Don't Tempt Me…. Dawn Atkins
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in for a kiss.
“Baby,” Joey murmured.
Click. Perfect. Samantha looked over at Rick, who’d fired off more frames, and they smiled at each other. They’d made the most of a delicate moment, working as a team, in wordless sync. Which was surprising considering they were virtual strangers. Rick had potential as an assistant.
But what about as a dinner partner?
She watched her couple, moved by the way Joey cupped Angela’s cheeks with his entire palms, as if he couldn’t touch enough of her, and how Angela pointed her toes between Joey’s feet, utterly thrilled to be in his arms.
Samantha wanted this intimacy, too. Eventually. After she’d been wild and free and wanton for a while. She would know when she was ready. In a couple of years. Maybe three. She had a lot of fantasies to live out.
She caught Rick looking at her. He seemed puzzled, as if she’d somehow surprised him. What was that about?
“Maybe we should go for a different position,” Joey said. “Move around, try some poses, mix it up?”
In the end, Samantha had to stop him before he asked for a wind machine and baby oil to make his muscles gleam.
She loaded the digitals on the computer, invoked the slide show and stepped back so the couple could admire themselves in peace. Rick stood beside her, looking on, too. She glanced at his profile, with its straight, masculine lines. He was deliciously male.
She could picture him with her on the big bed in the fairy-tale studio. She would pretend to be asleep. He would wake her with a kiss. Or maybe they’d be on the tiger chaise in this studio…her hands tied with a red silk sash…no, the black velvet one. Please…don’t…stop…. More…more…
“And bigger. More and bigger, right?”
Samantha jerked back to the moment. “Bigger? Huh?”
“And matte, not glossy,” Angela said. She meant print size, quantity and finish, Samantha realized. Whew.
All three people were staring at her. Hell, she’d lapsed into a fantasy in the middle of a shoot. It was Rick’s fault. He was the living embodiment of her fantasy man standing right here beside her, so broad and tall and handsome.
And he wanted her to hire him.
This could be a problem. Or a gift. He could help her in the studio and the bedroom.
“Many clients prefer matte,” she said, but she had to clear her throat to get out the words. “Less glare, but it’s up to you.” She babbled on about the proof book and the order, but she was thinking about Rick.
Could he want more than the job? He seemed mysterious to her. Which was partly why he was so hot. He could be anyone she wanted him to be.
Bedroom Eyes was the most important thing to her, right, and he could be a good assistant. She hadn’t counted on photography experience in her employee, but it could only help. Maybe she should give him the job and forget dessert altogether.
She and Rick walked the couple out to Bianca. Joey and Angela strolled arm in arm, looking at each other every few seconds as if they couldn’t believe their luck. Like a bride and groom faltering in the middle of their vows, awed by the power of their symbolic act, appreciating each other anew.
Samantha was so glad she’d given them this reminder of their love. Maybe couple shots were the best of all.
The clients gone, Samantha turned to Rick. “So what do you think?” she asked, knowing his words would tell her what to do.
“I’m impressed. You got those two from divorce court to a Hallmark card in two minutes flat. The digitals were great.”
“The prints will be better. I combine flash with tungsten so the golden highlights are warm, not cloying.”
“It’s more than the lights, Samantha. You have a gift.”
He wasn’t about to let her hide behind her gear. She liked that.
“There’s a lot you can teach me.” He stood a little closer, drawing her out, stretching the tension between them like a fine, tight wire.
There was a lot he could teach her, she’d bet. Naked. “You did a good job of getting Joey to cooperate.”
“Probably would help you to have a man around for that,” he coaxed.
“We did have a nice rhythm going.”
“Yeah. A nice rhythm.” And heat. They had heat going. His irises flickered with gold—candles shining out of all that green moss—telling her he wanted her.
Her knees turned to flan.
“It’s mostly clerical, Rick. Really. You might have to clean out drains and change AC filters for my tenants.”
“I don’t mind. Like I said, anything you—”
“Need. Right. You said that.” She held his gaze, her knees of flan jiggling beneath her.
“And I meant it.”
Did he really? Could he possibly? Could they work together and sleep together? Insane idea or time-saver?
“Okay. We try it for a week,” she said, trying to be firmer than her custard knees. “But if it doesn’t work out—”
“It’ll work out.” His eyes burned through her. He looked dark and dangerous, with stubble just emerging from his firm jaw, and he was so big. He’d have to bend down to kiss her, even if she went on tiptoe, and when he wrapped her in his arms, she’d be overpowered, overwhelmed, swept away.
“How can you be so sure?” she breathed.
“I am. Trust me.”
“We give it a week,” she said firmly, showing him who was boss. But there was a flicker of something in his green eyes that made her think that maybe she wasn’t quite as in charge as she should be.
3
SCORE. HE WAS IN. He had the job.
Of course, he’d practically sworn to be Sawyer’s love slave with the looks and dripping hints he’d delivered. The worst part was that it had come out so easily. Like butter, like cream, like sliding into bed with a hot, hungry woman.
Something about her dug at him—the yes-no vibe she gave off. Flirting, then backing away, as if she’d stepped too far out on a tightrope on a dare.
He wanted to reassure her. Yeah, you’re hot. Yeah, I’d jump you if I could.
He liked her. She had this bizarre business, but she seemed sincere. Forget liking her. He had to keep personal reactions under control. Constant awareness, attention to detail and neutral detachment were the secrets to successful undercover work. The less personal he got, the better.
Except she wouldn’t trust him if he didn’t connect with her, so he had to engage in some repartee. Within reason. Work it for the case. He’d given her mixed messages, too, which wasn’t fair and hadn’t helped.
God he hated being undercover.
It made him feel out of control. He hated checking the rearview, doubling back over every story for consistency and cracks. Hated pretending to be someone he wasn’t, hated living with his lies. For now, he contented himself with his success.
Telling Sawyer he needed a bite, he headed out to his Jeep to phone his partner, grab a burger, then return so she could go over his duties.
He crossed the lot, liking when the mild October breeze kicked up, promising change, just like the case. Adrenaline rushed his pulse and he felt primed for action. Easier to ignore that lust-pumped charge he’d gotten over the fact he’d be hanging around Sawyer for a while.
Lot of good that did him when he had to avoid dessert at all cost.
He