Test Shot (4 page)

“Turn around,” she murmured.

“Bossy. I like it.”

“Watch it, Blake.”

“And a disciplinarian too. Yes, ma’am.” The grin he aimed over his shoulder dipped his hair into his startlingly clear blue eyes. Something about his pose made her wish she knew her way around a camera. He had a lot to work with. Beefy shoulders, rippling back muscles, summer-streaked blond hair.

Oh, and the ass. Definitely the ass.

“You were made for pictures.” She stood and came around the side of the desk, pressing her hip hard into the wood when his gaze pinned her in place.

The laughter in his expression disappeared, replaced with something a lot sharper. Not desire. Not exactly. Closer to a challenge.

“Thanks. That’s what my ma thought when she enrolled me in that Gerber baby contest.”

It made her laugh. “Did you win?”

“Hell, no. If I had, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d be on easy street, kicked back with my golden rattler.”

“I’m sure.” To make it seem as if she’d gotten up for an actual reason and not just to see if he smelled as good as he looked, she reached for her Day Planner and flipped to the notes section. “You have a book, right? Your portfolio?”

“Yes. I didn’t bring it.”

“Why not?”

“I figured if I didn’t like the looks of this place, it didn’t really matter what you thought of me.” He jerked a shoulder. “Despite my application, I’m not in a huge hurry to sign with an agency. I’ve been a free agent this long with reasonable success, so it’ll take some convincing to get me to decide to link up with someone.”

Cocky. And smart too, she acknowledged. She grabbed her pencil and directed her attention to the blank page. “You can get dressed now.”

“So soon?”

“Sorry to disappoint you.” She fought a smile and wrote his name at the top of the page. “I need some stats,” she added when he bent to tug up his boxers and jeans.

“What kind of stats?” He remained stooped, almost as if he knew her focus had lodged on his ass. Yeah, she’d photograph that part of him first. What perfect handfuls. And the leverage they could give when—

“Your measurements,” she said before her brain could complete the statement. “Height, weight, sizes.”

He turned toward her, his gapped jeans hanging low on his lean hips. “Lengths?”

She ignored him, instead drawing a swirly curlicue under his name. “Normally that information could be found in your book, assuming yours contains the standard requirements. But since you neglected to bring it, you’ll have to run through the details for me.”

“My apologies, Ms. Palmer.” He shrugged into his shirt and started doing up the buttons. “I’m five-eleven, one-seventy.” He continued on, rattling off sizes and measurements with practiced ease while she struggled to keep up with him. “Oh, and eight inches. Well, most of the time.”

She pressed down on the pencil and blew out a breath when a curl sprang into her eyes. The piece of hair trembled from the gust of air but didn’t fly back into place. “You have quite the sense of humor, Mr. Blake.”

“Thanks. You have quite a beautiful pair of eyes, Ms. Palmer.” He walked forward, and she braced her free hand on the desk, shocked to feel a tremor moving down her arm as he approached. Stalked toward her might’ve been a more apt description, if not for the affable smile he still wore. “But if we’re going to be working together, we should probably lose the formalities, right?”

“I never said I intended to sign you.”

“And I never said I intended to sign. But until we get to the point of cutting bait, we’re potential colleagues.” With a flick of his fingers, he flipped her errant curl back into place. “So when should I come back and bring you my book?”

She couldn’t have stopped the smile if she’d wanted to. Nor the quick clench in her chest when she realized he smelled like charcoal and lighter fluid, not some overpriced cologne. “Barbecued for lunch?” she asked instead of answering his question.

“How’d you know?” He lifted the sleeve of his shirt, still not fully buttoned, and sniffed at the cuff, a smile creasing his mouth. “Yeah. Cheeseburgers and grilled ’shrooms. You know, any model’s ideal diet.”

“So you’re not part of the city lunching crowd?”

“With who? I’m new in town. It’s not as if I have a ton of friends yet.”

Was that loneliness she heard in his voice? Or was she imagining things? “We’ve only been in a town a few months too.”

“Yeah?” Interest fired in his eyes, making her think he might’ve pursued that line of questioning had she held his gaze. Instead she looked down at her planner.

“Oh, and just so you know. I did follow it up with a salad. Lunch,” he explained when she glanced up again. “Though I dumped in half a bag of croutons.”

She laughed and stepped back, needing to put just that little bit of distance between them while she willed her brain to work. “Clearly you’re doing something right. You don’t have an extra ounce on you.”

“Maybe I’ll see if I can come up with a couple more. Just for you.” Again came that grin as he walked backward toward the door, still buttoning the last couple of buttons of his shirt. “So tomorrow?”

She almost asked
tomorrow what?
before she realized what he meant. Inhaling deeply, she flipped through her planner. “Tomorrow’s no good.” She continued turning pages. “How about next Tuesday?”

“What time?”

Back-to-back morning appointments and a photo shoot wouldn’t leave her a free moment until early afternoon. Even so, she’d have to squeeze him in before a consult with a new potential customer, an erotic e-publisher looking for cover models. “Does two p.m. work for you?”

“Sure. Want me to bring sandwiches, or do you actually get to go out for lunch?”

“I usually meet Aidan for lunch on Tuesdays. My fiancé,” she added, hoping her voice didn’t soften as much on the word as it seemed.

From the quick flash in Sawyer’s gaze, it must have. “Gotcha. Works for me. Till Tuesday then, Layla.”

“Good-bye,” she called after him, staring at the spot where he’d been until her eyes blurred.

Christ, had that been the weirdest meeting of her life or what? She reached for her cell to call Aidan. He’d get a kick out of it.

Then she stopped, her finger hovering over the speed dial. Maybe she’d better have this conversation in person. It was hard to convey nuances over the phone.

Like how turned-on Sawyer makes you?

She swallowed and tucked her phone in her purse. Tonight she would tell Aidan she’d met with Sawyer. There were no secrets between them.

Not even this.

* * * *

Aidan scooped some peas on his plate, then added half a pat of margarine. No more, no less. As a doctor, he didn’t mess around when it came to his fat intake, and he had the body to show for it. The peas went with the grilled salmon and slivers of roasted potato Layla had made to his specifications. She’d made some joke about needing to get more croutons if he insisted on them having so many salads, but he’d only shaken his head at her.

She didn’t monitor her diet that closely. Hell, she didn’t need to, at least when it came to her figure. Genetics had granted her an amazing metabolism, and she usually enjoyed working out, so she rarely stressed about calories. Unlike other things.

His Layla was a worrier, always had been, always would be. Lately he hadn’t been doing enough to make sure she didn’t worry because of him. That included leaving his cell in places where he couldn’t blame her for being tempted.

A year ago, he would have. But now, when he knew how strange his behavior had become, he didn’t hold her curiosity against her. He’d driven her to that point. Still, it had pained him to see that text from his colleague still on his screen this morning, a dual injury this time—both the message’s words and that he’d probably upset Layla. Again.

For her part, she was doing her best to act normal. She’d kept up a steady stream of chatter while making dinner. He’d mentioned a couple of his students he was particularly excited to teach, and she’d asked all the appropriate questions. The tension between them was subtle, but it existed nonetheless. Something had to give.

He sat back in his chair as she took the seat opposite him and reached for her glass of soda. No diet for her. She liked full calories and caffeine. Her motto had always been go big or go home. Whether she really meant that would be tested soon.

“So how was your day?” he asked, keeping his tone nonchalant.

“Good.” She wiped a stray droplet of soda from her chin. “Busy. Lots of meetings. You know that dating service that always advertises on the L.I.E.? They’re looking for some new models. They want to represent a wide range of ethnicities, which I think is great.”

“You have some people in mind?”

“I do. One of them’s Kiana, a Latina model I just signed. I told her about it, and she seems excited. She’s going to break out in a major way, and it’d be incredible if it happened now. She’s only twenty-two,” she added, forking up a few potatoes.

“That’s great. You’re a real asset to the agency. You’ve always had an amazing eye.”

“Yeah, I eyed you right quick.” With a laugh, she set down her fork and again picked up her soda. She probably assumed he hadn’t noticed she’d yet to actually eat anything. She was wrong.

“So…what else? Sign any other models today?”

He hoped she hadn’t, at least when it came to Sawyer. Whether or not she signed Sawyer in the future was between the two of them. But what Sawyer might mean to them on a personal basis was a different thing altogether. If he could figure out how to broach the topic.

It wasn’t as if he could just ask if she wanted to have sex with another man—for real. She would deny it instantly, outside of the fantasy realm. Then there was finding the right guy. Going out to meet someone for that sole purpose wouldn’t work. He wouldn’t take chances with somebody they picked up in a club. Not when it came to Layla and her health. They didn’t have many friends in the city yet, and the ones they did have were professors and the like. Hardly the sort of people he’d feel comfortable approaching in this context. Sawyer, at least, was a professional, and likely took good care of himself. He also had a reputation to consider, so the probability was good that he wouldn’t go blabbing all over town.

“No, I didn’t sign anyone today. I did meet with a couple people, though.”

His gaze sharpened at the hesitation in her voice. So she
had
seen Sawyer. Was that another reason for the heaviness between them tonight?

“Tell me about them.”

“One was a guy from Tanzania. Really built. Super nice too. He didn’t laugh when I asked to touch his dreads, but I think he wanted to.” She smiled faintly and played with the edge of her cloth napkin before draping it over her lap. No paper for Layla. “I also met with Sawyer.”

Finally
. “How did that go?”

“Good. He’s a charming guy. Not at all like you’d expect.”

Charming was a plus. He wouldn’t let just any jerk near his woman, even if it was only about sex. “Meaning what?”

“Well, he’s cocky about his looks, no real surprise there. But he seems friendly and natural and not affected by them, though he knows he’s hot. He doesn’t seem stuck-up at all.”

“What about his body?”

She didn’t jolt at the question, but she did lower her gaze to the table. “Incredible.”

“And his cock?”

Her head reared up. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

He had to smile. Such indignance. She’d reacted just as he’d hoped, which meant she liked Sawyer’s cock well enough indeed. “An important one. Though we both know how a tool is used is as important as the horsepower.”

Normally she would’ve snorted at that. Not tonight. She yanked her napkin from her lap and tossed it on the table beside her virtually untouched plate. “What’s going on with us, Aidan?”

“Ah, guess that question hit a little too close to home.” He pushed his own plate aside and rested his arms on the table. “There’s nothing wrong with being attracted to someone else. Being engaged doesn’t mean you’re dead.”

“Is that your excuse?” She rubbed her fist between her breasts. “Sorry. Guess I’m on edge.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He waited until she swung her wary gaze his way. “Nothing,” he repeated softly, willing her to understand how much he meant it.

“You don’t realize what you’re saying.”

“Yes, I do. Don’t punish yourself for things that aren’t wrong.”
I’m the one who deserves to punish myself, not you. Never you
. “Trust me when I say that however you’ve felt, whatever you’ve done, has been justified.”

“It has?”

He hated, absolutely abhorred, the tremble in her voice. “Yes.”

“I looked at your phone.”

He’d never had to fight so hard not to look away. “I know. The text was still on the screen when I grabbed it this morning.”

Doing this was a big risk, but one he needed to take. If he didn’t make a move soon, he would lose Layla. That text she’d discovered had only underlined why he needed to stop deliberating and start acting. He wasn’t giving her what she needed any longer. That might change. He was doing everything in his power to
make
it change, including the avoidance therapy that had sent him—them—across the country. In the meantime, he wanted to give her a gift, one he suspected she’d love once she dropped her inhibitions.

“Why did Tricia send you that text so late?” Her cheeks pinkened, making her freckles stand out in sharp relief. “I didn’t realize you were so close.”

His throat constricted around the words he knew he should say. The truth. Every day he held it between them, the wedge grew. But even knowing that, even understanding that he was driving them further apart, he couldn’t tell her. She’d been his mirror for so long. To look in her eyes and admit what he still couldn’t acknowledge to himself… He couldn’t do it. Not while he still thought they had a shred of a chance to go back to the way things had been.

“I’ve been close to the Kilmartins for years,” he said instead of what burned on his tongue.

Her mouth pinched at the corners. “Apparently I never realized how close.”