Bared

10

RAFE LED EMMA through his house. He’d gotten used to the mostly bare rooms that were waiting for him to make them his own. He wondered what she would think.

Emma was quiet as they walked through the empty living room, but when they passed the equally empty dining room, she said, “You do live here, right?”

“Yeah, I know, it’s hard to tell. That’s going to change after this calendar.”

“Why?”

“I’m getting off the circuit.”

“You’re retiring?”

“From Hollywood, yes.” He took her down a hallway, stark except for a stack of framed pictures leaning against the walls that he’d taken over the years but hadn’t yet hung.

When they got to the den, she smiled. “Ah. I can see you’ve claimed one room, at least.”

She was right. Here, in the large room with the high, opened-beamed ceiling, he had a big-screen TV and sound system against one wall and the largest sectional couch on the market against the other-one on which he could make his six-foot-two-inch frame comfortable.

The other two walls were all windows, looking out his backyard and pool, which he’d hosed down and cleaned earlier in anticipation of this shoot. The previous owner had grown a lush garden of wildflowers and trees bordering the grass, with brick paths and stone benches surrounded by pots of more flowers.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, going to the glass. “I can see why you wanted to shoot here.”

“The calendar calls for a pool shot.” He walked up behind her and took in the same view. “I figured, why not here.” Her hair tickled his nose and the scent of her filled his senses. He knew he was tempting fate to do this without a crew, but he had wanted to see what would happen, if, after a couple of weeks of this teasing, he’d still feel attracted.

He did. “Are you ready to do this?”

When she nodded, he retrieved the Nordstrom bag he’d had on a kitchen table.

She swallowed. “The costume?”

“The costume,” he confirmed, and reached into the bag.

When he dangled the black crocheted bikini from his fingers, she swallowed again but took it from him, her fingers entangling with his for one brief moment.

Holding on, he squeezed hers. “When you look at me like that, you drive me crazy.”

“Look at you like…what?”

Vulnerable and unsure, yet sexy as hell. He just shook his head. “You realize you could just walk away. This is Amber’s problem, not yours.”

“Where should I change?”

“Emma-”

“I’m doing this, Rafe. I promised I would, and-”

“And…?”

“And I want to.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged. After all, he didn’t want her to back out. He showed her to the bathroom and then went outside with his camera, not wanting to think about what he had to do, which was look at her in a bikini for at least an hour.

He tinkered with his equipment, setting up near the edge of the pool, with the hills in the background. There was a metallic silver float drifting on the water. He wanted her there, face down, hands together beneath her chin, legs slightly apart, drifting away from him. He’d pictured it long before he’d ever met Emma, knowing how perfect, how mouthwatering the shot would be.

What he hadn’t known was how exciting Emma would be, personally. He had the camera on the tripod and was playing with his settings when he heard the sliding glass door open behind him.

His pulse tripled but he kept his concentration on the camera, telling himself this was ridiculous, he’d taken hundreds, thousands of shots of supermodels across the globe, and not one of them had ever moved him personally.

There was a light breeze, which maybe would cool him off. His hair lifted from his damp forehead as the water slapped against the tiles.

Just another regular day of work.

He heard the pad of her bare feet as she came close, and with a little grimace, he lifted his head.

Any cooling effects from the breeze vanished.

The black crocheted bikini fit her as if it’d been made for her, lovingly cupping her full breasts, between her thighs, the yarn stretching, giving him peekaboo hints of creamy skin beneath.

She stopped about five feet away. Too far to touch her or smell her. Too far to see the pulse at the base of her neck, to judge if she was as affected as he.

But the puckered tips of her nipples, almost but not quite poking through the black string of her top, told him the truth.

Even as it nearly killed him.

He knew from that day in Kauai, when she’d worn nothing more than damp white silk, exactly how gorgeous she was; how full and high her breasts were even without support; how the color of her nipples was that of a perfect rosebud. When those nipples were aroused, as they were now, they made his knees weak.

Just standing there looking at her, he felt his body tighten. Painfully so.

He also knew from that day on that lush, wet island, when she’d worn nothing but a tiny strip of a thong, that she’d had to have either shaved or waxed her bikini line. He pictured her doing that this morning in preparation for this shoot, but the thought nearly undid him and his cargo shorts became a torture chamber.

Was she as wet as he was hard? If he tugged those bottoms loose from her body, preferably with his teeth, would he see just how wet?

“How’s this?” she asked, sounding just breathless enough to make him want to groan.

“Good.” His voice came out hoarse so he cleared his throat. “Damn good. So good I’m not sure I’ll remember how to use the camera.”

She put a hand to her belly as if nervous. “You probably say that to all your models.”

He shook his head.

“No?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“Never. I’ve never had any trouble concentrating on a shoot before,” he told her. “But I’m having trouble now.”

She dragged her bottom lip across her teeth. “It’s probably wrong to admit this, but seeing as we’re being so open…I like that you’re having trouble.” Her breathing wasn’t close to steady. “I should be taking notes, writing down all my jumbling emotions and body’s reactions to you for my research, but honestly, I can’t think clearly enough for that.”

Research. Right. Grateful for the reminder that she was here for that, he pointed to the metallic float. “That’s the prop.”

“What about makeup?”

“You’re going to be facing away from the camera.” He tossed her a bottle of baby oil. “Slick up first so the water will bead off you.”

Eyes on his, she opened the bottle and squirted the oil onto her palm. Slowly she began to spread it onto her skin-her legs, her arms, her belly, her chest, her back.

“Hair?” she whispered, straightening.

“Wet. All of you needs to be wet.” He had to look away from her when her pupils dilated. “Just slick your hair back from your face when you get in the pool.”

Turning away from him, she waded in, sucking in a breath as the cool water lapped at her calves, her thighs…between them. Craning her neck, she kept her eyes on his as she sank in a little deeper, to her breasts, and then ducked entirely under.

He let out a shaky breath.

When she surfaced, she slicked back her hair and reached for the float.

“On your stomach,” he said.

She pulled herself up until she was lying flat on her belly. Water sluiced off her, running in little rivulets down her slim spine, off her long legs. Between them.

His mouth went dry. “Arms bent a little, so that your hands, fingers flexed, float on top of the water.”

Following his directions to the letter, she did as he asked.

“Eyes closed,” he instructed. “Lie on one cheek, chin up slightly, hair to one side.”

She was now sprawled out, water beading on her, looking like a goddess. He let out a slow breath. “Spread your legs a little.”

She went utterly still, then slowly, very slowly, spread her legs an inch or two.

“More.”

This time she didn’t hesitate, digging her toes into opposite corners of the float. The picture of her lying there, body offered up, wet and shiny, arms and legs spread, had him staring, mesmerized.

“Rafe?”

Blinking, he put his eye to the lens and sucked in another breath. “Yeah. Perfect.” He took a few shots, his body tight as an arrow. “Are you thinking about your research?”

“I told you, I…I can’t.”

“Because of the jumbling emotions and your body’s reactions.”

“Yes.”

He kept snapping the shutter. “What are they? The jumbling emotions.”

She turned her head and glanced at him with a question in her eyes.

He managed a smile. “Maybe I can remind you later, when you’re trying to write it all down.”

“Oh.” She lay her head down again. “Mmm, the water feels nice. That’s my first emotion-pleasure. Then there’s the power.”

“Power?”

“Yes.”

Since her head was turned to the side, he could see only half her face. Her mouth curved slightly, and it was so feminine, so wily and sure that he felt it all the way to his toes, but he kept taking pictures.

“When you talk to me in your professional mode,” she said softly, “when you’re being The Photographer, your voice is cool, calm. Even.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, yes. But sometimes, like now, you talk to me in that low, throaty voice that tells me you’re not thinking cool and calm. You’re not thinking work. You’re thinking…”

“What?”

“Sex,” she said. “You’re thinking about sex, and I made you think about it. That’s the power. I mean I did that to you. I made you lose your concentration. You know what else?”

He was afraid to know, truly he was. But he stepped away from the camera and walked around the edge of the pool so he could see her face more clearly. “What?”

Her slight smile turned to a full-fledged grin. “I like it.”

His body tightened even more. “You like that you’re driving me right off the edge of control?”

“Yes.” She dipped her fingers in the water and played a little. Splashed him. “But to be honest, I’m also embarrassed.”

“Are you kidding?” He moved back behind his camera. He was safer there. “Why?”

“Because of the view you’ve got.” She wiggled, just a little. “I know the bathing suit is riding up, and with the angle you’re at, I’m wondering what you can see.”

“What I can see…” He took a good long look at her long legs, at the juncture of her thighs, how the black crocheted bottoms outlined her so perfectly. Then she squirmed slightly, and he nearly moaned at the sight. “I can see that you have the most heart-stopping legs on the planet. Your slim back is arched slightly, and the low-riding bikini exposes your butt enough that I can see your adorable twin dimples just above the top of the material.”

“I just had another jumbling emotion,” she said softly.

“Really? Tell me.”

“This is…turning me on,” she whispered.

She said the words in a way that made them seem like a conspirator’s secret, and his knees went shaky. “That’s reaction, not emotion. And it’s not very specific, not as far as your writing goes.” He had no idea why he was doing this, teasing them both into a fiery lather, but he couldn’t stop now. “Be specific, Emma.”

Her eyes were still shut, and he clicked away as she searched for the words or courage to tell him. “My skin feels too tight,” she finally said.

“Good.” He knew the feeling. He took his camera off the tripod and moved back to the side of the pool where he could get a better view of her face tipped toward the sun, eyes closed, the glow of excitement on her cheeks. “More.”

“My heart is pounding like I just ran a marathon.”

He pulled his face away from the lens, stared at her. Suddenly, he couldn’t do it any longer, he couldn’t treat her as a model. He’d never talked to a model like this.

He wanted to treat her as a woman.

For the first time in his career, he set the camera down in the middle of a shoot. He stepped onto the first step of the shallow end of the pool, letting his feet soak up the cool water in hopes it might cool off his overheated engines.

“What else?” he asked hoarsely.

“My nipples…they’re hard and throbbing.”

He understood hard and throbbing.

She opened her eyes “You’re…done?”

“I’m done. Emma, this isn’t the usual photo shoot.” He let out a long, shuddering breath. “I’ve never made it personal before, but this feels pretty personal.”

“What makes it different?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Maybe it’s because it’s your last job. Or…”

“Or?”

“Maybe you were thinking you could get something out of it.”

“No. God, no.” He watched her shoulders relax marginally at his emphatic answer. “It’s you.”

She looked at him for a moment, then dumped herself into the water. She swam toward him, beneath the water, breaking the surface just in front of him. Eyes never leaving his, she started up the steps, the water sluicing off her as her body was revealed, inch by glorious wet inch.

Drawn to her as if they were bound together, he took the next step down, meeting her halfway, and then suddenly they were lunging at each other, hands grappling for purchase, mouths mating, bodies straining while the water splashed around them.

He never even felt the water soaking into his shorts, nor the sun beating down on his back. All he felt was her body coming alive beneath his hands.

His certainly did.

Research, my ass, he thought, one hand skimming up her slim spine, the other cupping her butt in his hand, squeezing just a little, loving the feel of her hot skin and the cool water running down it. She felt so good against him, he would have liked to keep her there for days, until he had lapped her up from head to toe and felt sated.

More than anything, he wanted to have the time to do that, right here, right now.

As for the kiss, it was their first real one. He didn’t count Kauai or the desert. Those had been nice, sweet even, but each nothing more than a quick contact, a tease, a moment of playfulness.

Not this kiss.

This kiss stabbed him deep in the belly with its sharp, needy claws, and had nothing to do with quick or playful. This kiss was the result of weeks of hunger and desire. And though he had never been told of her past, of her sexual experiences, when he opened his mouth and slid his tongue in to dance with hers, he knew.

When she gripped him tighter and let out a soft gasp, he knew.

This wasn’t just two people scratching an itch, this wasn’t research, or a job, no matter what they claimed.

This was just two people, a man and a woman, looking for that elusive thing only a few lucky bastards ever really found.

Looking to be loved.