Page 2 of Dirty Shots

“How will you know when you find her?”

“I’ll know.”

The majority of his apartment also served as his studio—only his bedroom and bathroom were divided from the rest of his work space. Mounted background rollers were positioned on the ceiling and held the nine feet of seamless white paper providing the background. Around the rollers was a rail system which allowed the lights to be positioned however he needed them. A stool was placed in the center of the studio, his camera resting on a tripod about ten feet away.

“Do you want me to sit there?” she asked, looking over to the stool.

“If that’s all right.” He watched her, carefully judging her reaction, but she just gave a slight shrug and crossed the room to hop up on the stool.

“Are you going to photograph me now?”

“Only if you want me to. People often look different on camera, and it allows me to assess how photogenic you are. Not that you’re not beautiful, of course!”

“And what happens to the photos if I don’t get the job?”

“I’ll delete them. It’s a digital camera.”

She smiled. “I thought using digital was frowned upon in photography circles.”

Eric placed himself behind the camera and flicked off the lens cover. “Digital has come a long way.”

“So what do you want me to do?” she asked, her head tilted to one side, her long hair flowing past her shoulder.

He snapped off a couple of shots—head and shoulders, nothing more.

“For the time being, nothing else. But I am looking for someone who will work with me to create more erotic images.”

She arched her fine eyebrows. “Erotic? So are you talking about nudity?”

He nodded. “But if you’re not comfortable with that, you’re perfectly welcome to leave.”

“How naked are you talking?”

“We’ll start off slow—the line of your back, arch of your foot, the length of your thigh. But, if you’re comfortable, I do want to take things further.”

“Further?”

He paused, considering his words. He didn’t want to scare her off, but he also didn’t want to mislead her. “Can I show you something?” He turned his back and headed toward his laptop. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure she was following.

She was.

He sat in front of his computer, clicked on the mouse and brought up a folder of images. “These are the sort of photographs I take my inspiration from. I hope you can see there is nothing tawdry about them. They’re erotic, but they’re also art.”

Anya leaned in, standing just behind and to one side of him, her body only inches from his. The faint halo of her perfume surrounded him—vanilla and citrus—and something thrummed deep in his loins. Her wide blue eyes focused on the screen and then she placed her hand over the top of his—the one holding the mouse—and pressed her own finger on his, clicking the images forward.

Black and white shots of a woman, chains bound around her full breasts, crushing them against her torso. Another photograph of a woman’s bottom, legs, and hands. She wore spiked heels, her ankles handcuffed to her wrists. Another woman blindfolded, the black silk scarf wrapped around her head and brought back around to gag her mouth.

She’s going to think I’m a pervert.

“They’re beautiful,” she said, a hint of a smile on her bowed lips.

“And so are you,” he replied. “What I want to create will be a joint project. This isn’t like a normal photographer and model relationship. I want us to create these kinds of images together. You need to be completely at ease with your body.”

She continued to stare at the monitor, but didn’t respond.

Nerves fluttered in his stomach. “So, what do you think?”

She turned her face to his and he couldn’t help admiring her flawless skin, her delicate bone structure.

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