Chapter Six

I cough and he looks up. He grins, unapologetic, and a dimple appears on his cheek.

“The shoot?” I question, drawing on every bit of strength I have inside me to deal with this.

“Are you ready to start?”

Nope. I’m ready to click my heels and see if I’ll magic the hell out of here.

“Yes. Where do you want me?” Wrong question. Wrong question.

Something flickers in his eyes—lust. “On the bed.”

Wrong answer. Wrong answer.

I walk across the room and climb onto the bed. His eyes follow me the whole time, and I see him slowly raise the camera to his eye out of the corner of mine.

I cough and he looks up. He grins, unapologetic, and a dimple appears on his cheek.

“The shoot?” I question, drawing on every bit of strength I have inside me to deal with this.

“Are you ready to start?”

Nope. I’m ready to click my heels and see if I’ll magic the hell out of here.

“Yes. Where do you want me?” Wrong question. Wrong question.

Something flickers in his eyes—lust. “On the bed.”

Wrong answer. Wrong answer.

I walk across the room and climb onto the bed. His eyes follow me the whole time, and I see him slowly raise the camera to his eye out of the corner of mine.

“I want you sitting in the middle of the bed, however is comfortable for you. I want some natural shots so I can see where to go from there.”

I nod once and exhale slowly. I take a moment to close my eyes and get into the place where I forget about the eyes on me. It’s hard in this instance when his gaze—even through a camera—is all I’m truly aware of.

Somehow, I get to a place where I feel like I can concentrate on this shoot. I fall into my usual rhythm, the freeness of my movements throwing it off a little. Usually, I’m told what to do, who to be, how to sit or lie or stand.

“Good, good…” Ivan mumbles. “There’s a glass of wine on the side. Use it.”

The sight of the red wine makes my stomach roll. Damn, I hate red wine.

Still, I wrap my fingers around the stem, lean back, and rest the glass on my thigh. The shutter clicks twice. After a few shots on the bed, including one with my lips firmly clamped as I tilt the glass up, I slide onto the floor.

I lean on the bed, the wine glass my focus, and the shutter clicks again. And again. Ivan comes closer, moves to the side, shoots down.

He instructs me in my movements now, pulling me from the sofa to the bed to the middle of the floor. Playful, sexy, brooding—we cover every emotion and pose possible. 

“Move to the window,” he orders, taking the wine glass from me. “I want you sitting on the seat, one leg bent at the knee and the other stretched out. Put your back against the wall.”

I follow his instructions.

“Put one hand on your thigh, the other above your head. I want you to look out of the window. Imagine you’re waiting for someone to come home, someone you miss, and the lingerie is for him.”

I swallow.

“You need to think of nothing other than being intimate with him.”

My mind flashes back to him kissing his way down my stomach and parting my legs. His fingers rough, his touch desperate, his movements easy and controlled, his breath hot against my skin...

“Perfect,” he says in a voice lower than before. Lower and rougher.

My heart pounds in my chest fast enough that it’s capable of destroying my calm mask. I desperately want to run my tongue over my dry lips, and it flicks out before I can do anything about it.

“Now, imagine he’s home, and he’s walking up those stairs, and he’s opening the door. You turn to him.”

I turn my face and he’s standing right in front of me. His camera is resting on the chair, and the look in his eye destroys any hope of my heart calming.

It’s dangerous. It’s a desperate glint of wanting, and my chest heaves as he brings a hand to the side of my face. He lightly brushes his fingers down my cheek. They’re rough, rubbing along my skin as they hover at my jawline.

“What are you doing?” My words are a shaky whisper.

“I’m appreciating a beautiful woman.”

I swallow. Three times. “Your job is to do that behind the camera. Someone might come up.”

Ivan smiles. “They left half an hour ago, when you were trying not to drink that wine.”

I pause, my lips curving. “Clara left?”

He nods, curling his fingers under my chin and stroking my jaw with his thumb. “Yes. There are reasons I shoot alone. One of them is so I can take photos without any rules because I enjoy it.”

“So the last… Here… They were…?”

“For my benefit.”

“And we’re here. Alone?” Oh, this is not good.

He leans in and his breath tickles my lips. “Yes, Brenda. We’re here alone.”

“This is unprofessional,” I say as my blood roars through my veins in a way that contradicts my words.

“We’re not working anymore,” he whispers, closing the distance between our mouths.