Page 6 of Wild For You

She positioned them. “Say 'forever’,” I chimed, and the camera clicked just as their chorus of voices echoed the sentiment.

Weddings were happy occasions but sometimes, there was always one person who went too far. Mrs. Leary was acting like it was her day, and wanted to be included in every single picture taken. After the first twenty, I had to tell her that I needed to focus on the bride and groom. That pissed her off.

“Josie, you've got the magic touch, don't ya?” quipped Mr. Henderson.

“Only when it comes to capturing your good side,” I retorted playfully, snapping a candid shot of the man mid-laugh.

“Keep that up, and I'll have to start charging you for these million-dollar shots!”

As laughter bubbled from my lips, I swept across the reception looking for any magical moments going on. It was then that I saw him. He stood apart from the revelry, his posture that of a lone sentinel. Our eyes met, and for a heartbeat, I felt the world tilt slightly on its axis.Who is he?My thoughts spun, a whirlwind of curiosity. His dark eyes seemed to hold secrets as deep as the night sky above us, and I found myself ensnared. He must not be from around here. It wasn’t very often we got strangers in Lawson Ridge.

“Looks like I know who I’m booking for my wedding,” a soft-spoken guest commented, pulling my attention away momentarily.

“Thank you, that means—” I started, but my words trailed off as my gaze drifted back to him. There was something enigmatic about him, a story waiting to be told, and my photographer’s instinct knew it.

“Life is all about capturing moments,” I finally finished, voice distant, my mind still on the enigmatic newcomer. The music swelled, a crescendo that seemed to beat in time with the pulse that quickened in my veins.

“Indeed, it is.” The guest nodded.

As the guest moved on, I felt the magnetic pull of those dark, inquisitive eyes once more.Should I approach him? My heart hammering a rhythm of excitement and apprehension.No, stay focused on the job at hand.But the thought struggled against the allure of the unknown.

His approach was like a shadow slipping seamlessly through the crowd, a silent force parting the waves of laughter and chatter. I felt him before I saw him—the air shifted, tinged withan electric charge that prickled my skin. As he neared, the soft glow of the string lights played along the sharp lines of his jaw, casting his short, jet-black hair in a glossy sheen. His presence was a palpable thing, a pulse in the air that matched the rhythm of the music.

“Mind if I steal you for a moment?” his voice cut through, as smooth and deep as the night itself.

I turned, my camera momentarily forgotten in my hands. I regarded the tall figure before me, his muscular build evident even beneath the casual cut of his suit. “You're not on the dance floor,” I observed, my words teasing but my green eyes betraying the flicker of intrigue that danced within.

“Observant,” he replied, his lips quirking into a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “But I'm more interested in the stories behind the lens.”

My laugh was a nervous flutter, a bird taking flight. “Photographers usually prefer to stay out of the spotlight.” I adjusted the strap of my camera, a barrier against the intensity of his gaze.

He leaned closer, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the thrumming atmosphere. “What about after the spotlight fades? Are you willing to step into the shadows then?”

My heart skipped, caught off guard by the boldness of his question, my smile faltering. There was candor in his tone, a directness that unnerved me. The guarded walls around my heart, brick by painstakingly laid brick, trembled at his proximity.

“Shadows can be... deceiving,” I ventured, my words nearly swallowed by the swell of music around us. My fingers gripped my camera, its weight a familiar comfort and a reminder—I was here to capture joy, not partake in it.

“Only if you fear what they might hide,” he countered, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that seemed to peel back my layers of self-preservation.

“Or what they might reveal,” I shot back, own gaze steady despite the tumult inside me.

His expression softened, just a fraction, the edge of mystery giving way to something almost tender. “Would you consider…” he trailed off, the words hanging between us, ripe with implication.

“Consider what?” The query escaped my lips before caution could catch it.

“Letting go. Just for tonight. No strings attached.” His offer hung in the air, a forbidden fruit dangling from the tree of temptation.

I blinked, the world narrowing to the space between us, to the promise etched in his chiseled features. It was madness, a whisper against the clamor of rational thought. My mind reeled with images of tangled sheets and whispered secrets, different from the lonely nights that had become my quiet companions.

“I’m Nico, by the way.”

“Josie.”

He repeated my name in a way that made my thighs quiver. Who was this man? Out of all the women here, why was he dead set on hanging around me?

“Josie? Let go with me.” Nico prompted, a gentle nudge against my indecision.

I swallowed, my pulse a frantic beat against the stillness of my resolve.Am I really considering this?The question spun through me, a dizzying carousel of what-ifs and maybes. And yet, the allure of connection, however fleeting, tugged at me with the force of a riptide.

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