Soaked (The Water's Edge #2) (9 page)

I ran my hand over my pocket, feeling the paper crinkle.

“Is it from the idiot? The one we talked about on the plane? The one who was stupid enough to let you go?”

I nodded once then shoved a bite of French toast in my mouth, not even tasting it.

Nick raised his eyebrows. “Maybe he’s not as big an idiot as you thought.”

“Can we not talk about him? I’d like to at least attempt to enjoy my breakfast.”

“Ooooh, touchy.”

“Didn’t you want to talk about food?”

“Yes. I did.” He regarded me silently for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to press the issue of the plane. Whatever he saw in my face must have convinced him to drop it. “The assignment today revolves around the sensuality of food and eating and capturing the moment, but not making it look like a cow chewing on cud. There’s a fine line.”

“Assignment?” I put my fork down, smoothed my napkin across my lap while I took a deep breath. “Am I some sort of charity case here? What’s up with the lessons and assignments? I thought we’d both already been hired to do a job?” My voice rose toward the end along with my temper.

Nick took a long swallow of his coffee. “We have. And you’re right, normally I wouldn’t work with a colleague this way. But I see hidden potential in you—raw talent that needs some refinement. What you do is good, very good in fact. You have a great eye, but your emotional range is a little stunted. Everything you do is bright, cheery, soft. There’s so much more to explore. Shadowed, dark, moody, seduc—”

“What’s that got to do with food?”

“Seriously? If you don’t see the connection between food and intimacy, we have more work to do than I thought.”

My eyes narrowed in warning.

“Look at the buffet behind me. Take the bread for instance. Notice how the baguettes are displayed upright, with the smaller, round rolls in front. Cocks and balls.”

I choked on the coffee I was sipping.

“Check out the fruit. If you don’t see the ripe curves of breasts within that arrangement, you’re blind.”

A reluctant smile tugged at my mouth.

“And the thick sausage links—they’re bratwurst size. That’s some thick meat. You think that’s a coincidence? Not one bit. The whipped cream they’re so eager to top everything with? Should I continue?”

“Does everything go back to sex for you?”

He paused. “No. It’s not a
me
thing. It’s human nature. We’re wired to respond to sex on a primal level. It’s natural to crave it, be drawn to it, respond to it. What’s smart is using that to your advantage, employing it either subtly or overtly to hold someone’s attention, even if they don’t realize that’s why something is aesthetically pleasing. It’s the most basic, and effective, of marketing strategies.”

“So you’re telling me my lessons with you will somehow or another all pretty much revolve around sex?”

He grinned. “Absolutely.”

THE REST OF THE
week settled into a rhythm. A paper plane found its way to me every morning, whether I ate in the restaurant or ordered room service. I had seven now, a veritable fleet parked in my dresser drawer. I worked out every other day per Theo’s instructions, although I never saw Nick in the gym again. I guess he was getting his workouts in some other time. After breakfast, I usually met with Nick for an hour or so, and I had to give him props, he took the mentoring role seriously. Sure, he flirted outrageously when we shared a meal, but when we had our cameras in hand, he meant business and I had picked up some invaluable tips.

I ran two different family-centered campaigns by Grady and he seemed pleased, greenlighting both ideas. And we were finally, finally improving in our dance lessons at night.

Rue had shot back an email three days later about the pictures I’d sent her. While she said she was impressed with the quality of the shots, she had to question my choice of models. Couldn’t I find anyone better? When I pointedly told her
not that fit her tastes so perfectly,
she hadn’t responded again. Mmhmm. That’s what I thought.

I’d been working with an adorable family with three daughters throughout the week for one of my campaigns. The girls were all blond ringlets and big, cornflower blue eyes and matching dimples. When the youngest one went down for a nap Monday afternoon, I put away my camera for the day.

I was past due for some down time.

After making my way down to the water activity cabana, I stared at the available choices listed on the sign. Jill, the relentlessly cheerful activity coordinator who’d been trying to get me out on the water all week, sidled up next to me.

“You finally ready to take some paddleboards out?”

“No,” I admitted. “But I’m going to do it anyway.”

“Yay!” She clapped her hands in excitement and I half-expected her to do spirit fingers. “The water’s perfect today, super calm, small waves. Let’s grab some equipment and get out there before you change your mind.” She became a whirlwind, collecting what we needed and shoving it at me before practically pushing me into the surf.

I’d admitted my fear of the water to her the day we met, and she’d promised to go out with me when I worked up the courage. I guess she didn’t want to give me a chance to back out.

The ninety-minute lesson blew by. Being able to see through the clear turquoise water went a long way toward allaying my fear of being attacked by hordes of angry sea creatures. And once we paddled out, I wasn’t actually
in
the water—I was
on
the water, giving me further confidence that I wasn’t in imminent danger. While I wasn’t quite as comfortable as Jill, who tried to entice me into joining her in some yoga moves on the boards, I had a fabulous time and promised to meet her again tomorrow afternoon.

By the time we finished, a late afternoon storm was blowing in, the kind that would roll through and be gone after an hour or two, so I headed back up to my room to clean up and change clothes before dinner, wondering if I had time to sneak a nap in before I met Nick and Grady at seven. After stepping off the elevator, I was halfway down the hall to my room when a door in front of me flew open. An older woman with dark, messy hair stepped out, looking flushed. She glanced at me vacantly, a satisfied smile stretched wide across her mouth. Her top had slipped off one shoulder, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Pausing, I turned to watch her saunter to the elevator. She was humming as she pushed the button.

Someone had a good afternoon.

When the elevator had whisked her away, I spun back toward my room. I took two more steps and the same door opened. Nick stepped out.

I came to a stuttering stop, looking between him and the elevator behind me. Facing him again, my eyes widened and my eyebrows rose to my hairline. “So
that’s
where you’ve been getting your workouts?”

HIS FACE WAS
blank. “She’s a
client.
”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “So you’re an
escort
too?”

“What? No! Not that kind of client.”

“That woman—” I jerked my thumb toward the elevator. “—had just orgasmed. She was still fucking glowing, Nick. You’re not claiming responsibility for that?”

He smirked and adjusted the front of his pants, not even trying to hide it. “She took care of herself. I watched but didn’t touch.”

I’m not sure why that shocked me, but it sounded so . . . dirty. More so than if he just admitted to fucking her. Maybe it was because she had decades on him? Could a guy like him—young, attractive, successful—really be aroused by her? She was old enough to be his mother.

Maybe he had Oedipus complex. Of maybe he just liked cougars.

“I have no words.” I stared at him, my mind churning to understand.

He held up the camera in his hand. “It was a photoshoot. Boudoir. Dark, sexy, hot—”

“Is this for your campaign? Are you appealing to the horny retirement crowd? I hear that segment of the population has one of the highest rates of STD’s these days.”

He laughed, loud and long. “No. This is just a side project. Word gets around that I do these sessions, and as long as I’m discreet, Grady turns a blind eye. It seems
well-satisfied
vacationers are a little looser with their wallets.”

I glanced down. A slight bulge still pressed against his zipper. “Just took pictures, huh?”

“That?” He grinned, unashamed. “There is nothing sexier than a woman confident in her body. At any age. A woman willing to let go and give in to the moment, and just fucking own it and go for it—that’s hot as hell.” His bold gaze ran down the length of me, pausing where my wet bikini top had soaked through my T-shirt, plastering the cotton to my chest. He pointed. “Kind of like that look you’re rocking right now.”

I ignored his lecherous perusal. “I’ve done boudoir photoshoots.” I thought of Aubrey and the photos of her I found in West’s nightstand. “None of them have ever ended in a client looking like
that.
”

“Maybe you weren’t doing it right then.”

I huffed out a breath. No, things definitely hadn’t gone right with her. “Lemme see, hotshot. Impress me.” I reached for the camera in his hand, but he snatched it away, holding it out of reach.

“What happened to customer confidentiality?”

“What happened to professional courtesy?” I countered without missing a beat.

He tucked the camera behind his back. “I’ll tell you what. You want to see what my photos in this setting look like, I’ll shoot you. No charge. You can even keep all the images.”

I chuckled. “You wish.”

“I do.” His eyes darkened as he met my gaze, then dipped down to where my nipples had beaded against my wet shirt in the air conditioning.

“I’ll let you know if I change my mind on that one, but don’t hold your breath.” I patted his arm and moved around him to head down the hall. “Don’t you have something to take care of before dinner?” I waved my hand in the direction of his crotch.

“Worried about my junk now, Sadie? I think I’m making progress. Try not to think about me during your shower.” His voice grew louder as I moved farther away. I blushed as I slipped into my own room, my pulse a notch or two higher than normal, as I unwillingly thought about what it would be like to do a shoot like that. Be totally uninhibited, wild, bold . . .

I could never do that.

I’d be too embarrassed, too awkward, too stiff. My body wasn’t terrible—hell, it was better than his client’s—but I didn’t have the confidence.

Fuck.

Was that it?

Confidence. Was that the difference between me and Aubrey? Was that what it boiled down to on a fundamental level?

I slid down the door until my knees touched my chin, the tile cold under me.

Did I lose to
her
—or did I lose because I
let
her take what was mine? Because I didn’t think I could compete with her, did I leave room for her to slip in and sink her gel-manicured claws into him?

I was
not
okay with that.

Not at all.

I PONDERED THOSE
questions over the next few days. Examined all my past encounters with both West and Aubrey in painful, excruciating detail. Then went over them again.