusement. "You don't actually think anyone cares about it, do you?"
His expression shifts as his eyes gloss over. "You wouldn't understand."
I'm not about to tiptoe around this. "I understand. My best friend has a scar."
"She'd understand."
I ignore the inference that I'm not compassionate enough to understand what he feels. "If we're done here I need to get to a club. I'm meeting friends."
"We're not done." He steps into my path. "I wanted to see you again before I made my decision."
"Riddles, Noah." I push on his chest, shaken by the energy that instantly flows between the two of us. "What decision?"
"There's a part of me that wants to photograph you for my next showing." He holds out his left hand as if he's offering it to me. "The other part of me really wants to f*ck you." His right hand darts out.
Somehow I find my voice that is now buried in wanton desire. "You're assuming I want either." I want both. Can I have both pretty please?
"You want both," he counters.
I close my eyes tightly. I'm certain that something that has flashed across my expression is speaking to him the same way a bright neon sign would. "No," I whisper back. "I don't want either."
"You've researched me. You like my work." His tone is so confident and smooth. It's both irritating and alluring. Why the hell am I still standing here listening to him? Why haven't I bolted past him and hopped in a taxi to take me to the club?
"Your work is interesting," I say in a tempered tone. "I didn't know a thing about it until yesterday."
"I like that about you." His hand skirts over the hem of my white dress. "You don't give a shit about who I am, do you?"
I tip my brow in response. "You're right," I say coolly. "I don't give a shit about who you are."
"I want you to be the focus of my new show." He cocks his head as his eyes travel over my face. "You're perfect."
"I'm not interested." The sudden realization that this may actually be happening has dampened my desire to pose nude for him. That was just a fleeting fantasy I was having when I was masturbating to thoughts of him standing above me in all his naked glory holding a camera in one hand. I need to find a way to have less convoluted dreams.
"I'll pay you." Enticement skirts the words. "A lot," he adds for extra measure.
I hesitate. I know he sees it in my expression. I study his brown eyes, admiring the length of the lashes. There's a small mole beside his left eye, just above the scar. I stare at him wondering whether he'd be as seductive without the scar. It adds an edge to him that makes him utterly irresistible.
"Thousands, Alexa," he presses. "I'll pay you thousands of dollars if you'll pose for me."
My sex aches at the thought of diving into an arrangement like that with him. He must f*ck the women he photographs. He's so raw and determined. "I'm going to be a teacher," I almost whimper. I can't do something like that.
"I don't photograph faces." His eyes follow the path of his index finger as it runs across my chin. "You won't be identifiable. It will be our little secret."