Hard to Resist. Samantha Hunter
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“Whatever. I bet they always get their girl, too.”
Lacey studied the man staring out from the Ranger’s PR photo and smiled. “He’s got good eyes. Dark hair, dark eyes. That straight jawline could be on a statue at the Met, but he’s so serious. All the rest are smiling.”
“Maybe he doesn’t like having his picture taken.”
“We’ll have to change that right quick,” Lacey said in a mock Western accent, slipping out of her serious self for a moment, though she couldn’t joke about the facts in front of her.
“This guy is the real deal. Look at his bio. Very single, career cop, has more awards and recognitions than I can count. He was nominated for the calendar by his community after he stopped a school shooter single-handedly. He found the guy targeting a local migrant school before the shooting happened. Tracked him through the Texas desert for five days and brought him back. Alive.”
“Wow,” Jackie breathed the word, fanning her face, and Lacey had to agree. Wow indeed.
Lacey couldn’t help but be impressed with the stories of the twelve men on her wall. They were good men. Men who put their lives on the line to help others. The one thing all of the calendar candidates had in common was that they’d pitched in to help during the weeks of 9/11, one of the criteria for the application.
The Bliss calendar this year was going to be a smash, a celebration of the best of the best. It was also going to be a very visible leap for Lacey into the world of commercial photography. It could push her to the top. That was what she was counting on, anyway.
Lacey had given up several other opportunities to land the deal. The women’s magazine equivalent of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, the Bliss project was the chance of a lifetime.
She wasn’t going to let the past get the best of her.
Eyeing Mr. November again, she allowed herself to imagine the possibilities, just for a second.
“His eyes are good,” Jackie agreed, “but I can’t wait to see him with his shirt off. I bet he has great abs, naturally defined, not gym-machine generated.”
Lacey agreed. “I love the slope of the croup…”
“The…what?” Jackie frowned at her as if she was nuts.
Lacey laughed. “Sorry. My parents raised horses back in Nevada, and sometimes I can’t help thinking about people’s bodies in equine terms. Especially men.”
“I’ll bet he’s hung like a—”
“Jackie!” Lacey admonished, laughing. “We’re not taking those kinds of pictures.”
“Hey, gotta show some skin for Bliss. But what’s the slope of the—What was it again?”
“Croup. On a horse, it’s the curve that follows the hip to the tip of the tail—right about here on our handsome model,” she said, leaning in to trace the masculine line from hip over his hindquarters.
“Oh. Yeah. I love that part,” Jackie said approvingly. “Very important for good thrust, yes?”
Lacey choked on a shocked laugh, pulling her hand back as she realized she hadn’t withdrawn her finger from the photograph yet, her cheeks catching fire. Maybe she wasn’t quite as detached as she thought she was.
“Yes, I suppose it would be. Thanks for the visual. I guess Mr. December should be here tomorrow, right?”
Jackie snapped to attention. “Oh, crap, I meant to tell you—I had to change up the first two appointments. November is coming in first because December’s wife went into labor, so he won’t be in for a week or so.”
“Oh, well, good for them. We should send something, congratulations, flowers, whatever,” Lacey commented absently, still studying the pictures.
“Already done.”
“You’re the best.”
“So, Mr. Luscious should be arriving at LaGuardia around 10:00 a.m.—I’ll meet him, of course.” Jackie grinned like a cat swallowing a whole flock of canaries. “And then after lunch you’ll meet him for an afternoon planning session, some studio time, and get out on the shoot day after tomorrow. He’s single. No babies to worry about, thank the heavens.”
“Sounds good. Thanks so much for all of your help. I’ve never had a full-time assistant before. I could get used to it.”
“Hit a bull’s-eye with this job, and you’ll need one to keep up with all the projects that will be coming your way,” Jackie said sincerely, patting Lacey’s arm. “Oh, I have to go. I’m meeting Kenny at the rib place he’s been insisting on going to. You want to come along? He’s into photography, too, and was hoping to talk shop with you at some point.”
“Really? I didn’t know that—what’s he do?”
Jackie shrugged. “He’s been doing all kinds of things for a while. He had a small gallery show, and he’s been picking up some brochure work, catalogs, that kind of thing.”
“Everyone has to start somewhere.”
“He’s really good—I could show you some of his stuff sometime.”
Lacey smiled, but always felt awkward in situations where up-and-coming photographers wanted to make contact, but it was how the game was played, and Jackie was her assistant.
“Sure—but you go ahead for dinner. I have work to finish up here. Thanks, though.”
“Okay, I’ll have your hunk here for you safe and sound tomorrow.”
“Don’t take a bite out of him before you get here.”
Jackie stuck her tongue out. “Spoilsport.”
Lacey grinned, then was left alone to quietly study the men. They were all amazing, although Jackie was right. November stood out. Maybe slightly older than the others, he had more presence, more…something. Manliness, charisma…Those steady brown eyes might have been staring down a suspect as much as a camera as he peered out from the picture. Dangerous. Not to be messed with.
Would he look at her that way? Did his eyes soften when he was with a lover? Naked, tangled in silky sheets, skin to skin? Was he still all hard edges and intense eyes then?
A shiver skidded over her skin. She didn’t need to be around any man with the capacity to be dangerous. Still, she wondered what it would take to make him smile. Reaching out to draw her finger along his outline again, she stopped when her fingers met his lips.
Maybe Mr. November could remind her how good being with a real man could be, not some jerk who got off on hurting women. They would be working alone for several days, moving around the city. Almost nothing was as intimate to Lacey as staring down the barrel of her lens at someone, closing in, finding the shot.
It was New York City. Anything could happen.
SLOPE OF HIS CROUP, HUH? Would she be asking to check his teeth or feeling him up for spavins and thorough-pins and other physical faults before they were done? Jarod Wyatt shook his head, mostly amused. The idea of her feeling him up wasn’t an entirely unappealing one, and at least she knew something about horses. He hadn’t expected that from a city girl.
He stood in the dark corner of the Bliss studio, fascinated by the conversations he’d overheard, and more so with the woman who couldn’t seem to keep her hands off him—or off his picture, anyway.
The smaller, dark-haired girl with the lusty sense of humor walked out the back, leaving the blonde—the photographer—standing alone in perfect silhouette against the white wall. She was lanky and somewhat coltish in build, but she moved gracefully. Her fingers were long and thin like the rest of her, though beneath the khakis and black T-shirt, he could see she had her share of curves.
Jarod