Page 15 of Pose for Me

"Be good while I'm gone," I tell her with a wink. "No wild parties."

Chapter 11

Knox

Leaningagainstthecoolbrick wall, I let the shadows swallow me whole. From this vantage point, I've become just another piece of the city's forgotten architecture. It's a skill born from necessity—being invisible—and it comes in handy in this part of town, where the industrial gives way to the residential in a patchwork of gentrification.

I watch as Rayne steps out of her studio, locks the door with an absent flick of her wrist, and starts down the block. She doesn't see me; she never does. My gaze follows her every move, intense and unwavering. The desire to be near her pulls at me like a relentless current. It's not my first time standing here, consumed by the sight of her, and it won't be the last. There's a compulsion in my veins that sings to the dark tune of obsession.

I saw her client leave in tears. Satisfaction twisted inside me. That raw emotional response meant Rayne had done her job well, as always. But those clients don't know her like I do; they haven't felt her warmth envelop them, the taste of her skin lingering like a promise. The memory alone sends a surge of hunger through me, but I push it down. Patience is a virtue, even for men like me.

Keeping to the shadows, I start to follow, maintaining enough distance to remain unseen but close enough to keep her within my line of sight. My raven-haired beauty moves with a grace that belies her oblivion, narrowly avoiding a street sign, then a discarded box. Her black dress plays against her contours, simple and unassuming, yet it's the red lipstick that captures my attention—it screams to be smudged, to be worn by more than just her lips.

A growl builds in my throat but remains caged behind clenched teeth. I've waited too long, plotted with a meticulousness that rivals my need for her, to ruin everything with impatience.

The streets fill with people as we approach a more populated area. It affords me the chance to close in a little—until she suddenly turns, pushing through the door of a bar. My hands flex involuntarily, ready for violence if she's meeting a man. If anyone else dares touch what's ours, I'd take pleasure in peeling their skin from muscle, in gouging out their eyes so they'd never again see what they can't have.

Inside the bar, the crowd swarms, and I watch—always watch—as someone's arms wrap around Rayne. Fire licks through my veins, a visceral blaze until I see it's a woman who holds her briefly before letting go. Relief crashes into me, swift and cold. Yet, it doesn't quell the drive to follow her inside, to continue watching her. The patrons provide enough cover for me to stay hidden, to observe without being observed.

Because I can't stop watching her. Because she is, undeniably, irrevocably, ours.

Chapter 12

Rayne

Thehumofthebar surrounds me, a mix of laughter and clinking glasses, the occasional burst of music from the speakers drowning out conversations. It’s not deafening, but it’s enough to set my teeth on edge. Bars aren’t really my thing—too many people, too much noise—but for Kahlee, I make exceptions. She always picks the least chaotic spot she can find, and tonight is no different. We’re tucked away at a small table in the corner, far enough from the crowd that we don’t have to raise our voices over the din.

I wrap my fingers around the stem of the glass she had waiting for me. White wine, exactly as I like it. Kahlee’s unspoken rule: whoever gets there first orders the first round. “Two drinks max,” she’d said once, after a long night years ago. A tradition we’ve stuck with ever since.

"God, Rayne," she says, her voice warm, familiar, tugging me out of my thoughts. "It’s been way too long since we did this."

She leans back in her chair, a small smile tugging at her lips as she takes a sip of her drink. The deep red of her cocktail matches the flush on her freckled cheeks, her brownish-red hair catching the low light of the room.

"Far too long," I agree, swirling the wine in my glass before taking a slow sip. It’s smooth, crisp, just sweet enough. "How are you? And how’s Ivy?"

At the mention of her daughter, Kahlee’s expression softens instantly, her green eyes lighting up with that unmistakable maternal love.

"She’s so good," she says, her voice dipping into that fond, dreamy tone she always gets when she talks about Ivy. "She’s learning this silly little dance routine right now. Keeps running around the house, making me her 'audience.'"

"She sounds like a handful," I say with a laugh, though warmth pools in my chest at the thought of Ivy’s endless energy.

"She is," Kahlee admits, but there’s no mistaking the pride in her smile. "But she’s worth every second of it. That girl…" She trails off for a moment, staring down at her glass. When she looks back up, the edges of her smile have tightened, just slightly. "I’m just glad she doesn’t have to deal with… Well, you know."

"Her father," I finish quietly for her, watching the way her shoulders stiffen slightly before she nods.

"Yeah." She sighs and sits forward again, brushing a hand through her hair. "Thank God he’s locked up where he belongs. She deserves better than—" Her words catch for a moment before she shakes her head, forcing another smile. "Better than that mess. But I’m okay. We’re okay. Better than okay, actually."

"Good," I tell her, meaning it. Watching Kahlee’s confidence grow these past few years has been something else entirely. "You both deserve nothing less."

Kahlee swirls the stem of her glass between her fingers, her nails catching the dim bar light as she watches me with a raised brow. The faint hum of conversation and clinking glasses fills the space around us, but here in this corner, it feels almost private. She leans forward slightly, her elbow resting on the table.

"It’s been three years," I say suddenly, the thought bubbling to the surface as I watch her. "Can you believe that?"

"Three years since…?" she prompts, though the smile tugging at her lips tells me she knows exactly what I’m talking about.

"Since you walked into my studio. Ivy was, what? Not even walking yet?" I chuckle softly, taking another sip of my wine.

"She was seven months old," Kahlee says, her voice softer now, reflective. Her gaze drops for a moment before she meets mine again. "I almost didn’t go through with that shoot, you know."

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