Page 5 of Picture Perfect

Shane cleared his throat. “Is it always like that?”

I felt a shiver run through my body. That sucked, because I was finally feeling in control of my hormones once more. His tenor voice sent a ripple throughout my entire being, and I began to question if I should even continue modeling for Greg anymore.

I had no idea exactly what Shane was referring to, though, and I was feeling vulnerable. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Intense.”

He’d nailed it. It had been intense if nothing else. That would be easy to answer. “No, not really. I, uh…I’ve never done a shot topless before.”

His voice sounded matter of fact when he said, “You have a good body for it. I can see why he’d want to take advantage of that.”

Why the hell did I feel so confused, so strange? I was grappling with how to respond next when Greg came out, cash in hand. He gave one wad to Shane, the other to me, and said, “I gave you an extra half hour’s pay. You earned it.” Yeah, and he was probably going to make a crazy amount of money on the shots. Not that I blamed him. It was his business. As for taking off the bra, I could have said no. Besides, no nipple shots. And I had to realize this had simply been the perfect storm—hot guy I felt attracted to from the start, super hot poses, first time topless. Next time wouldn’t be so bad. I’d be able to handle it more professionally. And, chances were, I’d never have to work with Shane again. There had only been one time I’d worked with the same guy twice. Greg had a lot of models at his beck and call and he liked to mix things up. It was better for business.

We both thanked him and he said, “I’ll be in touch.” That was pretty much his way of telling us we were dismissed.

In seconds, we were on the sidewalk, and I geared myself up for an awkward goodbye moment, but Shane said, “You wanna go get coffee or something?”

I felt a lump in my throat. Or something. I knew at that moment that if he’d been feeling even half of what I had in there, he now had a shitload of pent-up sexual energy that needed to be expended. It would be easy enough alone with a hand in a bedroom, but why not finish what we’d started?

Except maybe he really did just mean coffee. Either way, I couldn’t decline. “Yeah, sure.”

“Did you drive here?”

“Yeah.”

“Want to ride in my car? I can bring you back afterward.”

I nodded and followed him down the street. I wasn’t sure what kind of vehicle a guy like Shane would drive, so I instead tried to enjoy the fresh cool air and sunshine and not think about it. A few yards down the sidewalk, though, and he turned. I saw the headlights flash as he pointed his fob toward the car and that’s when it sunk in. He might hate his current job, but it obviously paid well. He drove a beautiful silver sporty car and, as I examined it, I saw the circular BMW logo on the hood. Wow. I was excited to see how this thing felt on the road. I started walking toward the passenger side but he beat me to it, opening the door for me. I didn’t know quite how to take that, but it was evident that he viewed me fully as a woman, or else there would have been none of that nonsense.

For some reason, it didn’t bother me with Shane. I slid into the car seat and noticed that the inside still had that new smell cars have when you drive them off the lot. When he got in, he revved up the car and pulled into the street in a matter of seconds. I made a point of looking over at his left hand, more difficult because it was on the opposite side of me, but I had to try. I hadn’t noticed a ring when we were shooting, but I could feel the tension in the car escalating—and I just wanted to make sure I’d done my due diligence. I could have asked, I suppose, but I didn’t know yet if we weren’t just going to have coffee. You didn’t need to be single to grab a cup of Joe with someone who was essentially a coworker.

He pulled up to a stoplight and, knowing there was a coffee shop just three blocks away, I figured that was where we were going. Usually, I went straight to the bank after a shoot, just because I didn’t like to carry that much cash around, but I had a big strapping guy as company. I’d be okay for an hour or two.

His voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “My place is just around the corner. I could just make us coffee.”

Then I knew for certain. Coffee was a mere excuse. I swallowed and considered for two seconds. I could play this game. “Yeah, that sounds fine.” I felt my wet pussy clench in anticipation. But, it turned out, his place wasn’t just around the corner; it was several blocks away, quite a bit farther than the coffee shop—not that I was complaining. He finally pulled off the road into the parking lot of an attractive apartment building.

“This is home.”

I smiled, but words escaped me. I wanted to add levity to the situation by cracking a joke, but I couldn’t think of one, and small talk was impossible as well. Desperation had my nerves frayed, my teeth gritted, my muscles tense. Pretending everything was normal was enough of an act; light conversation wasn’t something I could manage in addition.

Shane met me on the passenger side of the car, but I’d let myself out so he couldn’t play gentleman again. Once more, it was one of those things that was nearly impossible to fake at the moment. Fortunately, he was doing all the talking—perhaps either better in control of himself or more acquainted with faking normal behavior when sexually aroused.

Or, maybe, we really were just going to have coffee. That was a thought and an idea I needed to wrap my mind around. Man, wouldn’t I feel stupid and shocked—and a little disappointed—if he drove me back to my car and I was merely full of coffee?

Not if I prepared myself for it.

As we walked across the parking lot toward the building and I appreciated the cool breeze in the air, noticing that the sun had dipped behind the mountains to the west, I forced myself to accept that coffee might very well be the outcome of this meeting. I knew Shane was new to modeling and maybe he had a lot of questions he wasn’t comfortable asking the photographer. Maybe he wanted to ask someone else who’d been doing it for a while. And coffee was a great way to do that. Plus, if he was watching his money, making it at home was a hell of a lot cheaper than at a shop. More intimate, too.

And snap! My mind wound up back at the place it had been earlier.

We entered a lobby decorated with tall plants, two chairs, and mailboxes across from both elevator doors and the entrance to a stairway. “I’m on the sixth floor,” he said, pressing a button.

“The top floor?”

He nodded. “Great view.”

In less than five seconds, we were in the chrome-and-mirror elevator, and it was hauling us up quickly. When we exited, a couple stepped inside, thanking Shane for holding the door till they entered, and then he led me down the hall. Once we were inside his apartment, my jaw nearly dropped. He might not have liked his day job, but it evidently paid well. Between his gorgeous car and the furnishings in his place, I could tell he wasn’t hurting for money. There was plenty of square footage—spacious for an apartment—and the place was decorated beautifully. We walked through the living area—light cream-colored walls, furniture the color of toffee, and carpeting that was a combination of various colors but somehow pulled the room together, accented with a wide-screen TV on one side of the room and chestnut end tables in two spots.

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