Page 42 of Dirty Shots

“But for the moment, we haven’t. And I wouldn’t do so without you first agreeing to it, of course.”

She hated the possibility that he might find someone else if she didn’t agree to what he wanted. But she had to stay true to herself. Yes, she would regret losing him, would possibly regret it for the rest of her life, but she would regret doing something she was ashamed of even more.

Logan sat forward, leaning across the table and closing the distance between them. “Anya, I’ve seen your photographs, and they’re art. They’re not pornographic, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She shook her head. “No, I know they’re not. I know Eric would only ever produce tasteful work.”

“So what are you so worried about?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. Letting my parents down. Making them embarrassed of me.”

“Isn’t it better that you’re upfront with them? Even if Eric decides to only use the photographs that don’t show your face—which, by the way, I think would be a huge mistake, as the images with your face really captured what the whole series is about—they might still recognize you.”

Anya barked a laugh. “Seriously? You have seen the photographs, right?”

He shrugged and leaned back again, crossing one leg, so his ankle rested on his thigh. He picked up his beer and took a swig, before placing it back on the table. “No one knows a child better than their parent. It could be a particular mole they recognize, or a birthmark, or something as simple as your hands.”

Damn it. He was right.

She took a sip of her own drink, buying herself time, and assessed both men.

Eric was all serious and intense dark good looks, Logan was the opposite. Charm and self-assurance radiated from him, as though he had a halo surrounding him that you could feel but not see. The pictures in the magazines had not done him justice. While they had captured his appearance, they hadn’t caught his easy smile and confident manner. He was the sort of man people naturally wanted to be around.

She caught Eric watching her, one eyebrow raised. Her cheeks heated, and she quickly looked away. She didn’t want Eric to think she was checking out another man. It wasn’t like that. But Eric gave a knowing smile. She guessed he was used to Logan having this effect on women—and probably men, too—and he didn’t seem jealous. She hoped Eric understood that it was possible to be physically attracted to someone without actually wanting to do anything about it.

“And what about your own career?” Logan continued, assessing her with those aqua blue eyes. “Eric tells me you’re studying fine art.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“It’s fairly common for models to become professional photographers themselves. If they’ve got a natural instinct about how to move in front of a camera, what’s going to translate well to the image, then they’re often able to create the same instinct on the other end of the camera as well.”

“And you do have that instinct, Anya,” Eric added softly.

“I’m hardly a traditional model!”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s as much about who you are—your talent—as your height or waist measurement.”

“The point I’m trying to make,” said Logan, “is that if you’re not honest with your parents now, how long are you planning on censoring yourself for them? What if you decide this is a path you want to follow in the long term? How long would you lie to them before they accidently find out, or else you decide to tell them the truth anyway?”

She glanced down at her glass, staring into the pale liquid. She didn’t want to admit it, but he was right about this, too. She’d never imagined herself working with erotic art before, but she couldn’t deny that she loved it. Naturally, having Eric involved was an added incentive, but the idea of being on the other side of the camera gave her a thrill, too. What better way to spend your life than photographing beautiful men and women in erotic situations? Just the thought got her squirming in her seat, her pulse picking up a notch, her breath quickening. Since she’d been involved with Eric’s project, she’d felt herself grow as a person. She’d always been so self-conscious before. Her confidence had skyrocketed. Yes, Eric certainly had something to do with that. After all, the incentive to act more confidently had been to get the job as his model. As people said, ‘fake it till you make it.’ And while she didn’t think she was anywhere near making it yet, she definitely felt more like a grown, confident, sexual woman than she had a week ago. Just imagine what a couple of years creating this kind of art could do.

Aware of both men’s eyes on her, she inhaled through her nose, centering herself, and then looked up. “Do I have to make my decision now?”

Eric and Logan exchanged a glance.

Eric shook his head. “Not right now, but we do need your decision soon.”

“We’ve only got a matter of days until the exhibition,” said Logan, “and every day counts as far as getting the word out.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

Eric leaned forward, his dark eyes earnest. “I don’t want this to stop our sessions, Anya. I’ve missed photographing you.”

She gave a sad smile. “I’ve missed it, too. I don’t want to stop either, and I have to admit that Logan has made some valid points about my future career. I have a lot to think about.”

“We could always do some shots just for fun,” he suggested.

“Well, if you’re ever looking for that male counterpart,” said Logan, “you can count me in.”

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