Falling For Mr. December. Kate Hardy
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best page on the calendar. He could probably sell the calendar all by himself.
But now he’d said there was no wife or girlfriend, she couldn’t help wondering: how come a gorgeous man with a good brain and kind eyes was single? Was it because he was a workaholic and his girlfriends tended to get fed up waiting for him to notice them? Or had she missed some major personality flaw?
‘What?’ he asked, clearly noting that she was staring at him.
‘Nothing,’ she said, embarrassed to discover that her voice was slightly croaky. She really had to get a grip. The last thing she needed was for her skittish model to work out that she was attracted to him. And Nicholas Kennedy was bright. He couldn’t be more than five or six years older than Sammy’s own thirty years, and he was at the top of his profession. Scratch bright: that kind of background meant he had to be super-bright. So he’d be able to work it out quickly.
She got him to do a few more poses. To her relief, he’d relaxed enough with her by now to trust her, even when she moved round and took some shots from the side and some others from the back. And, oh, his back was beautiful. She’d love to do some proper nude studies of him. In a wood, looking for all the world like a statue of a Greek god.
Not that he’d agree to it. Not in a million years.
But a girl could dream...
‘OK. That’s a wrap. You can get dressed now,’ she said, ‘and by the time I’ve loaded everything on to my laptop we’ll be ready to go to dinner.’
‘The stuff I was wearing is hardly dressy enough for going out,’ he said.
She laughed. ‘As I wasn’t planning to take you to the Dorchester or Claridge’s, I think you’ll be just fine.’
She put the memory card in the slot on her laptop and downloaded the photographs while she packed away the rest of her equipment. Once she’d finished downloading the pictures, she saved the files. ‘Is it OK for me to turn round now?’ she asked with her back still towards Nick.
‘Sure.’
Rather than putting on the ratty T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms again, he was wearing the white tunic shirt—without the collar—the waistcoat and his court trousers.
Sammy’s heart skipped a beat. Right now, with his formal dress very slightly dishevelled, he looked as sexy as hell. She could imagine him with the shirt undone, especially as she’d actually seen his bare chest. If his hair was ever so slightly longer and someone had ruffled her hand through it to suggest that he’d just been thoroughly kissed, he’d look spectacular. In fact he’d go straight to number one in the Sexiest Man in the World list. She itched to get her camera out again. And this time she’d make him pose very differently.
‘OK?’ he asked.
No. Not OK at all. She was all quivery and girly, and that really wasn’t good.
So she’d have to fall back on acerbic humour to hide how she really felt. ‘Sure. Lucky, lucky me—I get to have dinner with a half-dressed man.’ Her mouth quirked. ‘Are you really so vain that you couldn’t go out to eat in an old tracksuit and T-shirt?’
‘I’m not vain,’ he protested. ‘I just feel a little more comfortable in this than I do in the scruffy stuff.’
‘It’d serve you right if I took you to a fast-food burger restaurant now—and then you’d really look out of place,’ she teased.
‘I’ll bluff it. There’s nothing wrong with burgers.’
Did he really expect her to believe that? She’d just bet he was the kind of guy who went for fine wines and Michelin-starred dining. ‘When was the last time you went to a fast-food place?’ she challenged.
‘Last weekend, with my nephews,’ was the prompt reply. ‘Next question?’
Ouch. She’d forgotten about his nephews. If they were teens, like her own nephews, then she knew he’d be very familiar with fast-food places. She screwed up her face. ‘OK, now it’s my turn to apologise. Blame my rudeness on low blood sugar. Because I am a grumpy, starving photographer right now.’
He smiled, and she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Stuffy and uncomfortable, she could deal with, but relaxed and sexy was another kettle of fish entirely.
Right now, Nick Kennedy could be very dangerous to her peace of mind.
‘Let’s go and eat,’ Nick said, ‘and you can show me how much of an idiot I’ve made of myself.’
He hadn’t made an idiot of himself at all. He was utterly gorgeous and he’d be the star of the calendar—even more so than the actor and the musician who’d posed for her earlier in the week, because they were aware of how pretty they were and Nick wasn’t. But Sammy knew she needed to keep her libido under control. She’d learned her lesson well, after Bryn.
No.
More.
Relationships.
Make that underlined and with three exclamation marks. And covered in acid yellow highlighter to make sure she didn’t forget it.
‘My car’s outside,’ she said.
‘So is mine.’
She took a coin from her purse. ‘Let’s toss for it. The winner gets to drive. Heads or tails?’
‘Heads.’
It was heads.
‘My car, then,’ he said.
‘Do you mind if I bring my equipment with me?’ she asked. ‘I’d prefer not to leave it unattended, even if it’s locked out of sight in my car.’
‘It would make more sense,’ Nick said, ‘if we got a takeaway and ate it at my place. Then neither of us would have to worry about leaving expensive work equipment unattended in the car.’
‘Why your place and not mine?’
He coughed. ‘Because I just won the coin toss.’ He paused. ‘You can ring my sister and ask her to vouch for me, if you’re worried about going to a stranger’s flat.’
‘A stranger who’s willing to put himself out of his comfort zone to help raise money for an oncology ward, and whose day job means he skewers the baddies in court and gets them sentenced for their crimes? I think I’ll be safe enough with you,’ Sammy said. Plus all her instincts were telling her that Nick was one of the good guys, and her instincts—except when it came to dating—were pretty good. ‘But I’ll follow you in my car. That makes more sense than getting the Tube back here afterwards.’
‘You won’t have to get the Tube back here. I’ll give you a lift.’
‘So you’re going to drive home, then back here, then home again? That doesn’t make sense either.’ She took her phone out of her bag. ‘Give me your address, just in case I get stuck in traffic and can’t follow you over a junction or something, and end up having to use my satnav.’ She tapped in the details as he dictated them. ‘Great. Let’s go.’
‘Can I carry anything for you?’ he asked.
She indicated his armful of boxes and carriers. ‘I think you’ve got enough of your own, and anyway I’m used to lugging this lot about.’
‘Fair enough.’
She took the notice off the court door, told the security team that it was fine to lock up, and packed all her equipment into her car. And all the time she was berating herself mentally. She must be crazy. Why hadn’t she just done what she’d agreed with her other models and emailed him a choice of half a dozen photographs that she could go on to present to the calendar committee? Why was she letting him review the whole shoot with her?
The truth was because she wanted to spend more time with him. Because she was attracted to him.
But she also knew that her relationships