Body of Work (7 page)

“Well, whoever he is,” Trevor ripped the page free, “he’s no competition for me.”

Call that a lesson learned. Or relearned, because it wasn’t the first time she’d been burned. Cassie fastened her seat belt and willed Brian to feel the heat of her long-distance glare as she exited the parking lot. Not that the mess from minutes ago fell entirely on his extra-wide shoulders. She knew better than to take sex talk as gospel. Lance had promised all kinds of things while hopped up on sex endorphins—to set a wedding date, to stop pressuring her to do a threesome, to keep her secrets. All lies. She should’ve known better, then and now.

Things with Brian had just seemed so…natural. Far more than the rollercoaster year she’d spent with Lance. Stupid, maybe, but she and Brian had clicked since day one, and last night had taken that connection to an amazing place. More than a night of incredible sex, or so she’d thought. Because she wanted it to be more with Brian.

Truthfully, he’d done her a favor, squashing her in front of his grossly inappropriate boss. He’d reminded her that people—men, in particular—were unpredictable and not always trustworthy. Better that she remember that now, before she accidentally let him further into her life than the bedroom. Sharing all her secrets with Lance had cost her dearly. She literally couldn’t afford to make that mistake a second time.

The other thing she wasn’t going to do again was turn tail and run. Certainly not because of one flub where she’d assumed more than she should have. Awkward as Tuesday might be, she’d walk in there with her head high—as high as her five-foot-two frame allowed—and be all about the exercise. Brian wouldn’t get the satisfaction of knowing that he’d gotten under her skin when he’d marked it.

By the time she pulled into her driveway, the anger had dissipated. A good thing, since she had important clients arriving soon. She hurried through the house to her bedroom, stripping off her gym clothes as she went. She tossed the lot on the bed, swapping the spandex and booty-revealing shorts for some of the semi-professional, nice-girl-next-door items that put most clients at ease. Cream-colored top, tan Capri pants and last, but most important—soft-soled flat sandals. Casual, quiet camouflage, she considered it.

A bit of soft makeup, a couple adjustments to her barrettes and she was ready. She scooped the gym clothes from her bed, her hand lingering on the rumpled sheets. Even after the mixed-up mess with Brian at the gym, she couldn’t help thinking about what they’d done in that bed—and smiling at the recollection. She’d come five times last night. Five. The last time, with his mouth, had gone on and on for what seemed like forever, completely frying her circuits. She’d barely registered his good-night kiss as he spooned in behind her, his hard-on wedged between their bodies.

What kind of man goes down on a woman, gets her off in spades, but doesn’t demand or expect gratification for himself? Not the kind she expected to drop her the next day. The more she reflected on last night, the more his behavior at the gym hurt her head. She had no issue with two bodies bumping and grinding to temporarily meet mutual needs, then moving on. But nothing about last night felt like a one-night stand. His unexpected appearance on her doorstep, his hesitancy to make the first move. The sex itself…she’d never had anything like that in any of her casual encounters, if ever. Then there was the cuddling. She’d woken a few times throughout the night to find his arms still closed tightly around her—protective, possessive.

Something had changed
after
he’d left her bed this morning. He’d taken a call on his cell, written a note in her kitchen and left. Only…the front door had been locked when she left for the gym. Oh god, he’d gone out the back door. In the light of day. She limp-jogged to the rear of the house, heart pounding against her ribs as she searched for anything that might’ve given her away. The Cassie Johnson Photography sign hung on the wall behind a chair and telephone table. The only business cards in the holder matched the sign. Nothing alarming about those items—no trace of her alter ego anywhere in this room. But what if he’d gone downstairs? Not that he had any reason to, but what if he had, out of simple curiosity?

She clutched the railing and took the basement stairs as quickly as possible. From halfway down, the seating area came into view. Three white, butter-soft leather chairs and a matching full-length couch formed something of a circle around a low, round, glass-top coffee table, much like a sophisticated rec room. Farther to the right lay the studio area where she did her commercial work and traditional portrait sittings. The left side of the basement housed her L-shaped desk and its two black leather office chairs. A few feet along, filing cabinets and shelves of camera equipment. Still nothing that would send him packing.

But if he’d made it all the way to the bottom for a better look, as in, around the partition wall… The bed, she could justify. Had used many times for G-rated photo shoots, like the time she photographed the Grady family, all four wearing red pajamas, tucked under an heirloom quilt. Such a great picture. If he’d seen the bed today, though, adorned with the Mancusos’ toys for the shoot—oh god.

A double knock rattled the back door. “Come in,” she called up while taking the basement stairs faster than her ankle cared for. She smiled while pulling the door open. A genuine one, because not only were Paolo and Beth Mancuso her most lucrative clients, they were truly wonderful people and shooting them was a treat for her eyes and her heart. They’d become friends.

“Hey, guys.” Cassie waved them inside. “How many times have I told you to knock and walk in?”

“I told Paolo to open the door, but he wouldn’t.” Beth pulled her gorgeous husband in behind her. “He worries that we might catch
you
doing something naughty, since this studio is in your house, not in a separate building, like your old place.”

Exactly why Cassie was eating truckloads of no-name pasta in an attempt to bank cash faster. Damn Lance for being the world’s biggest douchebag. She’d had such a great setup—two-story century home on a picturesque street with a coach house tucked privately in the back.
That
had been a wicked studio. No amount of renovations to her basement would bring it to that level of awesome. At least she hadn’t lost her business when she’d been forced to sign over her property. But it’d come pretty darn close and the Mancusos knew that, though few others did. If not for them sticking by her and Nana writing a check, she’d be taking passport photos at the Walmart portrait studio. She had a lot to be thankful for.

She gave Beth an affectionate squeeze, then released her. “Listen, as long as you come in my back door, I guarantee you won’t catch anything.”

Paolo and Beth blinked at her and broke into simultaneous laughter.

“All right, all right. Enough laughing at the foot in my mouth, let’s move this downstairs.”

As usual, Paolo insisted the ladies descend before him. Such a gentleman—with his clothes on, anyway. Cassie led the way, not wanting to get between husband and wife. She poured three glasses of Chianti and took a seat across from the couch where her clients had settled.

This warm-up time made the experience more comfortable for most people, which resulted in more intimate, natural photos. Better photos meant return business and word-of-mouth referrals. Anybody with a steady hand, good lighting and a decent camera could take pictures. Capturing raw, real emotion was an altogether different story, especially when the subjects tended to be naked and…busy. Call her cocky, but she had a knack for it, and credited the prep time she invested in
people
as part of that knack.

Sometimes clients sat and chatted for an hour, or knocked back a couple of drinks before they relaxed enough to do whatever it was they had in mind. Repeat clients like Paolo and Beth had started out that way. Now they rarely needed much of a primer.

Camera tucked in her lap, Cassie sipped her wine and opened the conversation. “How’s business at the restaurant?”

“Excellent.” Paolo gave Cassie his eyes, but his hand stayed on Beth’s bare knee, just below the hem of her skirt. “The new features are all hits and the pictures you took for the menu are beautiful, simply beautiful. You need to come by, sit at the chef’s table, enjoy some of them.”

“One of these days.” When she had a wad of cash and nothing practical to save it for—yeah right.

“Our treat,” Paolo said, as if reading her mind. “And bring somebody special. Tell us you’ve found a man who makes you happy.”

“Um, sort of…” How romantic would that be, eating at the nicest Italian restaurant in the city with Brian’s hand moving up her leg—much like Paolo’s was on Beth’s—under a linen-covered table? Only Brian had taken himself out of that equation and left her solo in more than this fantasy. “One day soon, maybe I will,” she lied. “Thank you.”

“Our pleasure.” Paolo’s words were meant for Cassie, but his attention had moved entirely to Beth.

Such a gorgeous couple. Paolo’s Mediterranean complexion, his dark eyes and hair, contrasted with Beth’s fair skin and sleek, light-blonde mane. Watching them together was exquisite. And yes, a turn-on. Anywhere from simmering to explosive, depending on the shoot. Judging from the accessories Paolo had dropped off earlier in the week and the speed at which the couple across from her were warming up, Cassie would probably be in a hot-and-bothered sweat at the end of their appointment.

Paolo took the glass from Beth’s hand and set it on the table. He cupped her face between his hands and spoke softly to her, something in Italian. Cassie didn’t understand the meaning of his words, but the emotion and intent couldn’t be missed.
Everybody should have a love like this in their lives.
Somebody to share absolutely everything with, fearlessly. Somebody who demanded your body, heart and soul so they could cherish those things with every cell of their being, forevermore.

Cassie lifted her camera, subtly began to shoot. Six feet away, Paolo’s palm skimmed up Beth’s thigh, pushing the flimsy skirt to her hips. Beth’s legs parted, offering access to her husband’s strong hands. He stroked the narrow swath of black fabric between Beth’s legs, whispering in Italian while kissing her neck. Beth leaned back on the arm of the couch, unbuttoning her silky camisole top to expose unrestrained breasts.

Even as a card-carrying member of the
I Love Cock
society, Cassie couldn’t help staring at Beth’s perfect rack, especially when Paolo’s mouth closed over the top of one pink peak. Inside her bra, Cassie’s nipples responded to the visual stimuli. Once the camera was engaged, she usually thought strictly about shadows and angles, whether or not to zoom. Not with the Mancusos. They’d gotten to her from the first session—which consisted of clothed yet suggestive poses and kisses—and they continued to affect her, regardless of the dozens of times and ways she’d photographed them. It wasn’t just the things they did in front of her lens, it was the connection between them while they did it—whatever the
it
might be. Thank god her inner professional knew to continue capturing images, rather than sit and gawk.

Paolo’s dark head moved down Beth’s body, his tongue swirling inside Beth’s bellybutton—an act that made Beth giggle and thrash. His next stop elicited a different response. Cassie slid from the chair to get a better angle of Paolo’s mouth teasing his wife’s pussy through her panties. They’d love these shots. Paolo’s near-red tongue pressed against the black lace. The beautiful line of Beth’s arched back, the black skirt banding her hips. The perfect O her red-painted lips formed as she climaxed.

Beth’s arms closed around her husband’s neck as he lifted her. Silently, all three moved to the other side of the partition wall. A white zone like the other areas, this one contained a large white-blanketed bed. Cassie had three headboards to suit a variety of shoots—black wrought iron, Mission-style cherry wood and a pretty white-upholstered one. For today’s shoot, Paolo had chosen to go without. Kind of surprising, given the props he’d dropped off. A glass dildo chilled in a black ice bucket, a silver bullet vibrator in front of it. Then came the restraints. Black suede cuffs and red silk scarves indicated Beth would be tied up for the pictures, but without a headboard, apparently she wouldn’t be tied down. Whatever Paolo had planned, Cassie had no doubt Beth would leave here a satisfied, happy woman.

Cassie switched to her new Canon Mark III, adjusted the Nifty Fifty lens she’d selected for this shoot. She moved around the room, capturing Paolo’s and Beth’s bodies from different heights and angles as they tangled together in a frenzy of kissing, tugging and grinding. Beth’s clothes fell to the white-carpeted floor, along with Paolo’s black dress shirt. Cassie took a couple shots of the strewn items. A picture of dirty laundry to some, perhaps, but she knew today’s clients would appreciate the erotic quality of the simple shots.

As soon as Paolo reached for the scarf, the dynamic between the couple changed. Beth’s body went pliant, allowing her husband to blind her with the carefully folded red silk. He spoke to her while tying the blindfold and cuffing her wrists. Although Paolo kept the volume of his voice low enough that Cassie only made out single words here and there, the tone was unmistakably firm. Not harsh or cruel, like the Doms in those staged porn videos. Regardless of Paolo’s commands, or the actions he took, his voice always held a reverence for Beth that stirred Cassie’s heart, as well as the longing low in her belly.

Paolo was a demanding partner, sexually. Unyielding and rough at times. Through it all, his complete adoration of Beth was more obvious than the sun on the most brilliant summer day. And it went both ways. Cassie had shot her share of engagement and wedding photos, pictures of couples allegedly at the pinnacle of true love. None of those brides or brides-to-be compared to the depth of emotion Cassie saw in Beth’s eyes. Every time Paolo reddened Beth’s porcelain skin with his palm, paddle or teeth, Cassie saw Beth’s love for him ratchet higher. She gave what he wanted. He took what she needed him to take.